Mavick
Seer
Little Strategist
"The Darkness... It consumes me."
Posts: 208
Etruria Fame: -2
Sacae Fame: 1
Affinity: Dark
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Post by Mavick on Mar 18, 2016 13:44:27 GMT -6
Mavick rolled his eyes a little. "I'm hardly aiding and abetting a criminal. If I recall correctly, the task your Lords asked us to go deal with was not an order, but a formal request to a private citizen." A request to invade another country and crush it's spirit. A most distasteful affair. "But then, I suppose I'll not get anywhere arguing with you, so carry on." It seemed they'd have to appeal to those damnable High Lords. So be it. Mavick recalled that entire little horse and pony show, how they'd emphasized that they weren't attempting to order a free citizen to do their dirty work, offering him fancy seals and a position of power if he succeeded. Oh how their tunes changed when the hero came back untriumphant.
The mage took a few short steps back as the violence started, looking displeased. Of course the sheeple had to step in and make their opinion known. After all, how dare Richter fail to bring a foreign people under his boot? At least the situation was resolved before Richter or himself wound up with a noose around their neck. "Very well, I suppose we'll get nowhere standing around here." he agreed, following behind Richter.
The bolt of lightning admittedly caught him off guard, making him step back a little in apprehension. The producer of that magic came as an equally large surprise to him, though he supposed it shouldn't have. Claire certainly looked as though she'd come up in the world since they last spoke. "Good morning, Officer Feldsky." he greeted. "We'd love to chat, but the Commander is under arrest for the crime of not killing peasants when the Ilian government asked him to very nicely, and I'm under arrest for standing within five feet of the Commander. Good to see you again, though."
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Rilcha Winters
Novice
"You can't beat the princess of beets. It's like beating a puppy, you just come away feeling awful."
Posts: 36
Profession: Richter's Fan Club President
Affiliation: FanClubAnon LLC
Affinity: Light
Profile: Rilcha
OoC Alias: Mel
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Post by Rilcha Winters on Mar 18, 2016 23:41:40 GMT -6
Rilcha had perched himself on a chair, knees bent and pulled up to his chest in an attempt to cope with his growing distress over Richter's unclear fate. Worried wasn't even the half of it, he despised the entirety of the complex situation that he couldn't seem to comprehend. Mavick was always so curt, careful, it was hard to imagine that he would do anything wrong at all. Richter even more so.
Throbbing bites of pain assaulted the boy's temples and he let his eyes slip closed, chest slowly rising as he sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth and refused to allow a whimper to escape. The headache was a distraction, one that he couldn't allow to affect Gwen's judgement. Rilcha let out a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut as he dragged himself through it. Other people had gone through worse pain and he knew that it was selfish to make mention of such an arbitrary problem. He'd fallen out of trees and whacked himself in the foot with a hoe many times before, and even then it wasn't good enough a reason to demand attention. In fact, it looked as if Gwen was in far more distress, a finding that had dispersed any of the bubbling questions in Richter's wake.
"Richter's clever," he whispered, voice crackling when he finally dragged up the courage to speak, trying to comfort the woman with anything that came to mind. "And Mavick is one of those..." The boy swallowed, lowering his head back down to speak faintly into his knees, "smarts. Much smarts between the two."
His shoulders fell, the boy drawing his arms a tad tighter about himself as he seemed to grow even smaller. "I think that they'll be okay...a little bit. Eh?" Rilcha tried to sound hopeful, but instead all he succeeded in was growing gradually more sullen with each though. "Maybe..."
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Marcus
Manakete
Dragon Reborn
Hell and back is a long way to go, but my journey's only begun.
Posts: 176
Profession: Wanderer
Affinity: Dark
Dragon Element: Lightning
Profile: Marcus
OoC Alias: Marc
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Post by Marcus on Mar 21, 2016 11:10:05 GMT -6
He had made it. Marcus had finally made it. It was here. He knew it. Now he just had to find it. The pull of his dragonstone had led him to Ilia, to the capital Edessa. He had been here before, once, with Richter and he had not been fond of the city then. He was even less fond of it now, as he wandered its winding streets, buffeted by shearing winds. The city was a labyrinth and attempting to follow his natural instincts to his stone kept bringing him to dead ends. Eventually, he was forced to stop, as hunger was creeping up on him and he felt his sanity slipping again. He wasn’t ready to lose all of the progress he had made. Fortunately, he had found an odd job or two along the way and had a modest amount of coin to pay for a meal. He shuddered, as a brief memory of how he had gotten his food last time danced at the edge of his memory. Marcus shook it off. He was a different person now. He wasn't the monster he once was. He had to remind himself of that.
Marcus found himself a tavern just off the main thoroughfare and made his way to bar. The barmaid was a sweet women with flaxen hair who seemed to sense his frustration. She tended to him quickly, fetching him a cup of warm mint tea. The coziness of the liquid was welcome and the mint refreshed his mind, bringing with it memories of better days. Marcus sipped it slowly as he waited for his meal to arrive. The barmaid had just returned with a thick, brothy soup with hearty chunks of meat floating in it when a particular word uttered somewhere behind him. A single word which brought his addled mind rushing back to clarity. “Richter.” It was the most reassuring word he had heard in a long time. He took several large gulps of his soup, ignoring the burn he felt as the hot liquid ran down his throat. Marcus jumped up from his chair and scanned the room, tracing the source of the word. He found it, curled up at one of the tables. A small, dainty boy was muttering into his knees and Marcus was surprised he had even heard him. He was being comforted by a fair blond haired maiden clad in armor. He pushed his way across the tavern to their table and approached slowly. "Excuse me," Marcus interjected politely, "Did I hear you say Richter? As in, Richter Abend? Is he here? I'm an old friend of his. My name is Marcus. I really need to find him."
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Post by Richter Abend on Mar 23, 2016 22:27:58 GMT -6
Richter had stood stalwart in the face of some of the worst things Elibe could throw at him, despots and demons, but just like anyone else he was startled by the seemingly random thunderclap that tore through the crowd that had assembled in the Edessan street. He shouted, he flinched, and he ducked, but when he looked up and saw the familiar face and form of Clair Feldsky standing before them, crackling lance in hand, it became very clear that this wasn’t some freak force of nature coming down upon them, at least not in the traditional sense of the term. The big entrance, the authoritative tone, the bossing people around; it was all very Clair.
Admittedly Richter was surprised to see the peagsus knight here, in Edessa, and not stamping out rebels in Bern, but at the same time it almost fated that he see her again today, as if a long chain of events were coming full circle. But while Richter felt like he was supposed feel relief at the sight of his former second in command, all he felt was annoyed. Much of that feeling was obviously due to their rough split, but he was plenty frustrated by Clair’s intervention. He had been trying to deliver himself to the Council as quietly as possible, and while those two men had done their very best to see that plan fail, Richter would much rather deal with a little, arguably deserved, civil unrest instead of bandying about with a magic weapon making a scene about whomever’s protection he was under like he was above the law.
“I need to speak with the Council,” the pink haired Ilian growled, his voice low but clearly agitated. “The Council is in Edessa, so I came to Edessa.” His eyes narrowed as he looked away from the pegasus knight. “Not that where I go is really any of your business anyways.” He didn’t thank Clair for stepping in, because he hadn’t needed any help. He was very much capable of handling himself, notwithstanding the fact that he was currently in Edessan guard custody. He didn't ask her why she was here either, partially because part of him didn't care, and partially because the part of him that did care could deduce that she had likely been summoned for the opposite reason he was being arrested. She'd no doubt done her duty to Ilia, squashing Bern rebels like a good soldier, and was probably here for a good pat on the back. Maybe she'd even get an award, like a shield or something.
Richter then turned his attention to his diminutive friend. "I wouldn't worry to much about it, Mavick," he said with a scoff. "If they're actually planning on killing us then they probably don't care if you're a criminal or not." The Ilian shook his head. "But if they wanted to do that it would have been easier to do so while we were still outside." He glanced at the guard captain, who despie Richter's grim musings had remained fairly stone faced. Richter could tell he was likely just annoyed at all the interruptions, so rather than continue with the commentary the Ilian simply looked onward. His own face grew hard. Just what did the Edessan Lords have in store for them? Likely nothing good, but he supposed only time would tell.
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Post by Clair Feldsky on Mar 27, 2016 13:58:30 GMT -6
The new arrivals to the tavern only stood out a little from those of the ordinary. In a mercenary city, in a tavern serving the people of that city, you could get some very colorful characters blended in with the ordinary inhabitants of the already exciting capital of Ilia. Not far down the bar from where Delia was enjoying her drink and people watching, there was something that drew her attention. Not something big, but just a hint of interest from something softly whispering to her: You know me from before. It drew her in and made her look closer, as the whispers from her last lover had, but it was a little less... well, far less embarrassing than he'd proven to be in the long run. She stood up from her seat and took her mug with her down closer to the people gathering. A blond haired man meeting with a blonde haired woman. So many blonds up here today.... A small boy seated next to them remained diminutive during their dealings. She wasn't trying to look particularly nosy or stealthy, but she was sure that she'd be noticed by the pair before too long. They both looked vaguely familiar to them before.
"I remember both of you from some point in my travels." Delia said with a quirk of her brow and puzzled smirk at seeing them before. They were up here together now, but from the sounds of it, hadn't been traveling together. "Especially you, Handsome." Delia said, sidling up next to him and ruffling a hand through his hair as she stepped up beside him. She wasn't in her armor right then, but she wasn't a small woman like Clair was. And she, unlike her commanding officer, indulged herself when it came to teasing handsome men. "I'd never forget a mop of curls like that."
If she got herself into trouble, she could always blame the alcohol. Hmm... She didn't remember the eyepatch from before though....
"Yes. I remember seeing you here, in this very city. It's been some time since then though. Richter was here then. Is he coming back?" The pegasus knight idly touched at a small scar near her chin as she thought. She did that sometimes.
I don't remember the youngster either. How are you, Sweetie?" Delia was obtrusive, interested, and bold in how she interacted, but the smile on her face as she spoke to the pink haired little boy was genuine.
- - - - -
There was a small smile trying to creep onto her lips at Mavick's greeting. Always full of sarcasm, that one, with a quip for every situation. She didn't know if she agreed with him about "coming up in the world" though. Not when it got down to it. In fact, despite the recognition she'd gained for holding battle lines and harrying rebel divisions while in Bern, she felt she'd come down quite a bit from where she'd once been. It hadn't been the work she'd gone to Bern to do. And it wasn't the work she'd hoped Ilia would turn to and support her in either. The whole season left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she knew of only one way to rid herself of the constant supply of it.... Even that wouldn't truly fix it.
Then Richter's comment came, and she felt the ire and burning that she'd tried to bury for months come back.... No. Coming back assumed it had ever really gone away. It had just been shut in deep inside her. Now it burst forth again with a renewed if now tamed fury.
"Yes. I suppose it's not been my business to know anything you do since you left Bern so quickly." There was a false sense of control evident as the Falcoknight's golden blonde hair still danced darted and twisted around her shoulders, and a bitterness coated her voice like had made her taste and eat the same punishment for months. Perhaps you'll have the patience to stop and listen to the next project you decide to champion and grace with your greatness."
The edge in her voice was sharp and honed by a sense of loss and betrayal. It was deeper than him alone though. She'd truly believed that they could have done some good in the Bernese country. If they'd taken the right steps, could the have avoided that war, and brought the two countries into an alliance against the Prophet's Inquisition? Everything came back to that one enemy, and the army that had led to the rise of so many heroes and so much discord. Could they have made a difference? She didn't know. What she did know was that when he'd left, her hope at truly gaining a peace in Bern had died with it.
She didn't deign to include herself in Richter and Mavick's discussion about what could be intended for them. There were only two possbilities that she could think of. Pressing him into service or imprisoning him as a symbol. Unless he had made some hidden enemies or allies who intended otherwise, that was all that she could picture. Though she'd learned to leave room for the unexpected, that was what she was prepared to see.... Neither option was what she would consider "just". Despite her anger about everything that had gone on before, she couldn't fault the pink haired swordsman for trying to do right.....
As they came up to the Spire, she looked at the banners fluttering in the breezes hanging high off of the mighty fortification. It was renowned for its defenses, and it was well deserved. Plenty of slots for archers to shoot out of adorned the walls of the Spire, and each aerial entrance, of which their was one to each cardinal direction, were well protected and fortified. Small platforms for landings and takeoffs were visible from below, but sheltered on the sides and top from where arrows could be showered down. It would be a dangerous fortress to assault, and would take a long siege to break if it ever were.
On the way to see the council. On the way to speak to the leaders of her country. She'd been so ecstatic to have that chance the last time she was here. The naivete had been burned out of her since then. Now it was just another piece of business on the agenda. They'd sent for her for some reason, and whether they knew it or not, she had a set of things she'd like to say to them as well. As they approached the building and passed the guards, things grew tense around her. As if they weren't already. A soft buzzing almost akin to laughter seemed to fill her mind and tingle in the fingers carrying Stormlight as she kept that thought to herself.
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Post by Guinevere von Altenburg on Mar 29, 2016 12:56:57 GMT -6
Guinevere gave the young man a small smile. It was sweet of him to try to keep her hopes up, when that would usually be what she was doing for him. She reached across the table and rested her hand on his shoulder. "You're right, Rilcha. We can't lose hope." Hope. Gwen had never been one short of hope until recently, but she couldn't let it slip away for good. That wouldn't help anyone.
Before she could continue, a man approached their table and asked about Richter and claimed to be an old friend of his. The man seemed familiar, but Gwen couldn't place him until he mentioned that his name was Marcus. Her eyes widened slightly. Of course, how could she have forgotten? "Marcus. I remember you. You're the-" She cut herself off. She had almost dropped the word dragon, but that probably would not be a good idea. Especially not in a place like this. "I remember you. I'm Guinevere, I was once a soldier under Richter's command."
Once again, she found herself cut off by yet another newcomer. She seemed familiar as well, but less so than Marcus. Someone she had seen back in her soldier days. And yet again, she brought up Richter. Somehow, it always came back to Richter. Even for more. She wondered for half a second if Richter knew how important he was to so many people for snapping out of it. Gwen gave a little sigh. "Richter is here. In Edessa. We returned because he felt the need to speak to the Council. As you may or may not remember, they're not overly fond of him. So, he was arrested on sight." She shook her head slightly. "They let us go, but kept the tactician Mavick too." She gave a halfhearted shrug. "Beyond that, I have no idea what's happening. I don't even know if he's ok or not."
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Rilcha Winters
Novice
"You can't beat the princess of beets. It's like beating a puppy, you just come away feeling awful."
Posts: 36
Profession: Richter's Fan Club President
Affiliation: FanClubAnon LLC
Affinity: Light
Profile: Rilcha
OoC Alias: Mel
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Post by Rilcha Winters on Apr 10, 2016 0:29:42 GMT -6
Everything was simply a whirlwind. At one moment simply himself, Gwen, and his pitiful reassurance that everything was going to be fine. The next there were voices, faces, and words flying far over his head as the boy stared with wide eyes of confusion at the strangers who had wandered over to their table. His mouth was sudden dry, tongue grainy, jaw stiff and sore. Even so, there were no words that could spill from his lips as he hunched his shoulders and hid his face in his knees.
Of course people knew Richter, everyone knew something of the man with how far tales had drifted in the breeze. Still, there was an odd sort of squirm in the pit of his stomach when he was faced with such people that seemed to know the Living Legend far better than he. He wasn't embarrassed, at the very least he could comprehend that. Just what he was feeling however, the crippling self doubt and squirm in his stomach was nothing that he could possibly place into words.
So Rilcha took a breath, sucking in deep and holding it with fat cheeks as he peeled open his eyes and focused in on the odd crook in his nose. It wasn't impressive, but he was trying to keep his head held up just a little, just for Gwen so she wouldn't have to worry about an additional person.
Raising his head almost felt like pulling leeches from his skin. Pain, tense tugging, and suddenly relief when the greasy parasite was no longer attached. Once the red-haired boy had his chin cleared past his kneecaps did it suddenly become easier to hold it up, eyes flickering nervously to the two strangers that had sauntered over to Gwen. He refused to even allow the possibility of eye contact, instead focusing over each of their ears to get a slight glimpse of just who had addressed his companion.
"You can go see if he's alright?"
It was a tentative question, Rilcha's mouth still feeling as if it was filled with chalk, general discomfort keeping himself from stating any words of introduction.
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Mavick
Seer
Little Strategist
"The Darkness... It consumes me."
Posts: 208
Etruria Fame: -2
Sacae Fame: 1
Affinity: Dark
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Post by Mavick on Apr 15, 2016 11:30:36 GMT -6
Mavick's eyes, largely vacant, seemed to hold just a slight hint of irritation as they moved between the former comrades whilst they bickered. "I am noting a slight hint of passive aggression here." he commented rather dryly. "And while I'm sure you both could use some time to work whatever this is out, now is perhaps not the best time." It seemed that the more things changed, the more things stayed the same. As the moment seemed to pass, however, that glimpse of outward expression vanished from the tacticians face.
He looked up at Richter as the larger man addressed him, and nearly rolled his eyes. "Commander, you seem to be as oblivious to politics as ever. Lowly criminals would simply be shot from the walls and left to the scavengers, yes. The Winter Lion, however? You're far to well known for such a humble end. No, they'll likely flog you, parade you around in irons for a bit, then either behead you or hang you from the neck until dead, and then put your head on a spike for decorative purposes for, oh, considering the average temperature of this wretched city, a year or two minimum. So yes, do have fun with that. With any luck, I'll have a nice, cozy, quick death and won't have to deal with any of it."
The dark mage then turned his attention to the ever looming Spire. "Ah, wonderful. This place again. Well, let's get on with it. I'd like to be strapped in irons and properly sentenced before dinner. Oh, and if there's any torture involved, my large pink haired friend volunteers for the first go."
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Post by Richter Abend on May 2, 2016 12:30:42 GMT -6
Richter rolled his eyes as Clair’s rebuttal came slithering over his shoulder. What a surprise, she was angry! Well unfortunately for her, he was angry too. He’d been expecting a good amount of heat from the woman should they run into each other again, but expecting something didn’t make that something any less infuriating, especially when said encounter happened far earlier than expected, and at completely the wrong place. And still he could tell from her words that she just didn’t get it. He hadn’t left because it had gotten too hard, or because he’d gotten bored, and if she thought either of those things then she was a bigger fool than he’d ever figured her for. No, he’d left because after seeing Marcus killed and Clair severely injured, he had realized that he was letting his people get injured and die for something he didn’t believe in, and that was unacceptable.
His home country, or rather those who ruled it, had taken advantage his absolute hatred for Kraft, which in and of itself had just been disgust at the crimes he’d committed under the theocrat’s dictate, and promised him the world in exchange for the small task of helping Ilia’s interests in Bern. Richter had cared little for Bern, and that was likely what had gotten him into trouble. The civil war, just a rebellion then, had seemed like such a distraction from Kraft that the pink haired warrior had actually been angry at the Bernese for not seeing the bigger picture. He figured at the time that he’d march in, crack some heads, then get what he wanted from Ilia, but all he’d really done was waltz blindly into a conflict he had no business fighting in.
It was the second time silver-tongued men in political chairs had managed to tempt him into their service, and while it was easy to wish that he had the foresight to realize that before accepting his role as Ilia’s “champion”, he hadn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d turn himself in to at least get an audience with his “superiors”, and hopefully convince them to pull their forces out of Bern to address the very real threat marching onto their soil. If that didn’t work, well, he’d think of something.
But Mavick’s reality check cast a decidedly grim mood over the pink-haired warrior. Not that he expected anything less from the diminutive shaman, but it was definitely unappreciated.
“Always a ray of sunshine,” Richter grumbled to himself, before mentally checking for Boreas’s presence on his back. It was still there, though likely not for long. The guards hadn’t bothered to disarm him yet, but the Ilian imagined they would well before he, Mavick, or Clair came close to looking upon the Council. Richter would need to take note of where the axe ended up, because if things did go as Mavick so eloquently described he’d need to fight his way to it.
“We’ll be confiscating your weapons before we head into the Spire,” came the rough tones of the guard captain’s notably Ilian growl. He knocked on the broad oak door that would lead them into the grand stone citadel, then turned and looked at Mavick and Richter with a face that looked as angry as it did cautious. “Dame Feldsky has been invited, but you two will be in cuffs.” After a moment’s wait, the doors opened and revealed a pair of soldiers. They both looked as serious as their station, stone sentinels opening the gates that guarded the divine. Appropriate, because they were known as the Sentinels, the soldiers that guarded the Spire itself. Clad in snow-white armor, even the lowest of them outranked everyone else in the Ilian military, though only within the confines of the Spire. The last time he was here Richter had mistaken at least half of them for actual statues, and only now was he noticing just how impressively controlled their movements were. The guard captain was quick to salute.
“Gate-captain Horst reporting. I have Richter Abend under arrest. The Council has demanded he be brought to them. We need irons. Little one’s a mage.” The Sentinel nodded to Horst, and though he did not salute back he muttered a few words to his partner then disappeared around a wall. There was a bit of clatter from a ways back, then the soldier reappeared holding two sets of irons. The pair in his left hand was dull and grey, everything you’d expect from shackles, but the pair in his right was bright, polished, and covered in runes. They looked like they’d been made to imprison a king. Richter immediately figured who they were for.
“Those shackles stop spells?” Richter asked as Sentinel handed both pairs of cuffs to the gate captain. “I’ve heard of swords made like that, but this is new.” The pink-haired warrior held out his hands, and as they were affixed to his wrists his captor just nodded. “Not common. Hard to make and damned expensive,” Horst muttered. He locked the irons in place, then stepped over to Mavick. “Worth the cost, though, obviously.” The gate captain held the beautiful silver shackles down to the diminutive shaman.
“Arms out.”
Meanwhile, one of the Sentinels came around behind Richter and made to strip Boreas from the warrior’s back. “I’d be careful with that,” cautioned Richter. “It gets a bit bitey.” The man heeded the rogue Ilian’s words by halting his reach, but he didn't hesitate to draw a six inch long dagger from his belt before slashing through the harness that affixed the weapon to Richter’s back. Boreas frosted over, showing obvious distaste at being separated from its master, but it was all for show. It fell to the ground with a helpless clatter, and the Sentinel began patting Richter down. The pink haired warrior couldn't help but be a little intimidated. Usually everyone was cautious of him, if not a little scared, and he'd learned to appreciate that casual level of intimidation. But these men made him a bit worried. If the Spire was filled with soldiers like this, maybe escaping wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought. He glanced at Clair, then at Mavick, then back to the man rifling through his pockets. He hoped Mavick was wrong.
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Post by Clair Feldsky on May 12, 2016 16:32:03 GMT -6
THe simmering heat in the Falcoknight's tone and expression cooled to impassive control again at Mavick's interruption.... He was right on every account. She would love to have some time to speak to him privately about what happened. Ask him what he'd done. Ask him why and what he fought for. And why he'd left, and why they'd never had a chance to speak more about what was going on in Bern. That time wasn't now though. She brought herself under control, stepping under the mantle of rock solid, duty bound officer once more with only a touch of sadness remaining on her countenance. Going in to speak to these Councilors and dealing with the situation at hand.... They'd lost Bern. If they couldn't see it yet, they were deluding themselves. She'd played a part in the violence there, disrupting communications, and harassing armies. She hadn't felt clean fighting the people of Bern though, as more and more had taken up arms in the conflict. And in the end, she was glad that she had been recalled back from that moral hellzone.
Rumors of a force from Etruria marching on the Western border of her country were abroad, and they coincided interestingly with her recall. She believed that more would be spoken of in this meeting than the council lord's were planning on, however. Mavick's assessment of what awaited them. Whatever her confused emotions told her, that wasn't what she wanted. That wasn't something she could stand by and abide. Not for Mavick, who was innocent in all of this, and not for for Richter, who'd... followed what he believed to be best.
She watched the strange axe frost up under her watch as the soldiers cut the weapons free of the Winter Lion, and for a moment was tempted to pick it up. She believed she could handle it, having already had an experience with a very potent artifact of magical might. Stormlight sparked in her hand idly as she thought of it. While the weapon did respond to her in many ways, it always seemed to have a "mind of its own". No matter how much she tried to master it, she had never completely succeeded in making it stop the small discharges that it fired off from time to time. These things were dangerous, and more than simple tools. Tentatively, she picked up the harness that held the frost axe, and carried it over to the wall nearby, before leaning it against the Spire. At least now, it didn't look as though it had been dropped in the dirt.... However its wielder and his friend were being treated.
"Gate Captain." Clair spoke up, walking over to address Horst, who'd led them all the way up here. "If you could spare a man to apprise Delia Collins, my Executive Officer, of the situation I'd be very appreciative." There it was. Worded as a request, but he'd probably take it as an order. "She could be at the Snowball's Chance Inn, but if she's not, any of the Mistral Knights will do."
When the Sentinels were finally ready to move ahead, and they started in, she took a spot next to Richter and Mavick, rather than out in front of them or behind. She was a little calmer and more contained now, and that was good, because this promised to be anything but a simple encounter.
- - - - -
Delia listened, face growing a little concerned at the news that he was here and arrested. She'd been ready for the news that the council didn't like him. After all, the man had walked out on their campaign in Bern. So this was expected. Sort of. She hadn't expected him to waltz right into his jail cell like that. They hadn't spoken about it yet, but Clair had insisted that the Council's right to arrest him on that charge was shaky. She'd replied back to her commander that the Council's right was only as shaky as their sword arm, and Clair had only frowned and looked away.... Why the younger woman pined over the man so much was beyond the trouble causing pegasus knight and over her pay grade, but she knew a broken heart when she saw one. Even with how stoic her superior tried to be.
"Well, that's going to put my Commander in a foul mood. No arguments there." Delia frowned and took another drink from her mug before dragging a chair over to the table and having a seat. This would need some discretion, and maybe a little bit of time. And, it'd be good and juicy while helping out Clair. She knew the woman would want every bit of information that existed on the topic as soon as she could get it.
"Well, he should be fine for now. A big man like that? He's like free propaganda money if they use him right." She took another sip out of her mug, and pondered for a moment.... These two seemed to care about him too. What was it with this man and attracting hero worship?
"I most certainly cannot get in to see him. Commander Feldsky might be able to though. You'd probably know her, if you served under the Winter Lion. I'm Clair's XO in the Mistral Knights, and you have either the good fortune or bad fortune to have arrived in the city not long after we did."
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Mavick
Seer
Little Strategist
"The Darkness... It consumes me."
Posts: 208
Etruria Fame: -2
Sacae Fame: 1
Affinity: Dark
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Post by Mavick on May 28, 2016 13:35:38 GMT -6
"I make it a point to bring a little joy into your life. Or was that crushing reality? Either or." Mavick retorted. He didn't know just what was going on between Clair and Richter right now, but it was hardly the most important thing going on right now. The short mage came to a quick stop as their little escort was halted, his eyes lifting up to study the Spire once more. This was hardly where he'd expected to die, if that was indeed his fate.
Things were certainly looking more and more grim by the moment. They were even bringing out the special manacles. "All this trouble to suppress my magics, even though you're confiscating my tomes? It seems a touch paranoid. Admittedly, I approve whole heartedly." He confessed, dropping his satchel before holding his arms out. A mage didn't necessarily need a tome to cast magic. Still, to channel magic without a focus was a dangerous act, and Mavick had already tasted more than his fair share of the consequences of delving too deep into Elder magic. "I would appreciate it if your men would handle my books with care. Aside from my spell book, I have some rather valuable books of a historical and strategical nature that I would like to see preserved for future generations."
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