-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* The Front Lines *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

    This is a hilly area on the outskirts of southern Sendor. Bludguni and Myrrish troops face each other across a wide valley. With the spring thaw, the entire valley has been churned into a disgusting, bloody mud by the two armies. Bludguni forces currently hold the pass and the high ground, and are camped behind the hills. The Myrddion army is camped a little distance away, by a stream fed from a different, cleaner valley without a handy pass. Up near the head of the valley, the Bludgun army has left behind a huge mass grave that is said to be haunted.

 

Near the Myrrish camp, far away from the actual front lines as to be considered fairly 'safe' at the moment, is the de-facto command center and entertainment establishment in the area, a tavern called the Blushing Rosalia. It's somewhat the worse for wear, but the many officers and adventurers in the army provide the owners with a steady supply of coin.

 

Not far from the Blushing Rosalia are the numerous tents that make up the field hospital, where the wounded are brought back to be healed. The air near those tents smells of whiskey and herbal poultices.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

 Karelin         Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.      3m   2h

 

 Chandrakanta    Dredlocked Veyshanti Averite with ink and blades.     8m   7h

 

 Darshan         Mechagodzilla                                         0s   1h

 

 Aurala          A large Dran woman, studded leather, great maul       3m   1h

 

 Whirlpool                                                             22s  29m

 

 Roland          6'3" charismatic man with auburn curls and hazel eyes 1m   11m

 

 Valeska         A strawberry-haired aristocrat. Pith Helmet. Wrench.  8m   8h

 

 Bartaz          Slim, Well-dressed Tsurai man. Rogueish, Jovial.      39s  8m

 

 Narah           Tall, dusky-skinned Highborn woman; green eyes.       1m   5m

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

Myrrish Camp <MC>         Fort Getty's <FG>         Road To Sendor <RTS>

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

It's Kesenday, Callem 14 20:17:13 1006. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and ebbing.

 

The night is warm and sultry, and dark clouds hide the stars in patches. Elsewhere they shine brightly. Dew forms on the ground.

 

Clang! Clatter! Chop! That's the sound of a sword striking a training dummy. The sword is, in fact, not the giant fuck-off two handed sword that Narah usually uses - that's still in the sheath across her back - but rather a khopesh, a one-handed curved sword(notice the trend here?) that's sort of like an elongated sickle, but double edged. The tall Veyshanti Highborn is grunting with some effort, moving through a series of motions, hacking at the poor training dummy like it's likely to spring to life and throttle her.

 

Aurala makes her way to the front lines. The large Dran female barbarian has her great maul slung over one shoulder as she walks along humming a bit to herself. She ate and now wanted to spend some times on the Front Lines.

 

Valeska has disconnected.

 

Bartaz is near the front line, himself, although he isn't practicing here. He's sitting at the edge of camp looking out across the battlefield. "it's quiet." he murmurs to anyone that'll listen. He turns around, "I like it that way."

 

Ceres has arrived.

 

The Averite arrives from the hospital tents tended to by the Altheans. Tho, she's lacking any signs of wear and tear, must have been a social call for Chandrakanta.

 

Roland is not with those who feel the need to practice their battlecraft, or anything quite so messy as you know, actual work or exercise. In fact, he's presently sitting on a stool -- no telling where he swindled that from whilst practicing his fingering with his recorder.

 

Face contentedly silent, Darshan leans against a set of crates and materials--a seat hastily made from available junk. He has a set of--cording? wrapped around his fingers, and slides it through a set of hardened, laquered leather scales, and through and through again. A dummy sits on the ground next to him, headless, armless, legless. He looks up at the practicing Daeusite occasionally, usually when there's a loud clang and something flies across the mock-battleground.

 

Whirlpool awwws. Where'd Calamity go.

 

Xander has arrived.

 

Narah is certainly displaying a lot of energy with her practise, if not the customary ease with which she usually swings that big falcata she has on her back. At length, though, she stands back, hooking the khopesh back to her belt, and leans down to retrieve a hand towel to mop sweat off her brow. Making her way over to the Sith'Makar seated near, she helps herself to a seat next to him. "Phew. I really ought to train more with a one-handed blade. I bought a shield the other day, and it just feels unfamiliar." Apparently she's learnt something about self-protection.

 

Ceres wanders about the camp, practing neither battlecraft or bardcraft, instead stretching her limbs, as it were. Various get greetings, a nod here, a wave there. One, however, gets aimed for. Well, two, as Narah joins in.

 

Xander goes OOC.

 

Xander has left.

 

Aurala dips her head and nods politely to those that she passes as she walks along. She recognizes a few faces but with everything that has been going on recently, it has been very easy to get lost in the crowd and such.

 

Bartaz finally stands up, and he heads over in Narah's direction, his rifle slung over his back for now. "Did you manage to get your armor patched, yet?" He asks the tall armored woman.

 

"Not a bad idea," the sith'makar straightens, and shakes his claws, briefly, to free the lacing. "But why the change? You always seemed to have a connection with that sword of yours," he looks up and grins to Ceres. A tail flicker offers the bard a seat, and he picks up another set of scales. Almost flat, they bear a slight S-curve that will place the top of one under the lip of the other, if pieced correctly. Claws check the size of the holes in the leather, and squints up at Bartaz, thoughtfully silent, then looks at the Highborn. "You need something worked on?"

 

It starts with a whisper. 

 

Something is happening. It's not a military movement. None of the commanding officers are barking, but almost immediately the first thing you notice is that Myrrish soldiers are immediately dropping to a knee, hand to forehead, in the distance. Whatever's causing this spontaneous kneeling is coming this way. 

 

 The first thing to be noticed is the quite obviously elite, plate armored guard, wearing the tabards that signify they're in the service of House Serenas. Up in the sky are numerous, *numerous* griffon riders, now. Oh yes. Something is definitely happening, though in this case, it would appear to be more 'someone'.

 

"Look! Up in the Sky!" Ceres adds a helpful hand, pointing to the griffin riders, before stepping over to sit down at the offered spot, "...were we expecting anyone important?" is added on, rather absently.

 

"Well, I do, but one must always be prep-- uh..." Narah looks up, distracted by the sudden movement, and then bolts to her feet immediately as her gaze finds the battalion of griffon riders. "By the Brilliant One! That is a LOT of griffons!" She's craning her neck, shielding her eyes against the sun with a hand, staring up at the spectacle. And it -is- quite a spectacle.

 

Karelin is sharpening his sword carefully, sitting in his mud-stained battleplate. First, he looks up, and his eyebrows raise. Then, he flips down his goggles and squints through them, peering for a better view.

 

Aurala turns with most the others and glances a bit, looking towards where the rest are. She tries to figure out what she is seeing.

 

Darshan looks up, and the tail flickers, uncurls. He shoffs the partly-pieced scalemail to the side and straightens--enough to drop to a knee, himself. The armor creaks as he does, the scales do. It's an unusual position for a sith'makar, but he does it, and can only glance in silent confusion at Ceres before looking down and ahead. "Serenas," he says at length, voice quietly rough, like stones, "is the House of the King."

 

Roland blinks as he looks up then stands, sweeping the instrument away into a pocket with a low whistle. "Surprised they'd send anyone...Least not after the last visit."

 

"It begins." Chandra whispers just audibly enough, as she adjusts the goggles over her eyes. She begins to look about for movement, transports. Anything besides the awe at the scene above.

 

Narah, for her part, drops to a knee as well as soon as she notices the design on the griffon riders' tabards, head lowered, one hand clutched into a fist and held over her chest. Veyshanti she may be, but she -is- a noble - if a rather minor one - and familiar with courtly etiquette.

 

Bartaz is, understandabl, quite surprised at the flight if Griffons overhead, he brings a hand to shield his eyes, and looks up at them. "Now, that is impressive." He murmurs, smirking.

 

Ceres blinks once, then twice, before nodding. Grabbing a bit of ground herself, the elf whispers to the sith'maker, "A bit of dust in the eye - I could not see the devices properly. Was the king supposed to be dropping in?" Also, hopefully that isn't literal.

 

Aleron has arrived.

 

Darshan gives a slow shrug in response, and looks ahead towards the riders. He stays where he is, posture matching those around him...though with him, the tail falls back in a straight line. "I don't know," he says, at length, watching the sky. "Lady Mandara would have received the news, were she here, I..." the muzzle clicks, slowly. The Lady Madrienne is not present. He did not receive word.

 

Karelin's arms fold on his chest, as he starts forwards. Metal scrapes on metal, as he moves up to get a better view.

 

Aleron is meanwhile narrowing his eyes at the unusual... mass cultural affliction as he wanders toward the clusters of soldiers, his ever-present briefcase in hand, possibly the only feature that would make an average-looking man in face, build, and height stand out. Who is coming, ponders he?

 

Valeska has connected.

 

Aurala shakes her head a bit to the side a little and then looks back and forth. She glances back up to watch trying to decide if she should kneel or not.           

 

More soldiers. Elite ones. A personal retinue and bodyguard for a man of importance and one who would obviously be a member of the House of Serenas himself. 

 

Next on the agenda are the golems. Four of them. Huge men made of iron, their features metal-sculpted into the likeness of plate armored warriors as well. Each one carroes a giant two handed blade. 

 

In the center of these four golems of iron is a man. A younger man. Clearly not the King if his age is any indication. He stands tall, however, and proud. His own armor, plate as well, moves with the silence and ease that only a heavily enchanted magical armor could possibly do so. It is emblazoned with the symbols of his House. 

 

A trumpeter begins to trumpet his arrival. They're making no hiding of it. A member of the royal house of the Myrrish Kingdoms is *here*.

 

Karelin's eyebrows raise a little at the spectacle, and he glances back and forth, checking the approaches carefully. He watches, hooking his gloves into his sword harness, and waiting.

 

Darshan glances upwards, and then holds, watching the man from his kneeling position. The tail flickers to a still--the rest of him does, quiet and as solid as a small boulder there in the heavy armor and heavy scale. His gaze falls on the nobleman's armor and...stills.

 

The look becomes slightly distracted.

 

He is taking notes.

 

Remaining on her knee, shifting slightly with the creak of well-maintained but entirely unmagical armour, Narah lifts her gaze enough to study the man. Under her breath, she hisses to the kneeling sith'makar beside her, "Do you know who this is?" Otherwise, she remains still, respectful, and silent.

 

Bartaz finally kneels when he realizes everyone else is. He's never been too clued in on heraldry and all that nonsense, but it does eventually dawn on him that his is someone important.

 

Valeska has reconnected.

 

 

Aurala is standing there for a moment and watching and then realizes even some of the few faces she recognizes are kneeling, so she lowers to one knee, the head of her great maul touching the ground. She keeps her face up though, watching.

 

Aleron sighs. He is not one for pomp and circumstance, but respect for customs dictates otherwise. He goes to one knee, setting his briefcase on the ground beside him, though does not stoop over.

 

Roland doesn't kneel, although his feet stretch out to shoulder width apart as his hands folds behind his back to clasp at the wrists in the classic parade-rest stance as he looks out, watching the approach.

 

The Averite continues to stand and watch. Chandra bows her head in deference, but does not kneel down. After all, she's not here for Myrridion. She's fighting for the people of Sendor.

 

Arianwen has arrived.

 

Darshan gives himself a shake at Narah's question, his reverie broken for a moment, and--looks at the face of the man again. After a pause, he remembers to translate--he shakes his head in the human style before going back to where he was.

 

--------------------  At a glance around The Front Lines  --------------------

 

Gauvain          14s 6'2"     213 Lb                                 

 

    A tall brown haired armored man.                                          

 

Arianwen         57s 5'0"     93 Lb      Wild Elf          Female    

 

    Gray cloak, shock of red hair beneath. Bow, sword.                        

 

Aleron            2m 5'8"     165 Lb                                 

 

    An unassuming man with a briefcase                                        

 

Ceres            12m 5'8"     130 Lb     Grey Elf          Female    

 

    Silver-haired elf, tall and extremely graceful                            

 

Narah             6m 6'1"     155 Lb     Eldanar           Female    

 

    Tall, dusky-skinned Highborn woman; green eyes.                           

 

Aurala            1m 6'2"     225 Lb                                 

 

    A large Dran woman, studded leather, great maul                           

 

Roland            4m 6'3"     220 Lb     Human             Male      

 

    6'3" charismatic man with auburn curls and hazel eyes.                    

 

Bartaz            1m 5'9"     144 Lb                                 

 

    Slim, Well-dressed Tsurai man. Rogueish, Jovial.                          

 

Darshan           0s 6'4"     274 Lb     Sith'makar        Male      

 

    Mechagodzilla                                                             

 

Valeska          10m 5'8"     142 Lb                                 

 

    A strawberry-haired aristocrat. Pith Helmet. Wrench.                      

 

Chandrakanta     17s 5'6"     140 Lb     Human/Veyshanti   Gurl      

 

    Dredlocked Veyshanti Averite with ink and blades.                         

 

Whirlpool         1m           Lb                                    

 

 

Karelin           8m 6'2"     232 Lb     Human             Male      

 

    Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.                          

 

==============================================================================

 

It's quite the scene. Everyone is kneeling. There's a -battalion- of griffon riders in the sky, as well as a quartet of enormous iron golems on the ground, surrounding a man in quite obviously enchanted and ornate armour. It makes Narah feel positively mean and unadorned, for all that her own armour is of exquisite make and gilded with symbols of the Daeusite faith. She's kneeling as well, her giant, curved two-handed sword peace-knotted and bound behind her back, nearly scraping the ground. Her hand is clasped into a fist, held over the emblem of her own noble house on her tabard.

 

Valeska has reconnected.

 

Ceres just stares at the young man, then gives a very quiet oath. In elvish.

 

Arianwen was out on patrol; she espied the gryphons in the sky, and after completing her mission, has hurried back to camp. She's just on the treeline, but makes sure to shake back her cowl and be obviously friendly, bowing deeply, though not subserviently, as she is no human, nor Myrridion. Her hands are nowhere near her weaponry. Her eyes brighten with curiosity as she listens to what he has to say, and her chin inclines towards those she knows in the camp.

 

Leaning against what passes for the remains of a tree, Gauvain notices the arrivals and spies all the people kneeling and such. He isn't hte first to show respect. Nor is he the last. The knight goes easily to one knee, hand holding the sword hilt and tipping it so that the sheathed weapon allows him to touch knee to ground. What he doesn't do is lower his head as low as the others. His eyes watch the procession, and the man in the armor. Taking it in. It's not to say he's got his head held high. It's lowered, just no where near as low as some of the others.

 

Karelin bows his head, after the Prince is announced. After all, he his who he is. He smiles thinly back at the Myrrish guardsmen, as he waits. The speech, though, is the thing.

 

Darshan's scales shudder, some unspoken response he doesn't translate--not now. His gaze focuses on the Prince and Heir, and, be it told, the armor. That--it deserves special note, from the tailoring to the symbology, and it gets a last, thoughtful look as the 'makar settles, apparently, waiting to listen.

 

Roland gives a slight incline of the head as the Prince is announced then looks up, letting the Prince take in all of his attention for whatever it is that's brought him here.

 

Valeska has partially disconnected.

 

Chandrakanta deserves those glares, but she's still not bowing to the son of the King of Myrridion. They certainly don't ruffle her posture or make her smile out of turn. Her expression is serene if anything, as if she knows that this will bring the battle that she's prayed for since the night Sendor fall those years ago.

 

Several Myrrish soldiers give dirty looks to those who aren't kneeling. One can almost feel the withering stares directed upon them. No doubt those who aren't are making friends tonight. 

 

The man slows to a halt and waves a hand, the protective retinue parting slightly to let him step forward. 

 

The trumpeter quickly then announces the man and his positions. 

 

"Daeus' blessings on you all! You behold Prince Verin of House Serenas! Heir to the Throne of the High King of the Myrrish Kingdoms! Prince of the Kingdom of the Lion, Duke of Shalehome, Lord of the Realm! May the Gods protect him and may the Gods Bless House Serenas, protector of the Myrrish Kingdoms and Her Allies." 

 

Prince Verim steps forward, then, his expression placid. Calm. Even this close to enemy lines, he does not seem the least bit ruffled. He takes a moment to survey the crowd assembled. He is a tall man, the blood of the Highborn running thick in his veins. Blond hair is cut short and he wears a symbol band around his head to signify his royal status beyond the exquisitely crafted, yet functional, armor he wears. 

 

Silence falls over the lines for a moment, here on this part of it. 

 

"Too long," he says, a voice quiet, yet one that can be heard by all willing to listen. 

 

"I say, too long! We have lingered here on this front for too long, staring down the blade and pike and cannon of our enemy. Too long have we been unable to push Kinnevack and her Bludgunni allies out of our lands! I say to you now, my countrymen, those days are -over-. We shall fight. We shall bleed. We shall die to free our Sendorian countrymen from the foul stench of oppression! No longer shall we tolerate this evil at our border. No longer shall we be viewed as a toothless lion whose best days are past!" 

 

He pauses, then points up. 

 

"There, up upon the high grounds above us looms the first place to fall. Fort Gettys. It was built by the best of the best of our minds of fortification and now it is held by the enemy, stolen by an act of treachery so vile that it will go down in the annals of history. Those who have sold their fellow man for coin and title will suffer the highest of penalties that the Law of the Kings can offer. Fort Gettys," he continues, "which will once again soon be in our Hands. And from there, the path lays open to us. The road ahead will be hard. You will lose friends. You will lose allies. But we must all stand together in the name of justice, no matter the cost." 

 

"We will fight side by side, as brothers will, without fear of death or pain, for in the pursuit of justice, no price is too high."

 

Aurala cocks her head to the side as she listens, nice speech, but words mean little in the long run. She looks around to see what effect the words have on others though.

 

"For Haley!" Chandrakanta shouts! Intending to fire up the population of Alexandrian adventurers. Obviously she approves of the speech, even if she doesn't bow.

 

Arianwen is not familiar with the appropriate human customs for what you do after a big fancy inspirational war speech, but back where she comes from, you throw back your head, face to the sky, and make a truly impressive war cry (especially given her relatively diminuative stature). So, well. She lets the ululation commence!

 

The sith'makar's tail thumps hard on the ground behind him at the end of the prince's speech, and he lifts his head, eyes partway closing in reptilian satisfaction. The tail THUMPs! again like a primitive drum on the ground behind, this one accented by heavy armor and heavy plating. And continues, picking up with the shouts as an undercurrent and heavy heartbeat.

 

Bartaz isn't usually one given to cheering, but he does give a Hoo-rah along with the rifle corps. Brotherhood of the gun, and all that.

 

Gauvain stands and leans back against the tree he was previously leaning against. He doesn't give a shout of encouragement. He doesn't even smile. He just watches and listens. His eyes do lift to regard the fortification. He looks to Arianwen and then to Darshan. See'ing how the non humans reply. Then his eyes go back to the prince.

 

Aleron seems to take the moment to stand back up... and peer over the scene, rather than celebrate. Now where is that person he came here to deliver papers to... His eyes dance over the people in the crowd...

 

As the shouts and cheers rise, so does Narah. She doesn't draw her sword - one doesn't do that in the presence of royalty, no matter how fired up one is - but a fist is raised to the sky, and her voice joins the thunderous roar that meets the Prince's speech.

 All around, soldiers rise as they join the cheer; the sound rumbles and crashes deafeningly, joined by stamps on the ground, fists against shields, in a rising martial rhythm fit to answer the challenge Prince Verin has laid down.

 

Valeska was observing at a distance with her remote auditory and visual observation equipment! She was writing down a few notes, observing the speach with scientific disinterest. Oh my, something was going to happen soon! She fumbles a little with some of her newly completed experimental kit, popping a spherical featurless brass diving-styled helmet atop her head, and activating the single red eye of the metal technological visage, before starting off over to observe things more closely!

 

Roland gives a brief grunt, "Gettys...This should be fun." He relaxes his posture as soldiers begin to cheer, turning back to give a nod towards Chandra as she takes up the cry for Haley.

 

Aurala shakes her head and rises to her feet. She shakes it a bit and glances around. She nods, the speech might have had the effect it was looking for, though only time will tell for sure.

 

Ceres doesn't thump a tailt or roar, but a trained voice can do a damn good job in adding to the noise. Just in more pleasing notes.

 

Karelin is content to put his fist in the air, and roar his approval for the speech. He might not kneel, but he gives good battlecry when the occassion demands.

 

Arianwen has reconnected.

 

Arianwen has partially disconnected.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* The Front Lines *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

    This is a hilly area on the outskirts of southern Sendor. Bludguni and Myrrish troops face each other across a wide valley. With the spring thaw, the entire valley has been churned into a disgusting, bloody mud by the two armies. Bludguni forces currently hold the pass and the high ground, and are camped behind the hills. The Myrddion army is camped a little distance away, by a stream fed from a different, cleaner valley without a handy pass. Up near the head of the valley, the Bludgun army has left behind a huge mass grave that is said to be haunted.

 

Near the Myrrish camp, far away from the actual front lines as to be considered fairly 'safe' at the moment, is the de-facto command center and entertainment establishment in the area, a tavern called the Blushing Rosalia. It's somewhat the worse for wear, but the many officers and adventurers in the army provide the owners with a steady supply of coin.

 

Not far from the Blushing Rosalia are the numerous tents that make up the field hospital, where the wounded are brought back to be healed. The air near those tents smells of whiskey and herbal poultices.

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 Arianwen        Gray cloak, shock of red hair beneath. Bow, sword.    13s  5m

 Karelin         Tattooed Korite warrior. Tall, dark and scarred.      1m   4h

 Chandrakanta    Dredlocked Veyshanti Averite with ink and blades.     8s   8h

 Darshan         Mechagodzilla                                         0s   1h

 Aurala          A large Dran woman, studded leather, great maul       4m   3h

 Gauvain         A tall brown haired armored man.                      27s  43m

 Whirlpool                                                             7m   2h

 Roland          6'3" charismatic man with auburn curls and hazel eyes 2m   2h

 Ceres           Silver-haired elf, tall and extremely graceful        11m  2h

 Aleron          An unassuming man with a briefcase                    12m  1h

 Valeska         A strawberry-haired aristocrat. Pith Helmet. Wrench.  1m   37m

 Bartaz          Slim, Well-dressed Tsurai man. Rogueish, Jovial.      19s  2h

 Narah           Tall, dusky-skinned Highborn woman; green eyes.       34s  1h

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Myrrish Camp <MC>         Fort Getty's <FG>         Road To Sendor <RTS>

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 

A good orator knows when to let the crowd expel the energy a speech has been building and the Prince is clearly an exceptional orator when it comes to this. As the voices of the Myrrish soldiers rise high, shields are pounded and other such expressions, he nods his head, looking satisfied. As the cry of remembering Councilwoman Lunatec goes up, he pauses for a moment and then smiles, nodding his head in agreement. He raises his hand, signifying that the outbursts should end. And they do. A good orator also knows how to command the crowd and he does. Swiftly. 

 

Silence once again falls back over the grounds. 

 

"We must not forget those who have already fallen. The Alexandrians speak of their fallen Councilwoman and rightly so. Her murder shows that there was no low to which Kinnevack and her fellow *monsters* wouldn't stoop. There is no sacred ground on which they would not trod. Our temples, our centuries of culture, have been looted by those who value only the gold which makes our most treasured items. They strip Sendor of our heritage. When we reclaim our lands, *all* our lost territories, we will build anew. Great temples, greater works of art. We can never replace that which was lost, but we can make new on the promise of our Kingdom." 

 

"Let us, too, not forget our allies. For those of you who have shed blood with us are as our brothers. The friendship between the Myrrish Kingdoms and Alexandria is now bound in blood in a way that it was never before. As we helped to free Alexandria, so too you help us free our Kingdom. A blood debt paid in kind. Know that this will nver be forgotten and that our mutual admiration and brotherly love only will grow deeper as time passes." 

 

"There will be enough time to remember the fallen when the battle is over. And there will be, I am sad to say, many more. We must be as steel, unyielding in the face of powers that will move to strike down everything we love. Our enemy has shown no compunction about striking at the very heart of everything we love." 

 

He lifts his chin. 

 

"One week ago, there was even an attempt on the life of the *king* in the brewing, but it was thwarted through the timely intervention of His Highness' Hounds. I do not bring this up to show our weakness, but rather, to show that we all share the same threats to our loved ones, to our families. We are bound together this way and none can rest until all our safe." 

 

He gestures towards the lines. 

 

"They claim not to fear us. They claim that we are toothless. That we can never dislodge them from that which they have taken, but with each passing day, they grow weaker in the face of our might."

 

Karelin's eyes narrow, and he starts scanning the ranks -- looking for agents of the Hound. He offers them a grim smile. He hammers his chest with his fist once, at talk of Alexandrian alliances and the bonds of friendship. Wordless approval.

 

Darshan's head jerks up at the mention--a hiss, a rattling hiss escapes the sith'makar and the tail stops in its heartbeat--and picks up again in strength, slamming into the ground again and sending dust flying. Thrum! it goes, and thrum! the rhythm of an ancient and primitive drum there in the battlefield, and he beats it, beats it with the cry of the crowd. Apparently--he hadn't known about the attempt.

 

Aurala watches and listens for a moment. Some of this is news and she wants to learn all she can.

 

Gauvain's face is impassive as he listens to the speech from the Prince. He folds his arms over his chest and continmues to watch the goings on. The crowd gets worked up, but the Knight doesn't seem to be. Even the news of the attempt on the king garners only a raised eyebrow. His eyes eventually travel back to fortification.

 

Bartaz raises his brows, at word of an attempt on the king, but even he- master of cool, or so he would like people to believe, can't help but feel the energy opf the crowd, and the speach beign given pounding.

 

Arianwen continues to listen to the oration, but she ceases to watch; when all eyes are on a great speaker, nobody's eyes are on the dark figure in the trees who seeks to end his life. Some other dark figure! So, while she follows the conversation, her ears are starting to flicker for danger, and her eyes scan the area. Her expression changes subtly, none of the ferocity leaving it, but it is now very grave, as well.

 

Again the voices of the soldiers, the Irregulars and the camp personnel are raised in a deafening shout. A shout of defiance, of anger -- no, of -rage- against the depredations of the enemy. Again the rhythm is taken up, the fists slamming against shields and feet stamping the ground, as the crowd responds in the most effective way a crowd knows -- a roar. And Narah roars with them, stomping her feet in time with the rhythm, nourishing the flames of battle lust and thirst for vengeance that the Prince's speech fans into being.

 

And there is a smile now on Chandra's face. Her shouts not lost in the crowd, other echo her previous shouts "For Haley" The words blending into the other shouts of approval. Its a song that all of the gods of battle will hear. She beats on no armor, instead she raises a blade, just a dagger, "Kinnevack's blood will annoint the battlefield." Her words determined, as if she will spill its first drops herself.

 

Ceres frowns at the mention of the murder attempt, as she listens to the speech given. For now, the elf is silent.

 

Serene has arrived.

 

"And they lie. I've seen that here this night that they lie. The war-torn landscape, the faces of men who long to be home with their families. Too long," says Prince Verin, shaking his head, "too long. I can not promise you all that victory will come quickly. There are months of bloodshed ahead, but know that victory *will* come. We will reach it. *Die* for it. Claim it. Our destiny in our own hands and with the guidance of the Gods we can once again take back what bas been stolen. The Gods Blessing on all of you. Know that I have brought with me one of the High Priests of Ecclesia. In two days time, he will lead a prayer to ask the Gods to bless us." A smile from the Prince. "Now, I ask that you all understand that I wish to speak with as many of you as I can. I want to hear your stories so that none will be forgotten. How could I forget what I see here now? It will be seared into my memory as surely as anything else. Never will I forget, when I ascend the throne, the bravery and determination on the faces of so many. The Gods blessing on -all- of you." And with that, he steps down, seeming exhausted. He sways slightly, overcome with emotion, before being steadied by an assistant. He begins approaching the lines, the golems still keeping close to him, but he waves a hand and forces them to part enough that he can begin mingling with the men as soldiers do. 

 

It is quite obvious that they are already enamored by him.

 

Darshan's tail slows, slows to a slow curl and uncurl as he watches, without saying a word for a while. He glances over towards Narah, and... "I like the armor," solemn, and there's a hint of light to it, an almost-smile before turning back around to watch the prince.

 

Aurala moves back a bit and watches the Prince move about the soldiers. Definitely can give a speech and sway the crowd. She makes of course no hostile movements, just leans on her great maul.

 

Gauvain's eyes never leave the Prince when he speaks. But they then go immediately to the reaction of the growing crowd around the royal. The Cheers. The Thumping. The adoration. The Knight looks to Darshan at the comment and says softly, speaking for the first time since this all began, "Let's see how pretty it is if he keeps his word." He sighs and shakes his head lightly before going back to watching the rest of the crowd. He does his best to not let his eyes linger on anyone who is clearly Sendoran.

 

Aleron stays quiet and in the background, as per usual, unless thrust to the front. He picks up his briefcase and keeps searching the crowd for his subject...

 

Narah drops a hand to Darshan's shoulder, even though she actually has to reach -up- to do so, and murmurs back, "There goes a man who knows how to work a crowd." Her grin back at the hulking Sith'Makar is genuine, but with a note of wryness, as though the Veyshanti Highborn is making mental notes to find the man's speechwriter.

 

Karelin grins, standing back. Watching.

 

Roland makes no move to join the throng of admirers pressing on the prince. Instead he just grins as he turns and walks back towards the more familiar faces from Alexandria.

 

Arngrim arrives and is rather fashionably late at that given that he's just completely missed the crown prince speech and so has no context to place all of the cheers and grinning people in. He just shakes his head and rumbles, "Tth. Myrrish. There must be something in the water. Again." He shoulders his enormous great maul and begins moving his elephantine mass through the crowd of soldiers and laymen.

 

Arianwen hears Darshan's words, and a corner of her lips twitch in what might be wry agreement. Just the tiniest hint of a smile. She takes a few steps back, away from the crowd, curiosity actively warring with instinctive protectiveness of the celebrants now; the urge to join the fray and the need to stay apart. Finally, cloak flicking behind her, she nods to the Prince, and fades back into the woods, resuming her admittedly self-imposed post, safe within her comfort zone as sentry.

 

"...it's the armor," solemnly returned, with a half-grin. He forgets the teeth for a moment, and they show there in the Myrrish daylight as the sith'makar moves to stand, armor and legs creaking from having knelt so long. "You know it draws attention," and the last is solemn and wry, with a hint of Coyote under the formality that lets him, even, grin at Gauvain.

 

Narah echoes the grin, again, and brushes an imaginary speck of dirt off the gold-emblazoned symbol of the Sunburst of Daeus on one of the pauldrons of her own plate armour. "Makes one feel practically underdressed," she notes, pitched just loud enough to be heard under the clamour of the cheering masses.

 

Bartaz

 

Shrugging his own armored shoulder, Gauvain watches Arianwen head out and looks to Darshan and Narah. "I'll reserve judgement until I see the man beneath the armor. Gods know I've made that mistake once already." He goes back to scanning the crowd of Myrish peoples looking on. He gestures with one hand as he speaks to Darshan. "I think I need a drink."

 

The Averite puts away her dagger, quieting her shouts as the prince mills into the crowd of soldiers. Chandra seems satisfied with the words. Speaking to the people around her, "Two more days.." Its too long for her.

 

Darshan's tail flickers, lashes and he looks at the other Sunblade. "I want to watch," he says, the words solemn, and nods towards the prince. "Go ahead, but...I'm not sure when I'll have this chance again. And Ganesa's going to ask," the last, said with a wry irritation so thick, one could miss the fondness.

 

Neynos has arrived.

 

Aleron seems to sigh. His briefcase is crammed back into his backpack. Perhaps the person he seeks is not about. With empty hands, he continues to survey the crowd.

 

Karelin settles in, moving to quietly mingle with the Myrrish guard. Dirty looks, or not, he has certain common ground with them -- and the chatter of camp living soon takes over.

 

So the Prince begins working his way throuigh the crowds of soldiers, thronging him as they are in an attempt to offer him praise, thank yous, and other such things. He's royalty, after all, and he's -their- royalty when it comes to the Myrrish. The golems stand watchfully over him, but a bit behind now that he's taken the point. The armored guards have spread out more to watch for any potential threat, occasionally stopping a man to make sure he's not too enthusiastically getting close to the Prince in a way that could actually cause problems. Indeed, he begins nearing Arianwen's position first, the prince's eyes locking on the elf for a moment curiously. 

 

"I had not thought to see so many of the elves here on the front lines. It is good to know that not all of them have left the affairs of Man behind them."

 

"What did I miss? Was there...hrn..giving out of gifts and party favors?" inquires Arngrim as he looms into view, suddenly seeming to emerge from the crowd behind Darshan, Gauvain and Narah much like a mountainous island rising into view out of a dense fog at sea. He's just sort of 'there'. Loom.

 

"Who was the one in the fancy armor? It was impressive! But I wonder if he is as skinny as a halflings leg under all that. Some Myrrish do not eat enough meat."

 

Valeska has disconnected.

 

"Prince Verin, son of the High King of Myrddion," replies Narah, drily, half-turning and tilting her head back - way back - to meet Arngrim's gaze. She's grinning still, bright white teeth against all that dark skin almost as startling as her incongruously bright green eyes. "I daresay there will be gifts of good fights and party favours of the heads of the enemy, if the Prince holds to even half of what he set in motion today."

 

"He's the Prince," comes the reply, and Darshan settles underneath his own armor. The tail flickers with it, again. "/The/ prince, Prince--" pause, "What she said," wry, and with a cheerfulness to it that's slow and warm and matches Narah's grin, but doesn't show the same way, neither smile nor grin. "He says we're going to retake the Fort," pause, "And spit in the Bludguni eye while doing it."

 

"Its about time." Chandra begins to work through the crowd as well, heading over to where the other old guard irregulars stand. "Two days.. I wonder if Kinnevack heard that." Speaking to Roland and Karelin, she manages to resist smirking.

 

"If a prince is here sayin', it," says a soldier with a big grin to Chandra, "you can bet your last copper that they knew a long time ago when the attack was gonna begin. Gonna be bloody."

 

Aurala starts to wander off as she considers all that she heard, and is looking forward to things getting a bit more agressive, but then again she is a barbarian, and dran to top it off.

 

Roland says, "Probably...Though it's not like we've made any secret about wanting that Fort back. I just hope the Prince there has listened to the intel about what sort of defenses they have in place before sending off a charge.""

 

Karelin nods towards the soldier, Chandra, Roland. "Kinnevack already knew, no doubt." A nod to the soldier. "Doesn't matter now, though."

 

"I can hande bloody." Chandra replies to the soldier. The scars that cross her skin where there isn't ink speak volumes on that. "No, I think everyone is raring to go, I just wish we didn't have to wait.." The wheels are already beginning to click, no doubt she'll find a way not to.

 

Arngrim wrinkles his nose at Narah's comments, as if imagining eating treats from the top of a severed head. In fact he's thinking exactly that. "I do not know if that is....sanitary.." he rumbles at Narah. "However it is an impressive feat if the King of the West has sent his son here. Though I see he does not come lightly escorted." His gaze flickers to note the impressive array of decked out iron golems and assorted sundries. "Fort? ....What fort?"

 

Karelin nods once, grunning. "I'm sure." He cracks his neck. "Fort Getty is well defended."

 

Gauvain runs a hand through his hair and pulls out a whiskey flask. Popping the top he takes a small swig. He grits his teeth for a moment as the fire of the drink hit shim and then goes back to looking over the crowd. "Darshan? Ever had a Human drink called Whiskey?" He holds the Flask out to the Sith and notices Arngrim. Then he blinks. Becuase he has no idea HOW he missed Arngrim.

 

Arianwen pauses in her retreat to meet the Prince's eyes, vibrant hair spilling over her shoulders as she shakes her head, chin tilting upward in order to see him properly. It's hard to hear her reply over the noise of the throng, but those who can hear a mixture of humility and determination in her oddly gentle, if heavily accented, tones. Certainly it's more polysyllable words than she's strung together in recent memory. "Restoring balance and righteousness is the affair of everyone who seeks a harmonious world. Your peoples' suffering and death is felt." She lays a slender hand on her heart. "We rise and fall as one."

 

Narah has disconnected.

 

The Prince smiles, miming the elven lass' gesture with a hand to his breastplate before responding to her in perfect, or at least as near perfect as one with human ears can get, elvish. "<something you don't understand in elven>" And with that, he begins moving down the line again, finding his way towards the cluster that is Darshan, Narah, Karelin and Chandrakanta and numerous other soldiers, greeting them, spekaing to them, thanking them. His eyues briefly lock on Gauvain. And his marks. He frowns.

 

Darshan lets go a slow breath and inhales the air above the whisky...pauses, and a wry spark touches the paladin's eyes. "It carries a kick. I think I've tried it a time or two," and he takes the flask, and--that's how he's caught by the Prince of Myrridion.

 

With a flask of whisky in his claws.

 

It slips through, and falls to the bloodied earth with a soft thuk.

 

Bartaz has disconnected.

 

Aurala has disconnected.

 

Arngrim's head swivels on his tree trunk of a neck and he looks down at Gauvain, returning the mans surprised gaze with an intense one of his own. He wrinkles his nose slightly as if trying to ascertain the source of Gauvain's confusion and then seems t conclude that he himself is the source of the paladins astonishment. "..I am Dran Juggernaut." he rumbles, as if expecting that to explain everything from the color of the sky to why he's so freakishly frakin' huge.

 

"There isn't much that isn't well defended, but we'll get it back. Odds are the Bludguni in Fort Gettys heard the roar of the crowd and pissed themselves." Chandra speaks without a filter on her tongue, you'd never know she came from a respected family in Veyshan. She notices the Prince and even that doesn't quiet her tongue, "They better make certain the clean up crew bring something to remove the smell of urine."

 

Ceres would have loved seeing that. However, the elven bard is currently elsewhere in the crowd.

 

Neynos stands somewhere in the throng, chatting with one of the soldiers, and trying not to let it show how deadly dull the man's stories are. The prince drawing ever-nearer is a good an excuse as any to break away. "Excuse me a moment, Pip." The man shrugs, and simply turns to the next person behind Neynos and picks up the story where he left off, while Neynos moves closer to the front of the crowd.

 

Ceres goes OOC.

 

Ceres has left.

 

Gauvain nods his head to Arngrim. In about the same tone he says to the larger man, "Gauvain Tarris." 

 

 The Approach of the Prince however gets a completely different reaction. For those that know Gauvain, he is not known to back down ever. Even when standing wiht most of his body through death's door. But at the gaze of the prince, he turns his head and looks at something on the ground. He says Softly, "Your Majesty." It's like almost not his voice. Not the commanding tone he normally tries to use, or the gruff tone he uses with his Sendor accent mixed with the common speach of a Soldier. It's soft, still hard, but more in way of a man who knows he's done something.

 

Narah has connected.

 

"Ha!" The Prince likes Chandrakanta's tone, it would appear. "I think you've a point there, Veyshan. The stink of Bludgunni fear is a welcome thing, though. I want them to be afraid. They've done much to earn it." One eye is still on Gauvain, a troubled look on his face for a moment before he nods towards the others. "I trust you're all members of the Irregulars, yes? Good. I hope to see all of you in action soon enough. Perhaps we'll even have a chance to shed blood side by side as brothers ought to."

 

Narah has disconnected.

 

Darshan's hand drops after the flask had dropped, and he says not a word but closes his eyes a moment in inhales the air around him. And eyes the other Sunblade, curiously, curiously...except...there's that armor. He rubs at the side of his face--Chandra's overheard comments threaten a grin, but there it is. He looks torn between noting one or the other. 

 

It's damn fine armor.

 What the Prince says keeps buzzing around his head, sort of like an irritating fly. Won't he shut up so he can just see the damn armor? ...but thought in more, paladinc-friendly phrasing.

 

Roland says, "There's more than a few I'd just as well didn't shit and flee in terror -- so much more effort to knock some sense into them when they run away."

 

Karelin looks up, and nods towards the Prince, as he moves past. He follows the gaze, scowling, squinting towards the target. "Well, I'm sure the generals have figured out how to deal with the magical shielding on the artillery there."

 

Gauvain finds something to stare at on the ground. His Whiskey flask. It's shiney. It's metal. It's his. And it's not looking the Prince in the eyes. One hand moves to his head and he runs a hand through his hair before bringing it back down to his side. His sword arm slowly comes up and plays wiht the holy symbol around his next. But he says nothing to the Prince or anybody else unless spoken to.

 

"...it's nice armor," solemn. The sith'makar has a one track mind. He gives the other paladin a thoughtful, appraising look, "We need to get you something better. Sturdier. Get you out of that dress." And Darshan crouches a moment to pick up the flask, and silently return it.

 

"Indeed we are.. irregulars." Chandra pronounces the last word as if she doesn't really like the term, "I'm one of Averium's flock, a Holy Liberator. I welcome the chance to fight with brother and sisters for this cause. You did well in lighting a fire for the fighters here, I've not seen a speech raise spirits like that since Lord Zak spoke on the Battleground."

 

Serene picks her way around to people she recognizes, some more familiar than others, until she reaches Darshan and company. Only to find them in audience with the prince and his bodyguards and other followers.

 

"Oh." rumbles Arngrim at Gauvain, "....Dran Juggernaut is not my name. It is what I am. I am Arngrim.. though..I suppose.. 'of Dran'..might be appropriate." But he suddenly quiets as the prince approaches. He makes no overt gesture of acknowledgement besides a light nod of his head while backing away to give the prince room to manuever. So far as Dran rules of etiqutte go, as far as he's concerned he just bowed near to the ground for the man. "Irregulars.." he does rumble, finding the term distasteful, "I am no employee of Alexandros. I am here on my own will, as an adventurer and mercenary. the term 'Irregular' helps them to think they have control over some of us. They do not."

 

"Thank you," says Prince Verim to Darshan. "It was crafted by our finer smiths to my specifications." A nod follows and then he adds, "You'rs is.. interesting. You follow the path of the so-called 'Titan', do you not? Titan Armor?" He squints at it, inspecting it for a moment. "My compliments to its crafter." And then he swings his gaze towards Karelin, Arngrim, and Chandrakanta. The last gets an eyeballing for a long moment. "I am a Son of the House of Serenas. We are leaders of men. It is what we *do*. There is no more time to be spent waiting on *generals* to make decisions." He sniffs.

 

Aleron seems to just quietly watch the gathering, his arms crossing over his chest as he stays still, standing with his weight shifted to his right foot. He is really, really not one for pomp and circumstance.

 

Darshan flashes a quick smile Serene's way--/that/ translated, into a broad grin across the sith'makar's muzzle, and he lifts his chin towards the prince's armor, and--gets caught in the middle of the fanlizardism. It's just his day. "Ahm..." yes? He lowers his chin, and the mouth snaps shut. Clicks shut, and the tail flickers, slowly, behind. "Thank you. It is, yes, it is."

 

Karelin's grin broadens a little. "Then I am sure you have had the best of briefings." He cracks his head from side to side, neck popping a little. "War is agnostic; there is something great here to grasp."

 

Gauvain takes the Flask and puts it away. Quietly. He looks up once he's done at looks at the Prince Verim. He still doesn't speak, but he does look up. Then he looks around around with just his eyes. Noting the body guards and what they're doing before looking back at the ground.

 

Chandrakanta actually laughs, like the prince said something that amused her. "Some Generals have tongues more inspired then those of the House of Serenas, but those tales are for other times when war is over." Standing by her words.

 

The aura of 'Savage Northman' causes the fandom rays being fired off by the Prince to deflect harmlessly off of Arngrim. He just watches with a certain degree of obliviousness that you just know is going to end up leading to an international incident of some sort. As it is, he looks at Gauvain and quirks his mouth in a slight look of confusion, as if trying to figure out the reason for the mans change in body language though he glances back over to Chandrakanta and the Prince upon hearing his reply to her.

 

"Fascinating. I should like to study it some time. Such armors are rare. I will have word sent to you later so that you might bring it by my tent so that I might see it." did Darshan just get invited to come show his armor to the Prince? He so did. A look at his livery is taken as well. "I trust Lady Madrienne is recovering well?" And then he is distracted, a flash of temper in his eyes at Chandra's words. Real anger that is immediately and willfully controlled. "House Serenas.. I need not remind you of who we are and what we do any further, but I would suggest you avoid giving me any further reason to take offense. I doubt you truly mean some of these things, however, so I will let it slide in the name of focusing on the real enemy at our border." A nod towards them. A smile. "I will be seeing you again soon, no doubt." And he turns to march away, making his way further along the line.

 

Roland's eyebrows lift as he smirks quietly as childhood memories seem to come into play as there are apparently times the bard learned to keep his mouth shut.

 

Karelin's lips turn upwards, as he notes: "Well. Not everyone can turn a champion of Garm into an ally with well-placed words. Its not..." He hides chuckles in a coughing fit.

 

Gauvain visibly exhales and slumps against the tree he had been leaning against during the Prince's speech. He looks to the sky and then closes his eyes for a moment. He then calmly removes his gloves, tucks them behind his belt and rubs his face for a momet with his hands before standing back up and looking around. He tries to note the location of the Prince's bodyguards and notice if any are glaring with daggers at him before looking to Darshan. "I'm -=NOT=- coming with you if that was an invitation."

 

Serene tilts her head to Darshan, then settles on her heels. She heard the speech, from a distance.. getting to actually see the prince is a treat. And when she sees the prince's armour, and hears the interplay between the two.. she gives her head a small shake, perhaps to hide the hint of a smile that bends her lips.

 

"Perhaps not, but I usually speak exactly what I mean, Your Highness, it is the manner of my tribe." Chandra explains, "Not an insult." Karelin gets the Averites attentions, "You should not take it as such."

 

Gape. Darshan gapes, and the sith'makar stands there in his scale and his heavy armament, and watches silently, silently, as the man strides away, "...I think...I will have a story for...Ganesa, when one gets back." And that's probably all he has to say. The Heir of the Myrrish Kingdom just invited him over. To talk about armor. The other comments...don't even register.

 

"The deeds of House Serenas are well known." notes Arngrim to Karelin and Chandra as the prince begins to leave, "I've noted that there is a habit among some of you to try and elevate your friend 'Zak' to legendary status. Rawsone did the same to me and refused to even accept the hint of the notion that I am physically stronger then he was. Take care you do not accidentally offend..the heir to the Myrrish throne." he smirks slightly, "Even a Dran could see -that- arguement smouldering."

 

As the Prince moves away, a seneschal stops by the others, muttering to himself. He hands Darshan a piece of paper, an invitation such as it is, before he pauses to eye Gauvain again himself. "You, " he says, "Are lucky he did not choose to have you hung for those marks on your face. He has spoken much about doing so to others, but I believe he assumed there was a reason you were allowed to live and be here. You will tell *me* in case he changes his mind."

 

Karelin looks at Arngrim, fingers lacing together. He shakes his head, and chuckles now. He wipes a hand across his mouth, and exhales. "I've met the father, and the father is very impressive. The son faces a chance to step into something new. It would be a special thing to be liberator of Sendor."

 

"You've met the shadows of the true men they chose to reveal to you at that time." rumbles Arngrim, neutrally, to Karelin "These are men of royalty and power. Is not Myrddion your 'lords' nation? These men have been playing the game of manipulating the masses longer then you and I have been adventuring together. Well seasoned before our time of being tricked by a Stormgarde spy." his gaze turns to watch as the Prince retreats off, "Take care that we do not begin judging beyond our means."

 

Gauvain blinks at the Seneschal and says evenly. "I and Gauvain Tarris of House Tarris of Galenthia. I serve Deaus as a Knight of the Order to atone for the Wrongs I have done and the thousands I have killed." He stands a little taller and looks the man in the eyes. "Do you wish to know more, or can we leave it to the gods to decide?"

 

Roland shakes his head, "The prince is bound to meet many tests of both his mettle and his patience here. Let us hope for all that the heir is such a man to rise with dignity and grace..." There's a momentary frown as he notes the interchange between Gauvain and the seneschal, "...and that we all recall just whom we have gathered to do battle with."

 

The Seneschal's face darkens considerably at his words. "So you *admit* to the acts of treachery for which you are branded? Brave. You have been accepted into an Order of *Daeus*?" He seems shocked. Troubled. Deeply so by this news.

 

Darshan looks up from the paper in his claws, a paper he's now folding away. And looks at the other Sunblade more keenly, then, keenly as he draws in the air around them as though--as though experiencing the tension on another level, smelling it, feeling it coalesce in the air around them. ...and breathes it out, harshly, quickly, as he straightens and looks at the both of them.

 

Chandrakanta shakes her head as Arngrim speaks, she doesn't dismiss him outright, "I complimented his speech, it was true what I said, it had been since the battleground did a speech raise my spirits."

 

In the menatime, the Prince is continuing making his way down the lines of men, greeting one and all. The golems and riders also keep an eye overhead. 

 

They are soon joined by an even more impressive site. A great, winged beast. A dragon. Bronze in color. Up in the sky. It dives towards the high grounds, sending the enemy scattering all directions. A great gout of flame is breathed onto a portion of the enemy lines, frying many, many, *many* of them to a crisp. 

 

THe prince pauses, looks up. 

 

"About time," he says, cheerfully, before turning back to the men who are busily staring awstruck once more. 

 

"...there will be no more holding back on any of our resources," he adds.

 

"Well...it matters not to me." Arngrim raises a hand neutrally to Chandra, Roland and Karelin, "I am an outsider and consider myself as such. I don't even think of myself as an Irregular. I spoke out of concern on your behalf. Do as you feel led." At this point the words of the seneschal reach his ears and he blinks a few times and turns slightly to look over to Gauvain though the passage of the dragon does suitably distract him and he rears back to watch as the beast soars overhead towards the enemy lines to attend to its purpose here.

 

Karelin grins at Arngrim. "You amaze me from time to time. Would that you turn your lens inwards." His head swings around to study Gauvain harshly, before, and -grins-.

 

Roland watches the dragon's flight with a smile spread wide, at least until the Prince's words reach him and then there's a deep breath. "Well I for one, keep finding wonderous reminders of why I chose to make Alexandria my home where I can list such braze souls amidst my compatriots."

 

"I admit everything and hide nothing." Gauvian says plainly. "I will make no excuses and tell no lies. The Dragon accepted me as I searched for redemption. It is he who will judge me when it is time for me to draw my last breath on this plane." He shrugs. "If you wish I cna tell you blow by blow how Galenthia fell. Or even a number of the towns in the countryside. Where the unit I was placed in command of marched and what we did." He taps his breastplate over his heart. "Those are the memories I hold and that I seek redemption for."

 

The dragon distracts Chandra, it is not often she sees them from this side of the fence. "Then thank you, Arngrim of Dran, and I will go where the flames of Averium lead me."

 

"And what is that supposed to mean?" asks Arngrim of Karelin, his tone slightly sharp and perturbed. "You imply what?" He arcs an eyebrow at Chandrakanta and then simply nods his head. He glances back at Gauvain though, seemingly confused.

 

"I didn't know," Darshan says, looking at Gauvain, the look harsh and blunt, the tail lashing with it. "...but some of us need the Father worse than others." And the rest of the words--he isn't good with words today, and it's a good thing the Dragon overhead distracts them--because it's one more thing to him to stare at. And...he probably couldn't think of a thing to say anyway. Not...now.

 

"...I..." The seneschal visibly has to compose himself. "..you will come with me," he tells Gauvain, "and we will see to th truth of your words. Or.." The rest is left hanging. "Someone will be required to.. to vouch for the truth of your words. I find it doubtful that the Dragon would take one who has done the deeds you claim to've done."

 

Karelin waves a hand towards Arngrim, as he watches the dragon, with a broad, almost childish grin on his face. "Think it through, Arngrim." He's totally distracted, though. Dragon dragon dragon.

 

Arianwen goes OOC.

 

Arianwen has left.

 

Gauvain bows his head. Then he unstraps his blade and hands it to Darshan. Smiling he says, "I knew this might happen eventually. If they DO decide to hang me. See that Myra get's my love. Also. Give this to the young aspiring Hatchling. He holds promise, and should have a good weapon. I don't have a child of my own, so I'd like to see it passed to one worthy. It was my father's." He then looks to the Seneschal and says plainly, "As you wish."

 

Arngrim seems disinclined to do so and he looks balefully at Karelin and huffs slightly, "For a Korite you speak in riddles." But he is distracted, soon enough, "And these Myrrish have such strange views of Platinum Dragon. Much unlike the tribe I was raised in. Does this one over here mean to imply that it is not in the capacity of Daeus' goodness to forgive and accept one that seeks redemption or to redress the wrong deeds of the past? I would be fearful to attend such religious services as there are none of us perfect." comments Arngrim a little too loudly.

 

"Perhaps, friend giant, he is merely disbelieving that some wrongs can be redressed at all," Serene offers up from behind Darshan, having found her voice after the dragon's arrival. "It is simple enough for one to claim redemption. Another thing entirely for it to be true."

 

Aleron goes home.

 

Aleron has left.

 

Neynos has disconnected.

 

Darshan looks at Gauvain a long time, a long, long time. It isn't often you hear news like that, hear an admission. The death of thousands, this misleading of troops. He takes the blade silently, and lowers it to the ground as he watches the other man, and the tail...flickers, the only outward show. "I will watch it," he says, solemn, and looks to the Seneschal. "And one would go with you, if that's permitted. If this man is to be one's Brother, I would learn his mettle." He lifts his chin towards Gauvain, "He said he wasn't afraid to speak."

 

Karelin gives a grunt at Serene's words, and nods. "Wise, that." He grins, lacing his fingers together, stretching his arms with another pop. "My brothers in arms are not simpletons."

 

"I do not find wisdom in that. You imply mortal limits on the gods abilities to forgive and see all ends." rumbles Arngrim sourly, "There is more wisdom in not doing that over doing it. But perhaps Daeus is far more..constrained..then Angoron, in such matters."

 

Chandrakanta only just notices the seneschal is dragging someone off, she nudges the Korite, "what is that about?" She asks.

 

"I can not believe there are some defending this man," says the Seneschal, "given what he just admitted to doing. The Gods may forgive, but man has *laws*." Gauvain is apparently in for a long night.

 

"No, I imply that claiming something does not make it true," Serene says with a head shake. She takes a half step from Darshan.. so that he doesn't step on her as he goes with his fellow Daeusite. "I could claim to be Taara's avatar.. that would not make it true. But Gauvain's willing submission to the authorities speaks volumes of his intent." She tilts her head to the Seneschal.

 

Arngrim nods his head in deference to Serenes words, "Indeed. In such cases the mans character should speak for itself.. In that I see your point." He looks at the Seneschal at that.

 

Karelin glances down at Chandra, and shrugs. "Not yet. You know better than I than Kinnevack subverted some of the nobility."

 Roland sighs as he looks around, "Never a barrister about when you actually want one is there?"