The Wolf's Rebellion (Full Version)

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RATIONALPARANOIA -> The Wolf's Rebellion (7/28/2008 22:04:08)

Chapter 1




The day of the Grand Sowing Festival had come, and Limani had never looked more beautiful. Spring had truly come to the land. Roses and other fine flowers bloomed, as did new delicious fruits. All around Karros, farmers were preparing to plant their crops. It was essential to the survival of Karros, and yet, Limani was the only city that celebrated it.

Limani was the capital of the Royal Kingdom of Karros, and it housed both the royal family and the leaders of the Exalted Church of Aerion. Countless Lords and Ladies had arrived for the event, intending to make a good impression upon King Josset Hargood. That night, in the Grand Hall of Limani, there would be many conversations, and even more discarded bottles of wine. But not now- at the moment, the King, the Lord and Ladies, and the Sacred Patriarch were all preparing themselves for the highlight of the day. This would be the King’s Royal Address, a speech in which he would announce important changes. These changes could be anything: a royal marriage, new lordships, a declaration of war… anything.

The King’s son, Prince Michael, was not with the King, however. Michael was traveling the streets of Limani, wearing a disguise that he had fashioned himself. It wasn’t too elaborate, simply a cloak with a hood, as well as some shirts and pants he had found in the Royal Stables. The hood obscured his face, and his clothes made him look like just another commoner.

A man bumped into him, another sign of the huge crowd out today. But what would he expect? These streets were full of vendors selling all sorts of food and goods, and were normally filled with people. Today, it was near impossible to even walk through the streets, as stuffed as they were. Smells filled the streets, the good ones coming from the exotic spices the merchants were selling, the bad ones coming from the unwashed commoners.

Michael worked his way through city, his light blue eyes darting back and forth. The sun shone bright upon him, and sweat rolled down his face and neck. He had been wandering these streets for around an hour now, looking for her. So far, his search has been fruitless.

“Michael.” The voice was but a whisper, but he heard it clearly. Turning to look for the source, he saw her, standing in one of the alleyways. As the light came down upon her, he saw that she was laughing. That was good- Michael always thought that she looked her best when she smiled.

“Charlotte!” He was at a loss for words. She was walking toward him, her long black hair coming down over her face. She was also wearing a new dress of a dazzling purple color, a beautiful necklace draped around her neck. Combined with her laugh, it made her look more beautiful than Michael had ever seen her.

“Michael, I’ve been waiting for you.” She grabbed him, and pulled him into the alleyway. With that unusual strength that she seemed to get when she was emotional, she forced him up against the wall. Her lips closed over his, and she kissed him. Most of their time was like this- Charlotte would be the first one to admit that she was a very… ‘intimate’ woman, for lack of a better word.

“Charlotte,” he said, pulling her off of him. “I told you to meet me here for a reason.”

Charlotte stopped, sensing that this wasn’t a time to be playful. Michael had used this tone before, but only when he was discussing the most serious of matters.

“Charlotte…” Michael stopped, seemingly unable to get the words out. She tried to look him in the eyes, but he dropped his head, apparently not willing to look back up. The shadows in the alley, which had previously seemed to be nothing more than benign, now seemed both cruel and menacing.

“Michael, what is it? What do you want to tell me?” He was making some sort of noise… Was he choking? She felt hysteria rising up in here, and the incessant chatter of the men in the streets did nothing to help it.

“Michael? Michael, are you-“ Charlotte stopped, realizing what the sound was. Not choking, no- he was laughing. She brought her hand down on his ear, hard.

“Ow! Charlotte, that hurts.” He looked up, and despite his apparent pain, he was grinning at her. “Besides, I was only laughing because of you! I’m trying to give you a gift, and you act like I’m telling you that I’m going to die!”

Her face changed quickly, turning from a look of anger to a look of surprise, and then once more to a smile.

“You… got me a gift?” Michael had never given her a gift before. “What is it?”

“It’s a Yerian Ring.” Michael said, pulling the ring out of his pocket. Charlotte squinted, trying to get a closer look at the ring (but not too close- Charlotte, despite being a commoner, had been raised right and proper, and she knew it was ill manner to look a gift horse in the mouth). It was beautiful, a precious azure stone held in place by a flawless gold band.

“It is said that if you give someone a Yerian Ring, no harm will come to that person as long as the ring’s worn.” Michael gently grabbed her hand, and slid the ring onto her finger. “It’s named after the ring of Yeria the Protector, the great champion of Aerion who led our people to these lands after the Great Fall. The ring was a gift to his love, Karra the Provider.”

Charlotte had heard these stories before, just like anyone else born in Karros. As a little girl, she’d adored the tales, listening intently every time her father had told her one. For the most part, it was the love between Yeria and Karra that intrigued her. Yeria was doomed to die a hero’s death at a young age, fighting the enemies of his god, Aerion. Karra was prepared to accept the pain his inevitable murder would cause, if only so that they could enjoy their love now.

And of course, knowing about the romance, Charlotte knew about the ring. Yeria had gone a month long journey, crossing all kinds of rugged terrain and fighting all kinds of terrible beasts in order to find the parts for the ring. After that, it had taken another month for Yeria to finish crafting the ring. It was said that he worked day and night on that ring, pouring his very soul into it. When he finally presented it to Karra, she thought it was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen (asides from Yeria himself, of course.)

But Charlotte also knew the darker side to the story of the ring. Karra would only wear the ring when Yeria was away, and there was a chance that he might not make it home. The ring, as beautiful as it was, was a symbol of death. If someone gave a Yerian Ring out, it meant that that someone was about to embark on a journey, one in which their survival was not certain.

“Michael, just what is it that you are going to do? And don’t tell me you’re not doing anything- I know what this ring means just as well as you.” Michael sighed, and gently stroked his hand through her hair.

“You always were clever, Charlotte.” Michael kissed her brow. “That’s one of the reasons why I love you… and I do love you, Charlotte, you know that. But my duty to Karros must come first.”

Charlotte was getting worried now. Michael had never spoken about his ‘duty’ before; this must be something very serious.

“Karros, as you know, is at war. We’re fighting our own countrymen, their minds set on treason. And I, Prince Michael Hargood, am going to support the war effort. My father, King Josset, is announcing it at his Royal Address today. I don’t know when I’m going to be back, Charlotte. I’ll probably be out there until the war ends.”

Charlotte felt tears beginning to form in her eyes. She knew that everything he was saying was true, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. She needed Michael to comfort her, to talk with her, to love her. And when he finally did hug her, pulling her close to his chest, she started crying.

For a time, they just stood there, holding each other. Charlotte was sobbing, and Michael was saying whatever he could to help soothe her. So, when a man walked into the alley, they were too distracted to even notice him.

“Today is the Grand Sowing Festival, and you’re still sad?” The voice Michael heard was deep, jovial, and familiar. Michael turned to look, and saw just what he had expected: a heavily muscled knight, wearing a long black and crimson cloak. Charlotte also gave her attention to the newcomer, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears off her face. At first she was surprised, then worried, but when she saw Michael start smiling, she smiled too.

“Sir Evan, unlike you, some people actually have problems to deal with. Not all of us can just spend our lives slaying monsters and wooing maidens.” From the way that the man laughed at this, Charlotte could tell this was a common joke between him and Michael. They appeared to be good friends, despite the fact that Michael was only in his late teens and this ‘Sir Evan’ appeared to be around forty years old.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve wooed a maiden, Your Highness.” said Sir Evan, chuckling. “Although you certainly don’t seem to be having any trouble in that area.” Charlotte blushed, and Michael laughed even harder.

“Pure luck, Sir Evan; although, while we’re on the topic, why don’t I introduce you two? Sir Evan, this is Charlotte Nanea, daughter of Jon Nanea and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.” Charlotte blushed again as she heard this. “Charlotte, this is—“

“Pardon me, Prince, but I’d like to introduce myself.” Sir Evan stepped forward and bowed. “Charlotte Nanea of Limani, I am Sir Evan Rorrik of Limani. I am a humble servant of King Josset and Prince Michael, and serve as both the King’s right hand and as the leader of the Royal League.”

Charlotte knew only faintly what the Royal League was, but from what she did know, they served as the King’s elite body guard. If this man was truly the leader of the Royal League, he was a very powerful man indeed.

“At my heart, however, I am just another knight of Karros. My first and most important duty is to protect my realm, and its people.” Sir Evan bent down and gently kissed Charlotte’s hand. “People like you, my lady- although few are as charming.”

For the third time that day, Charlotte blushed again. She knew that Sir Evan was only treating her this way because she was with Prince Michael, but she still enjoyed it. It was every girl’s dream to be swept off their feet by a knight in shining armor, and Charlotte was certainly no exception. And, even though he was much older than her, Sir Evan was still quite handsome- and he had a personal charisma that even Michael could not match.

“You flatter me, Sir Evan. Perhaps Michael should be getting worried, with competition like you.” Charlotte said, giggling.
“Perhaps I should.” said Michael, laughing himself. “Sir Evan, why is it that you came to see me, exactly? As beautiful as my Charlotte is, I doubt that she was the reason.”

“No, she was not, Your Highness. I came on request from your father, King Josset. He sent me to tell you to come to the city square.” Sir Evan nodded towards Charlotte. “I expected you to be alone, however. But it is no real matter. I’ll simply escort Lady Charlotte to her home.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to do that, Sir Evan?” said Michael.

“Normally, yes, Your Highness. But now, you really need to be getting to the city square; the King’s request was quite urgent.” Michael knew from the way he said this that Sir Evan was not going to be swayed on this topic.

“Alright- Charlotte, I need to go. Just, please, remember to keep that ring on. I promise you, Charlotte, I’ll be home soon.” Michael gave Charlotte one last kiss, slipping his hood back on as he did. As soon as his disguise was properly on, Michael walked back out into the crowds, headed towards the center of Limani.

Charlotte watched him as he walked away, unsure about what to say. There was so much that she wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t manage to get any of it out. Eventually, she was forced to settle for a simple ‘Goodbye.’ that she doubted he even heard.

“My lady,” said Sir Evan, putting his hand out, “I think it’s a good time to leave.”


“Is this your house, Charlotte?” When she nodded, Sir Evan opened the door and stepped inside. What he saw surprised him, and judging from her gasp, he guessed that it surprised Charlotte too.

The room was quite dark, but the light from the open door allowed Sir Evan to make things out quite clearly. There on the couch sat a man that he could only assume was Charlotte’s father. He was grossly overweight, his gut spilling out of his shirt and onto his legs. A very scantly dressed woman sat next to him, massaging his shoulders. Charlotte’s father was smiling, but as he saw who was coming through his door, his smile quickly changed to a look of horrified surprise.

“Charlotte! Please, wait outside!” Charlotte did as she was told, and walked outside. Sir Evan merely stood there, watching Charlotte’s father. The man grabbed the hands of the woman sitting next to him, and wrenched them off of his shoulder.

“Get out.” said Jon Nanea (that was his name, Sir Evan remembered). These two words were delivered quickly in a voice heavy with anger. The woman stood up, glaring down at Jon. For a second, Sir Evan actually thought she was going to leave. But she didn’t- apparently, this woman was quite determined.

“Now, you just wait one minute--” She was stopped mid-sentence by Jon’s hand. It was an open hand slap and hard enough that Sir Evan could hear it from across the room.

“I told you to get out. I meant it.” When she listened to him, however, and actually went for the front door, all it earned her was another slap. This one was not as rough as the first had been, but it was still quite hard.

“Are you an idiot? Go through the back!” The woman quickly walked to the back door as he watched her, his jaw clenched in anger. When he turned back to Sir Evan, however, he had a smile on his face. It was one of the worst fakes that Sir Evan had ever laid eyes on.

“Hello, sir.” said Jon, walking toward the entrance. To Sir Evan’s disgust, the man was positively drenched in sweat. “My most sincere apologies.” Jon took a small half-bow in front of Sir Evan, before putting out his hand. Sir Evan did not shake it.

”Did you know that your daughter was having a relationship with Prince Michael?” Jon’s first reply was not an answer, but another question. Sir Evan hated when people answered like that.

“Are you sure?” Jon’s reply was nervous, and came through in a quiet, soft voice. Sir Evan knew that this meant Jon knew the implications of what his daughter had done. A Prince or Princess loving one of a common blood was something that had been forbidden since Karros, at least until they became King or Queen. (King Josset himself took full advantage of that rule- Sir Evan himself personally knew of over two dozen women that the King had ‘loved’, if you wanted to call it that.)

“If I was not sure, I would not be here right now. Now, you did not answer my question: Did you know, or did you not?” Sir Evan said this with a crisp, interrogative tone that the first asking of the question had lacked. Sir Evan had used that tone many times, and knew that it was something that got him results.

“No, of course I didn’t know!” said Jon. “I wouldn’t have asked ‘Are you sure?’ if I knew, now would I?” Sir Evan smiled at this last statement, but the smile had a distinct lack of humor to it. At the same time, his hand slipped down to his sword.

“Watch your words when you’re speaking with me, Jon Nanea. I am not some helpless wench, to be frightened by a few harsh words.” Sir Evan paused, letting his words take full effect. “Now, are you willing to discuss things in a more civil manner?”

“So, what is it you want? I know of you, Sir Evan, and I know that you are one of the King’s bondsman. So, I’m guessing that you’ve come here to stop the relationship, and stop me from talking about it, correct?” The smile on Jon’s face greatly irritated Sir Evan.

“Yes, that’s what I came here for. And I suggest you give your full cooperation.” Jon chuckled, and his grin widened.

“Of course I’ll give my full cooperation, Sir Evan. And all I ask for in return is a small gift from the King.” said Jon. “If it helps, tell him that I like my gifts in gold and silver.”

“As it so happens, Jon, we brought a gift for you.” Sir Evan winked at Jon, and reached his hand towards his pocket. And towards his sword.

“The first of many, I hope.” Sir Evan had not been named the leader of the Royal League for nothing, and his swordsmanship was impeccable. Before Jon had even realized what happened, a sword had been run through his chest. Blood covered the inside of his shirt, turning the white cotton into an ugly red.

“Unfortunately, this is all- but I’m quite sure it will do the job.” Dropping his sword on the ground (for if there was one thing that would scare that Charlotte, it would be a bloody sword), he made his way to the front door. Leaning his head out, he smiled, and called out to Charlotte.

“Charlotte- Come here! Your father wants to speak with you!” She walked over, a surprised look on her face.

“Are you sure?” When Sir Evan nodded, she smiled, and started walking with a slightly quicker pace. Sir Evan waited- Once she got close enough, the kill would be quick and easy. And that’s when he heard the voice.

“Charlotte- Run!” Sir Evan grimaced; he had doubted that the man would have been able to speak, let alone shout loud enough for his daughter to hear. Charlotte reacted quickly, but Sir Evan was quicker. Charlotte might still have gotten away, if she had not been wearing the dress. But she was, and when Sir Evan’s hand tangled in the bottom of it, she cursed that fact.

Charlotte hit the ground hard, and she heard the crack as her ankle broke. In but a second, Sir Evan was upon her. Grabbing her chin, he twisted her face so that she was looking into his eyes.

“You’re supposed to be a knight!” she said. Tears were coming from her eyes now, in a long stream. “You’re nothing but a monster in cloak and armor!”

Sir Evan smiled, and with that smile, he showed his true colors. There was no joy in that smile, save that of the sadistic variety.
“Who’s to say I can’t be both, my dear Charlotte?” The last three words were almost spit at her, drenched in anger and spite. “After all, who better to kill the monsters than a monster himself?”

“What do you plan on telling the Prince, then? He’s going to notice it when his love is gone, and if he finds out what happened, he’ll kill you!” Her tears were still coming, but they were now tears of anger, not of sadness. If she was going to die, she wouldn’t die drowning in her own self pity.

“You really think the Prince loves you?” said Sir Evan, laughing. “What does he love about you, exactly? Is it your charm, your wit, your kindness… or, more likely, is it your body? Don’t worry- he’ll find much better maidens than you, my dear, and when he does, he’ll forget all about you. No offense, but you’re nothing special. With but a coin, I could find much better.”

It was humorous watching her reactions to what he said, yes, but Sir Evan needed to end this and get himself to the King. Pulling a dagger out of his boot, he slit her throat. She died quietly, and as she did, he pulled the ring off of her hand.

“The Prince's gift? I think I’ll have to find a better home for it.” Sir Evan laughed again. “Provided the home has enough coin to pay for it.”

Bonus Acrostic For Ana_Maria:

Artistic
Nice
Awesome
_ (Rational Takes A Break)
Motherly
Amazing
Really Nice
Intelligent
And Most Of All, A Great Friend!



RATIONALPARANOIA -> RE: The Wolf's Rebellion (11/7/2008 22:50:30)

Chapter 2


Knock knock.

Brandon's head was pounding, and the light flooding in through the windows irritated his eyes. Brandon was also lying on an uncomfortable wooden floor, in a room that smelled like a revolting mix of vomit and sweat. And as he staggered to his feet, his memories of last night came back to him.

It was a party, of course. Brandon was infamous in Lyria for his parties. The King didn't like it; after all, Brandon was of royal blood, practically a son to him. 'Practically', however, was the key word in that statement. If it had been one of the King's real children, Prince Michael or Princess Persephone, he would have put a quick end to it. But Brandon was only the King's nephew, and thus the King tolerated a few indiscretions now and again.

And last night was one of the worst of all. A party in Brandon's own mansion, with various guests, both from Lyria and from abroad. And when the King heard about it, he would most certainly be angry. Brandon could care less about that, though; by the time the King was wondering what to do about it, Brandon would be far away from this city.

Knock knock.

“Just wait a moment, please!” Someone at the door... Yes, that was what had woken him up in the first place, he realized. Probably some of the King's servants, he thought as he slipped on his shirt. I'll have to look nice at the Royal Address, at least if I want to go through it without hearing the King lecture me. Fully clothed, Brandon walked to the door and opened it.

“Well, well Lord Byram... Looks like you had quite the party here last night, eh?” Curses... it was them. The Arcman brothers. They were the king's stooges, all three of them. And if there was anyone in the city who Brandon disliked more, he couldn't remember them.

“How astute of an observation, Francis. It must have taken you a real mental leap to figure out that one.” The look of his smirk collapsing into a grimace was reward enough for Brandon. Francis Arcman had quite a reputation for being rude- even his appearance shouted it out. His long unkempt brown hair, his heavily muscled warrior's body, the plain, unattractive clothing he wore- all of this was a part of it, but Brandon thought that the real cause of it was the fact that if he wasn't sneering and making insults, he probably wasn't talking.

“We did come here for a reason, you know.” This was Jonathan Arcman, Francis's brother. He looked much like his brother- he was slimmer in frame, yes, and had shorter brown hair, but not much else was different. Except for the fact that Johnathan never really seemed to smile. He just seemed to stare at you with an expressionless look on his face, as he was doing now. “We've got orders to bring you with us.”

“To the Royal Address?” Brandon knew that, even if it was mildly amusing, trading slights with the brothers wouldn't do him any good.

“That is our final destination, yes... but we've got other places to stop on the way.” The youngest of the Arcman brothers, Edward, was also the most likable of them- if you considered any of the Arcmans to be likable, that is. He had a boyish look to his face that neither of the other two had, and was also the most slender of the three. “Besides, it will be an honor for us to spend our afternoon escorting you, Lord Byram.”

“So where are we going, then?” said Brandon, stepping outside. It was very bright out, and the noise coming from the streets wasn't helping his headache, but he'd be damned if he was going to show the Arcman brothers any sign of weakness.

“Lord DeGarrick wishes to see you before you go to the Royal Address.” said Edward. “Now, we really must be going... I'd hate to make us all miss the special event today.”

They started walking down, taking Brandon through a route he was familiar with. It was the path to the King's Grove, a miniature forest not far from Brandon's house where Lord DeGarrick often went to relax. Brandon knew Lord DeGarrick well- he had taught Brandon how to fight, and he, along with a few other teachers, had helped teach Brandon politics. He was funny, compassionate, enthusiastic, and he acted a little weird sometimes. But for all of this, Brandon loved the old man.

“You brought him! Excellent!” The cheerful voice coaxed Brandon out of his thoughts, the group having arrived at the grove far sooner than Brandon had expected. Lord DeGarrick looked quite odd sitting under the shade of one of the trees- on one hand, he was a white haired, experienced, muscled soldier of the King, but on the other hand, he just looked like a eccentric old man chewing an apple. Who was Lord DeGarrick: the man Brandon knew, or the man Brandon saw? Brandon didn't know; he had never quite figured that question out. “Now, my boy, I'm sure they've told you the reason I had them bring you to me?”

“Uh... No, they didn't.” Brandon looked at the Arcman brothers, but found no answers there- only bewilderment and surprise. Lord DeGarrick chuckled when he saw this.

“Ah, of course they didn't; I keep forgetting that if I expect them to know things, I have to explain them first.” He took another bite of his apple. “I sent them for two reasons, basically. The first one was, well, I've seen how you deal with the Arcmans, Brandon. And because of that, I thought it would be funny to have them be the ones to fetch you.”

Brandon heard Francis mumble something about 'Crazy old man', but Lord DeGarrick either didn't hear him or pretended that he didn't.

“The second reason is one that is, I must admit, far more important.” Lord DeGarrick turned to face the Arcman brothers. “ Sirs Francis, Johnathan, Edward- in addition to Prince Michael, you have another charge to guard. Lord Byram, from here on, these men will be your bodyguards.”

Brandon was revolted, and he could see from the look on the Arcman's faces that they were too.

Edward was the first to speak up. “Please tell me this is one of your jests, Lord DeGarrick.”

“Not at all, Sir Edward- it is your task, as well as your brothers, to be willing to sacrifice your life for those of royal blood. And Lord Byram is of royal blood, is he not?”

“I apologize, but I don't know what definition of royal blood you're using, Lord DeGarrick.” said Francis. “I mean, for Aerion's sake, the man's a bast-'

In an instant, Lord DeGarrick's face darkened, his brow furrowing and his eyes becoming slits. “You will not use that word in front of me, Sir Francis Arcman.” It was a harsh voice, completely foreign to Lord DeGarrick's normal jovial tone. “He is of royal blood, and you three will protect him, whether you like it or not.”

Brandon said nothing, knowing that it was no use arguing with Lord DeGarrick now. The man was not often angry, but when he was, it was madness to get in his way.

“Now, we are going to go to the Royal Address, and I will hear no more of this matter.” Lord DeGarrick rose, throwing away his apple as he did. “There are others that we will meet there, people who will accompany you four on your mission.”

True to Lord DeGarrick's words, their walk was, for the most part, a silent one. There were a few whispers between the Arcmans, but none of them said anything to Brandon or Lord DeGarrick. Brandon was glad for this; it gave him time to think about what Lord DeGarrick had told him, and for him to compose himself. He did not know what, exactly, the King would say, but he guessed that a part of it would involve him. And as they entered the hall where the speech was to take place, Brandon sighed. This was looking like it would be a long day.



“So, what are we here to do, exactly?” The two man sat by the window, watching the streets outside. The two made a very odd couple, the contrast between them quite striking. The one on the left was a lithe, white skinned man with short blond hair and blue eyes. The one on the right was a humongous, heavily muscled dark skinned man with very long black hair, and dark black eyes.

“Simple, Angel. We are here to observe the Royal Address.” The white skinned man said this with a grin. Angel wasn't smiling.

“I don't recall the Wolf ever telling you to observe, Lord Ferus.” The room wasn't terrible, but Angel would have preferred something better. It was pretty barren- nothing but two beds in there, and a wooden floor. Still, to go to a more comfortable place would be to give them a high profile, something that they wanted to stay away from.

“And I don't recall any reason why you should think I care about what the Wolf says, Angel.” Even Angel had to laugh at this. It was one of the things he liked about Ferus- he could be pretty scathing, if he wanted to be.

“Alright, you have me there, Lord Ferus. But still- how are we going to get into the Grand Hall? We can't just march in there... the King, and most of his servants, know exactly what we look like.” Ferus smiled at Angel, and it was a smile Angel had seen many times before. It meant that Ferus was about to say something brilliant; or, more accurately, something that he thought was brilliant.

“Why, we'll just use this little trinket, Angel.” Ferus reached into his pocket, and pulled out what looked to be just a coin. However, as Angel took a closer look at it, he noticed that the face on the coin was constantly changing. It was smiling, then it was frowning, now it was glaring... it was undergoing a constant transformation.

“What is that thing?” It was magic, yes, Angel knew that; but what kind of magic, he wondered? Something that would be able to get them past the King's guards?

“Simple- an artifact that allows its user to change their appearance. I will be taking the form of the late Lord Warden Ellington, and you will be my young servant, Joseph. I trust you don't mind becoming someone that you killed, no?” Angel studied Ferus's face, trying to see what he meant by this last statement.

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty, Lord Ferus? Because if you are, you might want to remember who I was trying to protect.”

“I understand that, Angel. But.. the boy was only fifteen years old, and Lord Warden was just a defenseless old man.” Angel uttered a short, bitter laugh at the last statement.

“A 'defenseless old man'? He was leading the whole attack against us. By killing him, I made sure I didn't have to kill dozens of soldiers. And if you're trying to condemn me, just hear this: that was an excellent ambush. He caught us alone and far outnumbered. I was just trying to make sure I could end that quickly, and get us out of there safe. ”

“And what about the boy, Angel?” Angel shrugged, and tried to keep his face as blank as possible. Ferus was his companion, yes, but there was still something about him that told you he was not a man to show weakness around.

“He tried to stop me, so I killed him. Simple as that. And if you still feel bad about having to kill them... why would you have us take their appearance?” Ferus sighed, and sat down on one of the beds.

“Because, out of all the nobles, they are the only ones I know who I can be sure won't be there, and whose form both of us know intimately. But enough talk-” Gripping the coin tightly, a shimmering blue glow washed over Ferus. When it dissipated, Angel was left looking at a completely different man. Ferus had shrunk by about half a foot, his face turning wrinkled and his hair turning white. Even his clothing had changed, his brown shirt and green pants transforming into regal, noble clothing.

“So, Ferus, how do you use this thing?” Angel said, pulling the coin out of Ferus's hand.

“Angel, all you need to do is press down on the coin's face, and imagine who it is you want to be. The magic will do the rest.” Angel thought Ferus's change was odd, but his change was nothing short of incredible. He had gone from a large dark skinned man to... a small, light skinned teenager. As with Ferus, his clothes had changed- they were also of a far better quality, but not as grand as those of Lord Ellington.

“Are we ready to leave, Lord Ferus?” Angel said this with a grin on his face. He rather liked his new form; it was always interesting to try something new. And if anybody thought this form meant he was weak, they would be in for an unpleasant surprise.

“Yes, we must be going, Angel. We don't want to be late to the Royal Address, do we?” It would not do for the innkeeper to see a young man and a giant leave as an old man and a boy. They decided to take another, less conspicuous route out of the inn. This Royal Address, Angel thought, promises to be an interesting one indeed.



Princess Persephone was not happy. She'd be sitting in the Great Hall for around two hours, spending the whole time with a smile plastered to her face. She didn't want to be her- she wanted to be out with her brother. He was probably out with Charlotte... her father always gave him more freedom. Persephone usually didn't mind it, but the speech was about him.

“Might I say, if I didn't say it already, that you look lovely today, Princess.” It was Patriarch Memnar, one of the oldest men in Lyria and the head of the Exalted Church. He looked practically ancient, but he tried to get over this by this with artificial means. The results were just as bad, if not worse- his perfume always made him smell a little too sweet, and whatever he put his skin always made it disgustingly slick. He had told her she looked nice, though- at least ten times in the two hours she'd been sitting there. And he knew it, too... he was just waiting for a time when the King would hear him say it.

“Ah, thank you, Patriarch Memnar.” She smiled at him. “And you may have mentioned it before, but I can't say I remember it.”

“Well, when you're as old as me, it gets a little harder to keep track of what you're doing.” He smiled back at her. His teeth were yellow and rotting. “But when I notice beauty like yours, it's impossible not to comment on it.”

“Uh... Thank you again, Patriarch.” She turned from him, looking desperately for someone to start talking to. The man sitting next to her was just as bad, the gray haired Lord Hamilton, a man whose interests did not go far past war and womanizing. Her father was supposed to be sitting only two seats away, next to Patriarch Memnar, but he kept getting up to talk to the various Lords. Now, if only someone was...

“Greetings, all!” The doors of the Grand Hall swung open, bright light flooding the room. It was Lord DeGarrick, of course. Who else would try for such a flashy entrance? No surprise who was coming in behind him, either- the Arcman brothers. Those three treated Lord DeGarrick like a second father. But, there was another coming in behind them. It was... Brandon? Brandon, walking with the Arcmans? Persephone wondered what could possibly lead him to do that... it was no secret that Brandon hated them.

“Ah, Lord DeGarrick, you made it here!” The King turned away from the woman he was talking with, Lady Rostan, to face Lord DeGarrick. Princess Persephone was always surprised by how glad Lord DeGarrick seemed to make her father. Every time Lord DeGarrick did something that most of the other Lords and Ladies would find rude and offensive, the King overlooked it, making no mention of it to Lord DeGarrick. And judging from Lady Rostan's expression, the King even did rude and offensive things himself when he was around Lord DeGarrick.

“It wasn't easy, Your Grace. I had to deal with some personal matters first.” Lord DeGarrick bowed in front of the King, and the Arcman brothers did the same. Brandon did not bow- he just kept walking towards the king.

“And Lord Byram, my nephew, here as well!” The King smiled at Lord Byram, and said with a wink “You weren't one of those 'personal matters', were you, my good boy?”

“Can't say for sure if I was, Uncle.” He wasn't smiling. “But hoping never hurts, does it?” Brandon took a seat away from the King, over by a few Lords that Persephone was not familiar with. The King seemed unsure what to do- act like it was a joke, or act like Brandon hadn't said anything at all? In the end, it looked like he decided on the former.

“Ah, very funny, Brandon. Lord DeGarrick, did you by any chance see-” At that moment, the doors of the Grand Hall opened again. And again, it was a group walking in through the door. Lord Ellington was entering, a man who had occasionally dined with her father. He wasn't friends with the King, no, but he was closer to the King than some of the other Lords. And with him, walking in was his young servant, and... her brother? My, she thought, my relatives do seem to be choosing odd groups to travel in today.

“Your Grace, is there any reward for the retrieval of your son?” Lord Ellington said this with a smile on his face. That was odd... the few times that Persephone had seen him, he had always seemed to be a gruff, formal man.

“Hah, no, Lord Ellington. Most times, he's good enough to come back on his own.” Lord DeGarrick and the Arcman brothers turned around, looking to see who was behind them. The King started walking towards the doors, and towards the throne next to Persephone. “My son, now that you are here, the speech can finally begin!”

“I'm glad you waited for me, Father.” said Prince Michael, taking a quick bow in front of him. “I apologize for the delay... I was not aware of the time of the Royal Address.”

“It's alright, my son- it seems nobody does these days.” Lord DeGarrick laughed at this, as he went to take a seat. Lord Ellington, the Arcman brothers, and Lord Ellington's servant came with him, taking seats in the various chairs scattered across the room. The King stood in front of his throne, and took a deep breath.

“Now, Lords and Ladies, the time for jokes is done. It is time to talk of serious matters, the kind that plague our great kingdom of Karros. Now, as most of you know, the biggest threat to our realm is the rebellon that started around six months ago. And from what we've been able to gather, the war began with the Battle of Myrall Keep, prompted by an attack from Lord Ferus Vintran.”

At this, there were some murmurings from the Lords and Ladies. One of them, a stout Lord by the name of Wornsley, rose.

“Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but Lord Vintran? From what I hear, that man's a legend among the common folks. He's won many a tournament in the last few years, and always donates the reward to the people. Many speak of him in the same vein as they speak of the heroes of old- and you're telling me that he is our enemy?”

Persephone had heard much of this herself. More than that, actually- she heard what the ladies said about him. He was every woman's dream, a noble knight with a heart of gold and a body torn straight from their fantasies. But he was on the rebellion's side, there was no doubt about that. Every single battle that had happened yet either had him leading the charge, or one of his men. Persephone would even call him the leader- but she knew who was really behind this, just as the King did. The Wolf.

“Yes, Lord Wornsley, Vintran is the one. He's the current head of the rebellion, as a matter of fact.” The King sighed. “One of the many reasons why his side is gaining followers.”

“But, although he is the visible leader, we know that he is not the actual leader of this rebellion. The man who we can put the blame on for that is a name that I'm sure all of you know- the Wolf.”

At this, there were even more whispers between the Lords and Ladies, but for the opposite reason. The Wolf was infamous throughout Karros- his raids were brutal, yet effective. A force led by the Wolf had never been defeated in combat, and rumors ran rampant through the realm that the man himself was not human, but a demon straight from hell.

“Yes, the Wolf. We can only speculate on why he has not taken a more active role in the rebellion, but we are certain that Ferus is working for him. Every single time we hear of a battle that Ferus has participated in, the same detail is mentioned: an emblem in the center of his chest, the image of a snarling wolf.” said the King gravely.

“But do not be discouraged, my men. We will crush these rebels, and we will defeat the Wolf. And all I need from you, my faithful Lords and Ladies, is to simply do what is needed for your kingdom. If we need knights from you, we need you to provide them. If we need supplies from you, we need you to provide them. If we need anything from you, so long as you can provide it, we need you to.”

“But, you might say, this is all good and well for the King, but what is he himself doing to fight the rebellion? That, my friends, is the main point of this speech.” The King cleared his throat. “As all of you know, the elves had long had a good relationship with Karros, ever since the first Unification War. And now, we need them more for ever. And to do this, I am sending my son, Prince Michael, on a mission of diplomacy. Michael, son, please rise.”

Prince Michael did as he was all told, and bowed to the Lords and Ladies as he stood. They responded with an applause that echoed throughout the whole room. This was nothing unusual for Princess Persephone- Michael had always loved to be in the spotlight. She thought he got it from Lord DeGarrick.

“Accompanying him on this journey will be my nephew, Lord Brandon Byram.” Brandon rose himself, but did not take a bow. It was just as well, as there was far less applause for him. “And acting as their personal guards are some of my finest soldiers, the brothers Sir Jonathan Arcman, Sir Edward Arcman, and Sir Francis Arcman.”

Lord Ferus Vintran was a legend among the common folks, but so were the Arcmans. Three young brothers, each of them highly talented, winning tournaments in the name of the King. They acted as flashy as possible, and the common folks always loved flair. The Lords and Ladies also liked them, clapping from them even more than they did for Prince Michael.

The other Lords and Ladies sat back down after they stopped clapping, but Lord Hamilton kept on standing there. “Do you want to say it, my King, or should I?” he said, smiling.

“I suppose you can do it yourself, Lord Hamilton.” said the King, smiling back. At this, Lord Hamilton cleared his throat and began to speak.

“All of you know me, I think, but just in case you don't: I am Lord Garon Hamilton, and my brother, Sir Tyrin Hamilton and I, will also be accompanying the Prince on his journey. I will be heading the force that will accompany them to the elven capital of Quillar, and I do so with the highest honor.” He took a bow. “That the King chose me is a favor that I fear I will never be able to repay.”

Princess Persephone had to laugh at this last remark. Lord Garon was only chosen because his house, House Hamilton, had one of the largest standing armies in the realm, and the King did not want to annoy them. Already one of the largest houses, House Pellos, had gone to the rebellion,t he rumor being that Ferus had married Lady Marianne Pellos, and the King was not willing to lose more soldiers. And even with this considered, the King still probably would have chosen Lord DeGarrick, had he not insisted that he stay by the King's side.

“Just accepting it is more than enough, Lord Hamilton.” All of the men named by the King had assembled by the throne, forming an even odder group than the ones who had walked in the Great Hall before the speech. “Patriarch Memnar, you can speak, if you wish.”

“Thank you, my blessed King.” The old man struggled to his feet, assisted by two young servants standing next to him. Persephone, sitting next to him, could almost hear the bones creak. “The Wolf... Aerion has condemned this man. He is a heretic, a criminal, a murder, and he will suffer the righteousness of holy justice.”

“And to show Aerion's dedication to overcoming this rebellion, I present to you my two finest warriors.” At this, two people stood up, and walked over to where the Patriarch stood. They were both clothed in gold armor, with the sigil of a burning blue sword on the front of their chest plates.

“This is the Righteous Blade of Aerion, Sir Addon Kertyr.” The man was on the right of the two people, a slim yet broad chested man. His hair was the color of fire- not the blue fire of Aerion, but normal red fire. He had a smile on his face, and his blue eyes were inviting and friendly.

“And this is his wife and most skilled lieutenant, Jessica Kertyr, First of the Ten Knives of Aerion.” This was the other figure in gold, a lithe, young woman, only a few years older than Princess Persephone. She had long blond hair, and green eyes. There was beauty on her face, but there was something else on it, too, something far more dangerous and predatory.

“These two have agreed to do all they can to help the Prince and the King, and have agreed, if such is necessary, to die for the Prince. This is their dedication to our cause.” The Patriarch sat back down in his seat, allowing the two Kertyrs to walk over to the rest of the group.

“My Lords and Ladies, you have heard what they are doing to help fight the Wolf.” The doors of the Grand Hall opened, the servants outside pulling them open. “Now, they must be off- they need to prepare for their journey to Quillar.”

As the group moved towards the door, Persephone heard the Patriarch say 'May Aerion be with you, my sons.” The Prince is enjoying this, she thought. It's not enough having the people love him- now even Aerion's got to love him to. And as Lord DeGarrick got up to leave with the group, she realized something: the King wasn't done with his speech. And now, he'd have to go through all the mundane matters... and she'd have to sit here listening to it.




RATIONALPARANOIA -> RE: The Wolf's Rebellion (7/31/2009 23:44:23)

Chapter 3

“How much for the peach, my good man?” They had left the Grand Hall, intent on getting on their mission as soon as possible... and had stopped when Lord DeGarrick had found some fruit that he had thought was delicious. So far, he had purchased three apples, one watermelon, and two grapefruits, and now had apparently become entranced by the peaches.

“With all respect, Lord DeGarrick, I fail to see what this had to do with our current assignment.” said Lord Hamilton. He and his brother had voiced the most objections; the others, being used to Lord DeGarrick's eccentricities, had merely waited there, patiently. They weren't happy, no- Sir Addon and his wife whispered to each other about why, out of all the people the King could have chosen, Lord DeGarrick was leading them- but they knew that, like it or not, this was the way Lord DeGarrick was. He'd been like this for years, and he didn't intend to plan on changing it now.

“Quiet, Lord Hamilton! I'm in the middle of a great deal right here!” Turning back to the vendor , Lord DeGarrick said “I'm willing to offer a copper for this.”

“The price is two coppers for every fruit, as I have told you before, Lord DeGarrick.” The fruit seller's mustache bristled when he talked, and this, along with his bright red cheeks, made him quite a funny sight to see. Or at least Prince Michael thought so.

“Fine, fine... But I'm telling you, you're going to drive me into the poorhouse.” Lord DeGarrick gave the man the two coppers, and began chewing on the peach. The juice dribbled down his chin, and he absentmindedly wiped it away with his sleeve. “Now let's go, people.”

As soon as they began to walk down the street, Prince Michael noticed that a hooded figure in the crowd started moving with them. They had walked through a few streets, and almost all the faces had changed. All of them, that was, except for the hooded face that Prince Michael was watching now. Ever since they had left the Great Hall, this man had been walking with them. And it was beginning to bother Prince Michael. He quickened his pace, catching up with Lord DeGarrick in a matter of seconds.

“Lord DeGarrick,” he whispered. “Do you see the man over there, in the black and red cloak?”

“You mean the one that's been following us, Prince?” said Lord DeGarrick, a smile on his face. He took another bite of his peach. “Of course I have- and I've begun to wonder just what he's doing.”

Lord DeGarrick stopped walking, and motioned for the group to stop with him. As he saw this, the figure in the cloak stopped as well.

“You, over there! Why are you following the Prince?” Subtlety, Michael thought, has never been Lord DeGarrick's strong suit. And to just complete the absurdity of the whole situation, Lord DeGarrick took another bite of his peach. The figure was quick on his feet, Michael noted. He walked with the air of a trained fighter, and at Lord DeGarrick's words, turned to face them.

“I'm here for the Prince.” Simple words, and Michael normally wouldn't automatically assume they were hostile, but the fact that the man just drew a sword did not do anything to sooth his fears.

“Then I'm afraid you'll have to come through me first, good sir.” Sir Addon stepped forward, with a stride that exuded both confidence and grace. His sword fit his fighting style, the hilt studded with various jewels, and he had it in his hand before Michael could even blink.

“Certainly.” As the cloaked man stepped forward, Sir Addon did the same. It was a little like watching a dance, in a way. But who is the leader, Prince Michael thought, and who is the follower?

This quickly became clear, as the one in the cloak closed the distance rather quickly. Sir Addon came at him, sword raised- and, in a flash of metal, his sword was gone. The attacker had managed to disarm him effortlessly. And then the eloquence was gone- Sir Addon lunged for him, hands outreached. And as he did, the figure in the cloak side stepped, and brought his elbow straight into Addon's throat. The man collapsed to the ground, the breath gone from him.

“Addon!” His wife, Jessica, ran to his side. Prince Michael just stood there, unable to move. What in Aerion's name was going on here? The people that had crowded the streets were gone now, leaving at the first sign of trouble... and so, apparently, was Brandon. And Lord DeGarrick... he was doing nothing! Just standing there, watching the fight.

“Now, are you going to let me through to the Prince, or do I need to kill the rest of you? I chose to let him live- the rest of you will not be so lucky.” The hooded man switched his sword from hand to hand with the ease of a trained killer, using his wrist to toss it across the small distance.

“It is my duty to protect the prince.” Sir Francis Arcman stepped forward , and his two brothers stepped up behind him, wordless and with grimaces on their face. Francis, on the other hand, had a wide smile upon his face as he drew his sword. “It would be an honor to die for him. But someone like you... You could never kill me.”

“Enough.” Lord Walter D'Garrick spoke from behind them, taking another bite of his peach. “I've seen what I wanted to see.”
Michael and most of the group around him turned towards Lord Walter, all of them sharing a similar look of astonishment.

Francis, however, did not stop. He just continued his slow march towards the assassin, his right hand tightened around his sword to the point that his knuckles had gone as white as a corpse. The assassin merely stood there, seeming to have not been alarmed by either Lord Walter's words or Francis's insistence on attacking.

“I said enough, Francis!” Lord D'Garrick's voice was much louder this time, and it carried with it an edge like the sharpest knife. It was his voice of command- a voice that compelled one to listen and obey. “I am your Lord, and I command you to stop what you are doing!”

Francis stopped walking, and took a sharp intake of breath. He let it out in one hot breath, almost as if he was trying to blow down all those around him. “You want me to stop?! This man attacked the Prince and the Prince's protectors! He is highly dangerous... and you want me to stand here doing nothing?!”

“Perhaps I should explain, Sir Francis.” The attacker pulled the hood down, and Micheal took look at what it had hid. The first thing he noticed was the hair that had cascaded down when the hood was removed, long hair, the color of a roaring fire well fed and well cared for. She smiled at him- it was a true smile, shown with a twinkle in the assassin's sparkling green eyes. “For one thing, I am not a man.”

... I can't believe I didn't realize it was a woman. I saw the attacker, and I assumed... It was definitely a woman, Michael knew that for sure. And not just any woman- the person standing in front of Michael had an exotic beauty to her. It was not the beauty of a lady of the court, the kind of woman who dresses nicely and takes care to look her best- it was a natural beauty, one that roared with fire and passion. It was unfortunate that the woman looked to be at least ten years Michael's senior.

“I was sent her to take the measure of the Prince's protectors- and I must say, I would have thought that King could have chosen men far better.” A blush was spreading up Francis's face, and Michael looked over to see what Jessica and Addon's reactions would be. Addon was still recovering from the hit he'd took, but from what Michael could see, Addon did not look very happy. Michael wished the same could be said for his wife, but it couldn't- she was furious.
“So, you decided that the best way to do that would be to attack one member of our group?” Jessica rose to her feet, and her blade was out in a flash. “I'll be damned if I let you pull of this crappy excuse. If you really wish to 'take our measure'- then fight me.”
“My dear, use your head.” said the red haired woman, the smile on her face gone. “If I was able to disable your husband- a far better fighter than you, by all accounts- then what do you think I'll do to you?”

“ENOUGH!” This time, Lord DeGarrick's voice was a crack of thunder. It was not merely loud- this was a voice with a sound enough to echo through the whole city and beyond it. “Of all the people here, I am surprised that you two are the ones I should have to tell off! You will have to work together- yes, I might as well tell you now. She is to accompany you on the journey.”

“But, but…!” stuttered Lord Hamilton, a look of equal parts confusion and indignation on his face. “The King told us nothing of this in his briefing!”

Lord Hamilton was the only one to voice a complaint out loud, but it was clear that he was not the only one who was unhappy. Jessica and the other woman were glaring at Lord DeGarrick, and the Arcman brothers kept looking from Lord DeGarrick to the woman, as if unsure who exactly it was they wanted to be angry at. Addon was slowly helping himself to his feet, seemingly too disorientated to be angry.

“That’s because I have not yet informed the King of my choice of protector.” replied Lord DeGarrick calmly. “The King put me in charge of the arrangements for this mission, and those duties included picking those who would accompany the Prince on the journey. I picked the woman you see in front of you to serve as one of Prince Michael’s personal bodyguards- Ilia Nobil, better known as the Beautiful Blade.”

“What? ‘The’ Beautiful Blade?” Prince Michael was unable to stop the words from coming out of his mouth. What Lord DeGarrick had just said… it couldn’t be true. “You mean she is the mercenary that served on Karros’s side during the Broken Hearts War?!” …It could be true. That would explain her battle prowess… the Beautiful Blade was rumored to be an equal in combat to the Karros’s Seven themselves!

“Yes, I am “the” Beautiful Blade, although you could just call me Ilia.” The woman spoke, and gave Michael a smile that made him blush. How could he have been so… rude? “That title has never been something I’ve enjoyed… it’s misogynistic and embarrassing. But to make a proper introduction, Ilia Nobil at your service, a warrior who has sworn to give her life in order to protect your own.”

Ilia curtsied in front of Michael, being able to make it look majestic even in her heavy cloak.

“I hardly think that his Highness would approve of a mercenary looking over his first born!” Lord DeGarrick turned to Lord Hamilton, and the proud smile on his face quickly transformed into a look of distaste and anger. “Who is to say that she won’t sell the Prince out to a wealthier customer?!”

“She is no longer a mercenary, Lord Hamilton.” said Lord DeGarrick. The voice sounded calm and even, but Michael could tell that he was struggling to keep it that way. “After the war between Karros and Yeria, she became an official citizen of Karros. And as for who is to say that she won’t sell out the Prince… that would be me. If you have any problem with this assessment, you do not need to accompany the Prince.”

“So be it, Lord DeGarrick. I can see that there is no point to any more argument. But truly… did you really need to introduce us to Ilia in this manner?” said Lord Hamilton. Lord DeGarrick opened his mouth to answer, but with a cough from Ilia he closed it again.

“Lord DeGarrick wanted me to test the ability of the Prince’s bodyguards to protect their liege.” replied Ilia. “Both your individual combat prowess and your compatibility as a team.”

“…And the test did not go as well as I had hoped.” said Lord DeGarrick. “But I already had some things I needed to tell you before you began your journey to Quillar, so I’ll save my advice for then. Lord Hamilton, I do not want you to think that I am trying to force something upon this group, so let us ask the one person who this affects the most. Prince Michael, do you want Ilia to accompany you on this journey?”

…I don’t know this woman at all. She could be dangerous, could be a traitor… And no matter what I say, I’ll make some of this group unhappy. All the faces in the street were gazing at the Prince, awaiting what he’d say. But I trust Lord DeGarrick. If he thinks it’s a good idea, then that’s good enough for me.

“Ilia has already made an oath of service to me, Lord Hamilton.” said Prince Michael, choosing his words carefully. “Besides, it would be a personal honor to have someone of just fame and skill along with me on this journey.”

Lord Hamilton grimaced, as did Jessica, but he did not say anything. The others seemed more puzzled than anything else, apparently trying to comprehend something about the situation.

“Where… where is Brandon?” said Francis, looking around the street. “He was here when you showed up, Ilia, but I don’t see him now.”

From around the corner of the street, a head appeared. It looked at everyone gathered on the street, and then popped back behind the building. Less than a second later, Brandon appeared.

“I’m right here, Francis.” said Brandon, brushing dirt off of his coat and walking back towards the group. He smiled. “I had to come back- wouldn’t want everyone to worry about me.”

“So where exactly were you when the Prince was attacked, Brandon? Worried too much about your own skin?” said Francis. As Brandon walked back towards the group, Francis began to walk towards him

“I ran and hid for my own safety, Francis- I am not nearly as good a swordsman as you are, neither was I brought along on this as one of the Prince’s bodyguards.” said Brandon, speaking coolly and calmly. “And no, I think I was worried just the right amount about my ‘own skin’. Unlike you, I don’t consider arrogance and death wishes to be virtues.”

This could get ugly… I need to do something fast. Nobody would be helped by Francis attacking Brandon.

“YOU DARE TO INSULT ME, BRANDON?!” Francis’s voice boomed throughout the whole street. He grabbed Brandon by the front of his shirt, and with one hand he lifted him into the air. “I do what I do for the Royal Family, you coward!”

“Francis!” shouted Prince Michael. Francis put Brandon down on the ground and released his grip, looking over at the Prince. Brandon glared at Francis, but said nothing. “Despite your good intentions, Brandon is right- he is not my bodyguard, just my companion. Besides, we have bigger issues on our hands at the moment- we need to go to Lord DeGarrick’s manor to prepare for our journey.”

“Indeed, Francis and Brandon.” said Lord DeGarrick. His voice was brisk and serious. “We are at war. We have enough enemies without you two picking fights among each other! Now, I want to see you two deal with this now- apologize to each other. Brandon, you apologize for taunting Francis, and Francis, you apologize for attacking Brandon.”

They both looked at Lord DeGarrick, Brandon with an eye brow raised and a frown on his face and Francis with his mouth wide open, a look of dismay on his face. Then they looked at each other, and both of them glared back at the other. Brandon made a forced smile, and opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry that I insulted you, Francis. What I did, I did without thought and I now attempt to take back with regret.”

Francis mumbled something back, his head held low. It was obvious that he was ashamed to have to apologize to Brandon.

“Come on now, Francis.” said Lord DeGarrick. “Say it loud, like you mean it.”

“I am sorry for attacking you, Brandon.” Francis had finally put his head up, but he seemed to be looking at something slightly above Brandon’s head. “It was… wrong.”

“There we go!” said Lord DeGarrick, clapping both of them on the back. "Now let us be off to my manor. The sooner we get there... the sooner you can begin your journey to Quillar!"

******************

Princess Persephone walked out of the Royal Address- she was almost certain she had managed to throw off her guard. She had told him she was just going to change out of her dress into some more comfortable and ordinary clothes- which, in fact, she had. People were a lot less likely to notice the Princess if she was dressed just like any other common girl. And right now, Persephone did not want people bothering her- she needed some time to herself.

She was in a contemplative mood- many thoughts had entered her mind while she had been in the Royal Address. The end of the Address had been boring, just as she had thought it would have been. Dull matters- taxes and things of that nature. Necessary parts of ruling a kingdom, yes, but by no means interesting parts.

As she thought of ways to occupy herself, her mind turned to other issues. Such as the fact that her brother was leaving- of course it was something that she had known, but only then did she really start to think about it. And as the Princess walked down the streets of Limani, she gazed upwards towards the sky, as if it would hold the answers to what she was feeling. The sun was setting, and the world above her was a beautiful mix of purple and red, coming together in a portrait that nature seemed to have drawn just for her.

Her and Michael used to do this together often, ever since she could remember- they would sit out in the courtyard, watching the sun make its descent. Michael used to fill her mind with all the different things he saw in the sky and in the clouds- it was always something different. A beautiful girl. A warrior preparing for battle. A jester performing his most wondrous dance. And she had sat there, holding his hand and being entranced by every word he said.

And as she looked up at the sunset, those evenings with Michael were what she thought of. There hadn't been nearly as much of them recently- Michael had gotten older, and as he'd gotten older, he'd grown more distant. He was spending more time with other people. His friends were one group he spent time with- more often, however, it was the girls that he was courting. She was almost certain her brother did not think she knew about them, but she was more perceptive than he knew. And to add to that- her brother had a great many talents, that was undeniable, but he was never the best at keeping something secret, no matter how hard he tried to.

Princess Persephone walked on, and looked at the sights of the streets of Limani. There were far fewer people out now- vendors for the most part, trying to get in one last sale before they closed for the nights. On the other hand, some places had just begun to open up- the taverns, for one, and the places where ladies of the night came to do business. Near the steps of a boarded up home, a woman danced, a basket placed in front of her for the coins of those who watched her. The woman wore vibrant clothing- her blue skirt and green shirt blew in the wind as she smiled out at the people on the streets, as few of them as there were. No one looked back at her.

Persephone put a coin in the basket as she walked by, walking faster than normal. She did not feel like sticking around and having the woman realize who she was, but at the same time, she could not simply let the women go away with nothing. She turned the corner, at the gate that would take her into Castle Hargood, and she took one look back at the street.

This was Limani, she thought. This was the city that she lived in, the city that she grew up in. In spite of parts of the city- in spite of all the women dancing on the corners- perhaps because of them, it was beautiful. It was her home. And she had never left it... and neither had Michael.

She walked through the gate, into the courtyard. The air was still and crisp, getting cooler as the day became night. And Persephone thought of Michael- he really was going. He was leaving, and he was going to be gone for awhile. "...And he might not return. "

She stopped walking.

He... he might not return. She had known this the whole time, but it wasn't until she had said it out loud that she really started to think about it. He was going out into a world of war. A world where people were killed on the battlefields nearly every single day. He might-

No. She wouldn't let herself say it. The possibility... it wasn't something that she could consider. But another part of her told her different. That part told her that this was something that she had to not only consider, but had to face. Something that she had to deal with right here, and right now. That part told her that if she didn't, those thoughts would just eat away at her. And more importantly, Michael would want her to face it.

So... yes. He could-. Say it. He could die.

Princess Persephone took in a deep breath, letting it out quickly and sharply. He could, yes. He definitely could. Was it likely that he would? No. He had the Arcmans- the Arcmans were, aside from perhaps Sir Evan and Lord DeGarrick, the best swordsmen in the whole realm. And they were honorable, friendly people- true knights. They would keep her brother safe, no matter what it was that he faced.

But still, that voice from the inside nagged at her. There was something else that she could do, something that she needed to do. And it came to her not in the form of words, but in an image: a stone well, near the middle of the courtyard. There is nothing near it for gathering water- no rope, no bucket, no tools of any kind.

The Wishing Well. That was the answer. From what Persephone knew, the well was originally made by the group of humans that had come along with Karra and Yeria, and was blessed by Aerion himself. It had been damaged during the Broken Hearts War, when forces from Yeria had invaded Karros and reached Limani itself, but had been rebuilt after. According to the legends, if one came to the well and dropped a gold coin into it while making a wish, that wish would be granted. The stories said it was a once in a life time thing, and that the wishes would only be granted if the person and the wish were deemed worthy. Persephone hoped that the damage done to the well hadn't taken away the power it once held... or was supposed to have held, at the very least.

Persephone walked over to the well, taking her time as she did. Michael had been the one who had told her about it in the first place- he said that Lord DeGarrick had showed him the well when he was younger, and had encouraged him to make a wish there. He had made that wish, he said. Persephone had asked him what that wish had been

"Why, you couldn't figure it out on your own?" Michael says to her. He hugs her, a wide grin on his face. Michael is fourteen, the age where he enters manhood, but Persephone has not even reached ten yet. It is a warm summer night, and the stars and moon are shining bright. The ugly face of war has yet to rear its head, and Persephone is filled with the innocent joy that only children can every truly have. "I wished that no matter what happened in your life, Sephy, you would be happy."

That was his nickname for her- "Sephy". One day, she had asked him why he didn't just call her Persephone, the way their father did. Michael had sighed, and replied that he didn't think now was the time to tell her. This only made her want to know more, and after she kept demanding that he tell her, he eventually agreed. He told her that Persephone was a beautiful name, a name she should be proud to have, but that he called her Sephy because that was what their mother had called her, before she had even been born.

This had made Persephone cry back then, and made her feel tears coming even now. Persephone had never known her mother- she had died giving birth to her. She had heard stories about her mother, telling her how beautiful she was, or how kind she was, or how wise she was... but she had nothing of her mother, not even memories like Michael did. And so when Michael told her about the origin of her nickname, she cried out of joy. It was small- only a name, only a word- but it was something of her mother, something that she could call her own.

When she reached the well, she had begun to cry. Her brother had done so much for her- she had shared so many memories with him. And now, he was off, outside of the protection of the walls of Limani. Out into a world where anything could happen. And there was nothing that she could do.

Yes, there is. You can hope. You can pray for him. And you can get things ready for when he returns.

"Aerion, please heed my wish." she spoke in a voice that quavered and shook, almost a whisper. Is this how your brother would want to see you, Sephy? Be brave! She cleared her throat, and although the tears kept coming, she tried not to focus on them.

"Aerion, I wish that my brother will return from his journey safe and sound, and that when he does return, that he and I will be able to have the same happiness we had before." The words spoken only a second before seemed to have come from a completely different girl. This voice was strong and defiant- it was the voice of someone who knew exactly what they wanted and knew that they were going to get it.

A man stood in the shadows of a statue in the courtyard, watching Princess Persephone with a smile on his face. It was her guard, a slender man only a little older than her brother. He had been following her since she had given that dancing woman a coin, easily able to find where she was going, but he had decided not to reveal himself. She needed some time to herself, and he was willing to give it to her. It was far from the first time she'd tried to get away from him, and it was not the first time he'd let her think she had.

She was very sensitive, and she cared for others far more than she cared for herself- these were the two things that he had realized while he was guarding her. Some might call those things weaknesses. But watching her wish as she stood by the well, a statement full of passion and determination, he knew that those were her greatest strengths.



RATIONALPARANOIA -> RE: The Wolf's Rebellion (8/25/2009 22:19:33)

Chapter 4

Lord DeGarrick's home was far less elaborate than that of the other lords- no elegant paintings, carpets, drapes, or anything of that sort. The walls and floors were for the most part bare, with nothing but a few chairs and a table. The most interesting part of the room were the shelves that adorned the walls. Hundreds of books filled them, along with various unique and interesting objects. The one that caught Johnathan Arcman's eye was a glass ball that seemed, even though it was filled with some sort of black fog, to show different places within Karros.

"Make yourself at home, folks. I don't know if I have enough seats for everyone, so you might have to stand." Johnathan took a seat in a old purple armchair next to Lord DeGarrick- it had the feeling of a well worn, well used piece of furniture. His two brothers pulled up their own wooden straight backed chairs to the table, and the Prince sat down on the couch with the two Hamiltons. The Kertyrs, Brandon, and Lord DeGarrick all opted to stand. Lord DeGarrick and the Kertyrs looked to be fine with it, but Brandon had a scowl upon his face. Perhaps it was the fact that he had to stand- more likely, it was just that that was the look Brandon usually seemed to wear.

"Now, I brought you all here in order to make sure you know what you need to know for your journey." A woman entered from the kitchen, carrying a silver tray with several glasses of water and a huge metal pitcher in the middle. She wore an apron and simple black dress, and she walked with the stride of one used to servitude- simple, planned steps, a polite smile on her face. Lord DeGarrick took a glass, thanking her, and she left the tray on the table before walking out. "That is Maria- the best maid that one could ask for."

Lord DeGarrick took a sip of the water, clearing his throat and placing the glass back on the tray.

"First of all, the most important question of the day... what do you all know about the elves?" said Lord DeGarrick. Francis butted in, a wide grin on his face.

"Don't they have pointed ears, Lord?" Lord DeGarrick raised an eyebrow, and took another sip of the water before giving Francis a smile. Francis smiled back.

"Yes, of course they have pointed ears! It goes along with the fact that they have wings, a tail, and three heads." Francis's smile quickly transformed to a frown as he realized he was being ridiculed. He bit down lightly on his lower lip, while jutting out his upper lip- it was something Johnathan had seen often on his face. It had been Francis's habit to do this since he was a kid, an expression he had used whenever someone had proven him wrong or was making light of him. "No, they don't- that is just silly superstition, bred by years of ignorance."

"Elves, in terms of appearance, are identical to humans. Originally, at least according to history, we were one race. However, a fundamental change in the nature of the elves led to them breaking off from humanity. This event happened over a thousand years ago, and there are hundreds of stories as to what caused it. All of these stories agree upon one thing, however- that this change, whatever it was, brought magic into the world."

Johnathan leaned forward, curious. Magic... it was a topic that he knew little of. There was no magic today- it had disappeared after the war between the elves and the humans. This war had happened before Johnathan was born, but not too long ago that the events were clouded by the uncertainty of myth and legend. Lord DeGarrick had lived through that war, and he had spent his childhood living in a world with magic.

"Yes... magic. Something that has been gone from this world for almost fifty years." Lord DeGarrick cleared his throat. "That, however, we will get to later. Where was I... ah yes, the elves. Humans who can use magic... they are rare in our society. In order to use magic, you must study for years; you need to learn how to find magic, how to obtain it for yourself, how to control it, and how to make use of it. Indeed, when magic was in this world, none but the oldest of the mages could claim to know it intimately- and they still had only reached a fraction of magic's true potential."

"Elves, on the other hand- after that change, all of them were born with the innate ability to use magic. They still had to learn how to bend it to their will and use it without harming themselves or those around them- but they had no trouble accessing it." Lord DeGarrick grimaced. "They were a small minority of the current humans, and they broke off from us to form their own nation. They began to alienate themselves from us."

"This natural affinity for magic led to a few other changes as well- elves age much slower than us. They grow up to manhood as quickly as we do, but when they reach it, their growth becomes much slower. An elf who looked like me... a good assumption of age would be around a hundred and fifty years, perhaps even two hundred years."

"Were there any negative effects of this change, Lord DeGarrick?" Johnathan recognized the soft-spoken, polite, curious voice instantly. It was Prince Michael- he always chose his words carefully.

"Yes... elves do not breed nearly as quickly as humans do. The magic... it did something to them. We don't quite know what it was, but we do know that since the elves left us thousands of years ago, their population has only increased by miniscule amounts." said Lord DeGarrick. "We don't know whether it is a mental effect, or simply that the magic somehow changed their bodies and affected their fertility."

"But... enough about their appearance and physiology. What you're really going to know for a diplomatic mission is the government of the Elves."

"First of all, you need to know one thing- Quillar is not just their capital, but their entire country. All elves live within its walls; for although almost no elves consider it a prison, the penalty for leaving the city without approval by both The High Council and the Timeless One is death."

"The 'Timeless One'?" said Brandon, a look of confusion on his face. "Who the hell is he? Their leader?"

"In a sense, yes, you are right Brandon. The Timeless One- the 'position', if you want to call it that, has existed since the elves came into contact with magic. When the elves were granted the power of magic, one of them was made far more powerful than any of the others."

Lord DeGarrick looked around the room, his eyes searching for something, although what it exactly was Johnathan did not know. Finally, he simply shrugged, and tipping his glass over, he poured the tiniest drop of water onto the table. He sat back and smiled, seemingly satisfied.

"Do you see that drop, everyone?" Those gathered around the table nodded in agreement. Lord DeGarrick raised his hand, and pointed to the enormous pitcher of water his servant Maria had left. It was still full. "Do you see that as well?" They all nodded again.

"The drop of water is to the pitcher as the average elf is to the Timeless One." Lord DeGarrick said, and then proceeded to wipe the drop away with his sleeve. "A frightening thought, I know- with that much power, he can do whatever he wants and there is no single man, or even a single group, that can stand in his way. The only one in history who ever had the magical prowess of one of the Timeless Ones was Yeria, and his ability came as a gift from the Gods."

"Now, to the name... the Timeless One is called such because when the Timeless Ones die- and they do die, they are vulnerable to old age and physical wounds just as we all are- another elven child is born with their abilities in their place." Lord DeGarrick said.

"The last Timeless One was an elf named Koelthir Quillar- the same name as the capital, yes. Quillar was the second name of the first Timeless One, and all of his 'descendants' have taken up that second name once they realize their powers. For this reason, the capital is named Quillar as well."

"But I digress... Koelthir is dead now. He, as well as a few very powerful human magicians, gave their lives to end the Broken Hearts war."

"He... he made one of the most powerful spells of all time. He gave all of his energy to block the elves and humans from accessing their sources of magic. Of course, it didn't work perfectly- magic is a tricky, slippery thing, and mages were able to get a little power still- but this was a small, small amount. The normal elf or human mage was rendered effectively powerless."

"Koelthir, and those who collaborated with him- they had hoped that this would end the violence between the elves and humans. The war, up until then, had been pretty much equal- the humans had far outnumbered the elves, but the elves were able to use magic far more, and more powerfully than the humans. Without the magic, Koelthir was sure that the elves would surrender, and the human mages were sure that the King would accept the surrender."

At these words, Lord DeGarrick frowned, and took another sip of his water. His eyes seemed to become darker, and his face lost all of its previous jovialness. It was a look that Johnathan saw rarely on his face- it was a mix of sadness and anger, but the emotion that he saw the most was regret.

"The elves surrended, just as Koelthir thought. But the humans had the advantage now... and they would not give up when they had the upper hand. They attacked the elves, and they... they slaughtered them. Entire cities crumbled under the army's advance, and all elves were murdered. Women, children, the elderly and feeble... it mattered not. The war had become one of extermination."

"What stopped the humans, then?" said Brandon. He had a small smirk on his face, and a playful look in his eyes. "If they were winning, and they already had this plan... why stop?"

"The King was murdered." replied Lord DeGarrick.

"By whom?" said Addon. The holy warrior looked at Lord DeGarrick, an inquisitive look on his face. "I never heard of this, and I pride myself on being informed on matters of the royalty.

"It's not common knowledge, it's not recorded, and it's definitely not talked about often. But yes, he was killed. It was a necessity, in order to stop the violence. Sir Evan Rorrik's predecessor, the former master of the Royal Guard, Lord Gavin DeGarrick, was the one who slew the King himself."

Lord Gavin DeGarrick... his father?! Johnathan thought, remembering conversations with Lord DeGarrick. Yes, he had mentioned this name before... but he had never told him of anything like this. He hadn't even said that his father held a high government position. Of course he would think of that action as a 'neccesity'...

Johnathan immediately felt sick with himself for that thought. Lord DeGarrick was right- if the King had been allowed to continue on his path, all the elves would have been killed. His father had done what was right for the greater good, even if he had to betray his station to do it.

"The heir who became the King did two things in quick succession- he first pardoned Lord DeGarrick, and he then ordered his men to stop the attack on the elves immediately. After that, he tried patching things up with the elves, together with the leader of Yeria- it didn't work. The elves saw the humans as murderers, at least at the time."

"Later diplomatic attempts were made by Karros, during the Broken Hearts War. Our situation began to improve- envoys and messengers were allowed into Quillar, and trade relations began, but they still refused to help us battle the Yerians. They remained neutral during the entire conflict- partly, I think, because they had their own desire to watch humanity hurt itself."

"Lord DeGarrick, if Koelthir really did do this, doesn't that mean the power of the Timeless One is now gone? You said that he used all of his power to cut off magic from the world... but if he did that, the power he'd transfer to his descendant would have disappeared, wouldn't it?" This was Prince Michael. His mouth was open, his blue eyes wide as they looked at Lord DeGarrick, eagerly awaiting an answer.

"Magic... is an odd thing. It's similar in ways to, say, a lake. You can go out to a lake, draw out as much water as you like- heck, even drain the entire lake- and it will eventually be refilled by the rain and other things. It's not a perfect metaphor- magic regrows far, far faster than a lake refills, but it's the easiest way to explain it."

"So although Koelthir used all of his magical power, it refilled for his descendant. The new Timeless One... Raziel Quillar- he is still not nearly as powerful as Koelthir, due to the block Koelthir put. But even a small portion of his power is still quite great, and far more than enough to make him a threat to anyone here."

"So, yes. You must approach the council and Raziel, and you must talk to them before The Wolf gets a chance to. Your ideal goal is to have them join our side... but if this isnot possible, then try to extract a promise from them to remain neutral. That is the goal of the 'diplomatic' part of the diplomatic mission."

The 'diplomatic' part? thought Johnathan. I wonder what he meant by that...

"Do you see that black ball on the shelf there?" said Lord DeGarrick, and he pointed to the item Johnathan had been viewing previously. "That is an 'artifact'. An 'artifact'- they are items that have the capability to draw upon the magic of the world and perform a certain function."

"The black ball on the wall, for example- it has the ability to, no matter where you are, instantly bring you to anywhere in Limani that you wish to go, and also to the location where you just came back from. You, Prince Michael, will be taking it with you, as an emergency measure. Keep it close to you at all times- should these guards fail you, and you find yourself overwhelmed by the enemy- use it. I doubt you will have to use it, but I fear that in these harsh times, we cannot afford to take unnecessary risks."

"Lord," said Johnathan, eyeing the black ball, "how exactly are these 'artifacts' made?"

"It's... a complicated method, Johnathan." He looked down at the black ball, and grimaced. "It requires a magic user of high skill to perform a ritual and bind his soul and a portion of his magic to the object. The mage sacrifices his life to create it- or, for the truly vile ones, there is a darker version of the ritual where someone else's life is sacrificed in one's place."

"This particular artifact was made by a human mage, who gave his life in order to create a fail safe to protect the King. The King instructed me to give it to you, Michael- use it wisely."

"And now, to the part of the mission I was talking about- there is a certain object that you must obtain. It is a gold ring, kept safe by the elven council. Your mission is to find where they hid it, and then take it with you."

Lord DeGarrick reached into his pocket, scrunching his face in concentration. Then he smiled, and out of his pocket came a small golden ring. It was of obvious high quality, and small, almost unreadable words were inscribed on it.

"This is the fake- you will put this into the place of the real gold ring, once you have it in your possession. This ring... that is your most important objective. You must make sure that you gain possession of it."

"What is so important about it?" said Brandon, an impetuous look on his face. "You haven't even told us what the damn thing does!"

"That's because I don't know." Lord DeGarrick looked back at Brandon with a blunt and honest expression.

"All that I do know is my intelligence has told me that The Wolf has made obtaining the ring one of his top priorities. If it's that important to him, it must be something quite powerful- and something that we cannot let him gain."

"This... is your most important objective. The diplomacy comes as a second priority to it. Do you all understand?"

Everyone at the table nodded in agreement.

"Very well- there is one more thing we must discuss before I dismiss you. Your enemies."

"Ferus Vintran- he is the one who leads the majority of The Wolf's forces. He is, as you may know, incredibly skilled with the sword. One on one combat with him would be a very bad decision- especially as, according to the rumors I've heard, he's been taught swordplay by The Wolf himself. His greatest strength, however, is that he is a near undefeatable tactician. Combat with him is to be avoided as much as possible."

"'Angel'... that is the name that his bodyguard and right hand man carries. He is a gigantic man- well over seven foot, and built like an ox. He's also, I am told, quite deadly with the blade he wields, a sword nearly as big as him that he has christened 'Justice'. He is almost certainly a more dangerous combatant than even Ferus himself."

"If I had any advice to give to you about them, it would be to avoid them. It shouldn't be hard- we gave the Prince only a small guard so that he could go unnoticed. Your mission is only with the elves- leaving fighting them to the King's forces. Now... do you understand all that I have told you?"

Again, all gathered at the table nodded.

"Very well. You are dismissed- I will stay here. I have my own duties to tend to."

Most of the group got up to leave, collecting their things and walking towards the front door at the end of the study. Francis Arcman started walking toward the door, then turned around, a puzzled frown on his face.

"Lord DeGarrick... you've told us nothing about The Wolf. What should we do if we encounter him?"

Lord DeGarrick looked at Francis for a moment, his eyes narrowed and his mouth a hard line. Then he shook his head and began to speak.

"Francis... The Wolf is ten times worse than Ferus and Angel. If you encounter him, you must run. Now go... I have other things to attend to."

"Now wait a minute, Lord DeGarrick!" shouted Francis angrily. "If we found the Wolf on his own, you're telling me the entire group you gathered could not kill him? If we did that, we could remove a major part of the rebellion right there! Give me one good reason why we shouldn't!"

"You want 'one good reason', Francis?!" said Lord DeGarrick, the anger on his face surpassing even Francis's. Johnathan had a shock when he saw this- he had never seen Lord DeGarrick this angry. "The Wolf is a monster! He was one of the Karro's Seven, and not just that, but he was far more skilled with a blade than any of us ever were!"

"I watched him butcher four of the Karro's Seven with my own eyes... even those four, the greatest fighters I've ever seen in my life, stood no chance against them. His strength and agility are not human... they're far beyond anything else I've ever seen in my life. Every single person who The Wolf has faced has wound up dead... except for one. Me. And do you know how I survived, Francis?"

Lord DeGarrick's face changed at this, becoming a cold, bitter mockery of a smile. And as Johnathan watched, he saw a tear roll down his face.

"I ran."



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