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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 7, 2015 20:36:42 GMT -6
An old woman slowly trods through the ruins of an abandoned city. Her greyed hair is worn in curls, and she wears an ancient, out-of-fashion, cream-colored dress. The charred remains of buildings are strewn in her path. In response, the old woman collects herself, focuses her energy, then transforms into a hulking, white dragon. In her new, massive form, she has absolutely no trouble gently lifting the remains and shifting them from her path. Her task complete, she reverts to her old form, continuing her slow pilgrimage to the center of the city.
As she walks, the woman thinks wistfully about how things used to be. Once, the laguz and beorc of Solgen had lived in harmony. But after centuries of peaceful coexistence, their relationship suddenly turned sour, eventually erupting into outright hostility. The war had come to a head here, in the once-great city of Solace. Once the capital of Solgen and home to the shrine to the founding goddess of the same name, the city had been razed in less than a week.
The laguz had been the victors, of course. And they had put an entirely new political structure into place shortly afterward. Political positions in Solgen were now decided by power, by dueling - without weapons or armor. Though nominally fair, it's needless to say that laguz now hold all the ranking positions. Even the strongest human isn't a match for a transformed laguz...
The old woman finally finds what she's looking for. In the center of town, she finds a massive statue. She remembers how beautiful it used to look. Angelic. A young woman in a flowing tunic with beautiful wings tucked against her back. Now, the statue is covered in the ash of the ruined city, her dead followers. Three hundred years... No, has it been closer to four? The old woman realizes she's not entirely sure. Centuries, regardless. For centuries, this statue has been stained black. No amount of rain has seen it purged. Only a few small lines beneath her eyes are clean.
"I'm back, old friend," the old woman announces. "It's me. Elaine Drakkis. I've got news. But first, how are you?"
Elaine waits patiently for a reply that she knows won't come. "You still aren't speaking, then?" she finally asks. "Well, it's fine. Though I'd love to hear your advice. Our king is dead, another has taken his place. Another war is starting. A rebellion's rising in the west. Small uprisings throughout the country. And now we must fight...
"Are you crying again, old friend?"
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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 7, 2015 21:19:43 GMT -6
Three days later, somewhere in the Nezhun Mountains...
A tall, muscular man, 28 years old, with spiked red hair sits in his tent. He wears a simple leather outfit, a sword slung over his shoulder. In front of him is a table, a large map spread out and weighted down with a sword and some books. On either side, several men stand waiting for his next few words.
This man is Tilo Hartmann, leader of the fledgling rebellion. He surveys the map, tracing a few different lines, occasionally shaking his head or muttering angrily. Finally, he draws a line wandering through the mountains to a small square several miles to the east. He slams his finger down decisively.
"There. Fort Verrist," Tilo says. A murmur begins to spread through the group. "Quiet. It's time to make a big move. Until now, the king's been treating us as a mild annoyance, at worst. But more people are joining our movement from all over the country. And we're well-supplied, thanks to our friends across the border. It's time to make a statement. Our scouts say Verrist isn't well-defended. And it'll make a good base of operations as we start moving east. Somewhere easy for new recruits to find."
The murmurs start to become more favorable. "Get started with the planning. I'm going to go speak with the troops." He shoulders his way out of the tent. Tilo knows strategy and tactics aren't his strongest suits. That's what his strategists and tacticians are for. His job is to fight, lead in battle, stick to their plans, and be a strong figurehead. Verrist was a lucky guess, to be honest, but no one made any objections, so it's probably a good idea?
As Tilo slips out of the tent into the cool mountain air, he breathes a sigh of relief. He takes a deep breath, and sighs happily. "Gonna miss this air," he muses. "Not the cold nights, though."
He strolls around the camp, greeting his soldiers cheerfully. He turns down an offer for a few sparring matches. "Sorry, busy right now. After dinner, maybe?" He's on a mission. He stops at a tent, clumsily swatting at the tent flap to imitate knocking.
"Come in!" a young woman's voice calls out. "No, wait, I'm on the way out!" A woman in a red shirt backs out of the tent, bringing a silver helmet up to cover her short, chestnut-brown hair. The helmet's silver, ornately-carved wings sparkle in the morning sun. "Commander Hartmann, sir!" she calls out, popping a crisp salute.
"We don't salute, Leilah..." Tilo tells her.
"But I want to," Leilah answers.
Tilo sighs. "Fine. Are you heading out soon?"
"Yes sir!" Leilah answers.
A few days ago, Tilo started hearing some interesting rumors about the king - no, the former king's son. Supposedly, he's hiding somewhere in the Nezhun Mountains. At first, Tilo just dismissed them as pointless rumors. But the other day, visiting a small village at the base of the mountains, he overheard some people talking about a dragon visiting the village recently. That much of a rumor wasn't enough - even if he knew the rumors were true, it wouldn't be enough. Tilo couldn't afford to leave the rebellion at this crucial moment to go on a wild goose chase all through the mountains. But he managed to find a volunteer for this fool's errand... Leilah Avandal.
"Alright. Saddle up and head out. Don't waste too much time on this. If you don't find him by the time you're low on food, head back to camp. If we've moved on, go east. We're probably heading for Fort Verrist."
"Understood, sir!" Leilah answers. She turns, taking off running for her pegasus.
Tilo watches her go. He bites back a smirk. Her enthusiasm's a bit infectious.
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Post by HHDeception on Aug 8, 2015 3:39:17 GMT -6
"Ach what's this all about then? Just gonna stand there lookin' all imposing like?" (14)
Rocangus exhaled a small puff of smoke to the side. He was polite enough to keep the foul-smelling stuff away from the faces of his visitors, but his speech and abrasive accent rarely reflected his reservations. The fact that they were a group of five rather burly looking visitors wearing noble garb didn't help matters.
The hairy one in the middle replied. "Your potions are the best in town. Better than any other vendor." (12)
"Right, so you gonna buy something? Fifteen hundred gold a piece mates." (12)
"Fifteen hundred?! For one potion? You're running a crock here!" (10)
"Like you said. Best in town. Cost meets my reputation." (10)
His visitor leaned in closer with a hint of menace. He was a big guy, but Rocangus was sitting behind a counter, so that move really just decreased the height difference and brought his face closer to the smoking wad of herbs poking out of the hawk laguz's mouth.
"Suspiciously the best in town. You know beorc ought to be registered if they're used for labor." (17)
Rocangus twitched a little, but just a little. He inhaled gnetly before replying.
"Ohhhhh that's what this about then? Well sorry then mates but my lot is MacPhearsome born and bred." (18)
"Mac-what now?" (3)
Rocangus coughed, while his brow furrowed with agitation beneath the bandages wrapped around it. He stood up strong, and brought a fist to his chest, dropping aforementioned reservations.
"Rocangus MacPhearsome. Memorize it!" (4)
The five before him shifted, and not into a stance of ease. But before they could make any aditional moves, the door at the back of the shop swung open.
"These guys giving you trouble Roc?" (8)
The tiger laguz coming through the door had to duck to avoid banging his head, and even without Rocangus's eye for measurements, you could tell he stood taller than any of the assembled aggressors.
"You can take it up with the manager." (8) Rocangus said plainly, before blowing a load of smoke in the hairy visitor's face. Roc's victim coughed once before backing away.
"Your reputation's changing if you keep this up. Come on gang, let's move!" (13) And with that the visitors left the shop.
Rocangus blew another puff of smoke and groaned, slumping back in annoyance once his unfriendly company had left. "I didn't mean to rub them wrong. Just a word day is all." (14)
The laguz behind him rolled his eyes, but gave a thumbs up. Rocangus grinned in silent appreciation.
*tap*
*tap*
*tap*
The sound of a cane against cobblestone road.
*tap*
One more, and it came to a stop.
"What'cha looking at laddie? Am I just a strange sight for yer bleeding eyes?"
A much younger cat laguz was caught by a much older hawk laguz. The elder seemed to emanate an aura that demanded silence, for which the wide eyes of the youngster spoke in the stead of his shut mouth.
"Yeah you, kitty cat. You got hairballs in your ears? Or are you dumb enough to catch yer' own tongue?"
A cat head shook slowly side by side. The elder man chuckled and took a step closer.
*tap*
"Aye, so it's both. Listen up lad, and listen good because I'm sayin' why I'm lookin' at you. I see you ain't yet gotcha head up where yer tail is like all them other folk who so quickly judge this here implement in my claws. You see an oddity like this and wonder why I'm holding something beorc that makes me weaker, is that it?"
Slow, tentitve, head movements up and down.
*tap*
"Well, your first bloody mistake was thinking I'm weak. But between you and me, that trap is what everyone makes. Life lesson, you unclog your grimy ears now, never mistake preference for necessity. Aye?
Slightly more confident head movement up and down.
"And that's why I carry a beorc cane, laddie. That, and the tiny fact that I need a weapon for when I'm not transformed."
And he leaned in to whisper.
"Cause when I transform, everything friend and foe within 20 yards of me dies."
*tap*
*tap*
*tap*
General Lastrykan MacGriever continued walking towards the castle walls.
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Post by Golurkcanfly on Aug 8, 2015 10:39:52 GMT -6
"Governor Sonja!" Cairbre shouted and knocked on the front door of the only house two stories tall in the fiefdom. "You have an important visitor! Governor Sonja! We need you to wake up and answer the door!"
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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 8, 2015 12:09:06 GMT -6
Sonja Carrion groans as she buries her face deeper into the pillow, her dark hair spilling wildly across it, trying to ignore the ruckus coming from below. The sun's only been up for a few hours... The pounding and shouting below is soon joined by a knocking on the door. Annoyed, Sonja stretches her black wings as she rolls out of bed with a groan. She addresses the door first. "I'm up, I'm up..." She shuffles to the window, shoves it open, and pokes her head out. Her militia's captain is waiting below with some hawk, pounding on the door.
She takes a moment to look out across the fief. Sun's been up for a while. Plenty of people already out tending the fields. Looks like the corn'll be coming in soon. Sonja smiles a bit - corn, oh corn, beautiful, wonderful, corn. And the cotton's coming in. That'll bring in a pretty penny. "Hopefully we'll be able to afford some better armor for the militia this year," she muses.
"Visitor..?" she calls down. "Door's open, Cai. Show him into the sitting room..."
Without waiting for a response, she takes a step back from the window. She checks her clothes. Nightgown. Nothing's showing... And it's like what Sellen usually wears... Whatever. Good enough. Sonja flaps her wing, hovering just above the ground.
She opens the door to find Sellen still hovering in front of the door. The tall, brown-winged, older heron laguz folds his arms and shakes his head. "Clothes. Hair," he says authoritatively. Sellen's a great advisor, Sonja admits, and has definitely helped keep this place afloat while Sonja's learning the ropes of managing a bunch of farmers. But he can be so hung up on little details like wearing clothes.
"Fine," Sonja groans, shutting the door. She struggles out of the gown - one of the only downside of having wings - and pulls on a simple, brown tunic with an open back. Comfy and easy to wear. She doesn't bother with anything else. A few quick brushes gets her hair in line. "Maybe if I cut it short, it'll be easier to manage..." Sonja debates. "But I kinda like it long."
Sellen sighs and shakes his head again, this time in defeat. He knows pressing the issue's a fight not worth fighting. Sellen walks down the stairs, Sonja floating close behind. He opens the door to the sitting room, finding Cairbre and the hawk waiting patiently.
"Mmph. So? Who are you?" Sonja asks gruffly.
Sellen groans. Sonja realizes she's in for a lecture about proper etiquette later... again. Whatever. Sonja sighs and shakes the hawk's hand before reintroducing herself properly.
"Dormer Falk," the hawk answers. "I come with an order from the local military."
"Oh, do tell," Sonja says, flopping down into an armchair.
"You're to send an envoy to check on the heron settlement in the woods to the southwest, since you know the area well," Falk explains. "There've been reports of rebel activity in the area, so you're just to make sure everything's OK."
"Am I now?" Sonja asks, unnecessarily combative. "Well, that's fine. Those herons are good friends. I think Sellen even came from the area?"
"Years and years ago..." Sellen says to himself.
"But, Falk, for fear of setting a dangerous precedent, let me be perfectly clear. My militia are not under the military's command, nor am I beholden to obey... whoever your commander is. My militia are farmers and laborers with weapons they can barely use. Aside from Cairbre here, he knows what he's doing. But the others, their job is to defend their land from invaders, and nothing more. The ones that want to fight have already left to join the military or rebels, whatever. Things are already rough enough as they are without you dragging my people about. In short, your job is to fight the rebels, and my job, my peoples' job, is to make sure you have food on your plate come winter. Clear?"
"...The captain said you'd say something like that, and she told me that I'm supposed to tell you to... er... 'stop acting like a child, unruffle those feathers, and do as you're told,'" Falk says hesitantly.
Sonja closes her eyes for a moment. "Now I get it. I'll check up on the herons, but don't expect me to do much else if my people aren't in immediate danger. And tell your commander I said to soak her cotton-tailed behind in honey and sit on an anthill. I mean it, make sure you tell her."
Sellen looks at Sonja in utter distress. Sonja ignores him. "Falk, come back for your report... soonish. Cairbre, grab two or three others and saddle up. Leave whenever you're ready. I'm sure you can handle this. Oh, and don't pick any fights you don't have to..."
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Post by Golurkcanfly on Aug 8, 2015 12:17:30 GMT -6
"That was your last sergeant who did that sort of thing." Cairbre reminded Sonja with a slight nod and chuckle. "I know what happened to him all too well, and Lord Falk..."
The beorc soldier turned to the hawk Laguz as he addressed him.
"Is there anything I should know about the heron settlement? Any particular customs I need to learn?"
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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 8, 2015 13:48:50 GMT -6
"You're just making sure they're alive, not moving in or going on vacation," Sonja says. Sellen silences her with a sharp glare.
"They're pacifists, of course," Falk tells him. "Like all herons, they detest fighting. But we don't know that the rebels will respect that. They may see the herons as easy prey."
"The village prides itself on making historical records," Sellen boasts. "They usually stay separate from the rest of the world, but of the few that do leave, many became famous advisers." Sellen places his hands on his hips, raising his head proudly.
Falk nods. "The village is lead by a pair of herons. The Sage, born into the position, and the Keeper."
"The Keeper's assigned the position later in his life," Sellen explains. "They're chosen by-"
"Er, Sellen? Later, perhaps?" Sonja suggests. "They should probably get a move on. Y'know. For the sake of making it before dark."
"...Fine," Sellen concedes.
"Any more questions?" Falk asks.
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Post by Golurkcanfly on Aug 8, 2015 13:52:13 GMT -6
"No, not really." Cairbre answered Falk before slowly making his way out. "I'll be taking my leave then."
After collecting his bearings, Cairbre signaled the other men who knew how to ride horses and told them to pack their things for a trip."
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Post by Neo on Aug 8, 2015 15:47:24 GMT -6
A great shadow passed over the rolling farmlands far below, obscured by the clouds. It passed so quickly it was barely perceptible; one moment the sky seemed to darken, and the next, it was gone. Those few who did notice paid it little attention, attributing the giant shadow to their imagination, or a trick of the morning light. A very select, extremely observant few, however, might have heard what sounded like distant thunder, booming high in the sky.
The shadow slowed as the peaks of the Nezhun mountains came into view. Then, it sank below the clouds, and hovered in the sky briefly, looking down upon the mountains like a deity overlooking his domain. A sound like thunder split the air again and again, slow and methodical, like the beat of giant wings.
Boom.
The great Black Dragon extended his wings to their full length, basking in the feel of the wind.
Crack.
The dragon's gaping maw opened ever so slightly and curved into a toothy smile.
Boom.
Seemingly satisfied, the great Black Dragon descended into the mountains, and disappeared from view.
---------
The ground shook as he landed. Birds squawked angrily at him as they shot up from the trees, but the newcomer was quickly forgiven, and the birds went back to their nests. After all, one did not challenge the King simply for returning home. Even the birds knew who truly ruled the sky.
The dragon's form shifted and changed, and a tremendous light burst forth, illuminating the forest. The dragon vanished, revealing a very tall and muscular man walking towards a small lake, and the wooden log cabin that lay on the other side. A long black coat fell around him, a lone empty sleeve trailing behind him. Sunlight sparkled and danced off his long, wild black hair, which flashed a dark red when highlighted by the Sun. Sweat lined his bare chest, making his tan skin shine like molten bronze, and the grass sank and scrunched beneath his bare feet. A long, jagged gash ran across the center of his chest, which he wore proudly, a battle scar from long ago. His black, shiny leather pants seemed fairly expensive, and his black fur-collared coat seemed to be more for winter climates, both of which were a stark contrast to the rest of his wild, almost barbarian appearance.
The air around him crackled with a quiet intensity as he approached the beautiful woman sitting by the lake, an intensity that marked him as a being of immense power. Despite this, the young woman didn't seem disturbed or afraid in the least. Rena looked up at him and smiled as he sat down next to her. Her long, silky golden hair was clean and damp, and she wore a white sleeveless summer gown. She dangled her bare feet in the crystal clear water, and her beautiful white wings were folded and tucked against her back.
"Have a good flight?" She asked cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with adoration.
He gave a subtle nod and pulled her close. "Aye, that I did," he breathed, smiling back. His voice was very deep, but also soft and quiet, and very smooth. It certainly wasn't the kind of voice one would expect to come from a nearly seven foot tall behemoth.
Rena Estelle Emrys sighed contentedly as she leaned against her husband's shoulder. "I can't help but worry for you sometimes," she said softly.
He merely smiled knowingly and stroked her hair, waiting for her to continue. This wasn't a new conversation. She always voiced the same concerns every time he returned from a morning flight, and he was always patient with her, assuring her that he had been careful.
This time, however, Rena bit her lip and didn't continue. Caderyn noticed immediately and turned to look at her, his brow furrowed in sudden concern. "Is something wrong, Remy?" He asked, using the old nickname he had given her many years prior.
She hesitated. "I had a dream last night, Ryn. But, I... I don't remember it. And I always remember my dreams, Ryn, you know that. Even when my amnesia was at its worst, I could still remember my dreams. But... All I remembered when I woke was a sense of foreboding. Of anticipation, like sensing the drop in air pressure before a really bad storm. I don't know what to make of it, I just... Promise me you'll be careful. I don't like the way the wind smells."
He bowed to her wisdom without argument. If there was one thing he had learned about Herons after all those years of being married to one, it was that they were far more atune to the ways of nature than most. Even dragons. If his Rena said there was a storm a coming, well... It was time to start securing the plants and barring the windows.
"We've weathered many a storm Rena," he whispered, smiling, as he took her hand into his. "This one will be no different. Why don't you head inside? I'll be there in a moment to start breakfast."
She nodded and reluctantly left his side. "Don't be long," she whispered, before she vanished into the small cabin.
He stayed there for a few more minutes, simply looking out at the lake. Then, he picked up a small pebble and rose to his feet. He lightly threw the pebble out onto the lake, and watched as it skipped several times before it sank.
Let it come. My wings could use the exercise.
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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 8, 2015 22:18:50 GMT -6
Bastian Ferik. King of Solgen. He sits on his throne, head cradled on one hand, a bored expression on his face. His flame-red hair blends perfectly with his matching beard, giving him the appears of a mane, even when not shifted into his bestial form. The back of his throne rises well above his muscular form, as if made for someone much larger - it was. Several years ago, Bastian had dethroned the previous king during a heated duel. The king had died, and Bastian was still left with several scars from the fight.
A table sits in the center of the empty room, surrounded by six chairs. One, Bastian will take once the rest are filled. Two chairs are already occupied. Elaine Drakkis, back from her pilgrimage to Solace, occupies one. The elder woman keeps nodding off, then snapping back to attention. The other seat is filled by a white-clothed heron, his royal advisor, Raelyn Ruhe. The man sits at an average height, his white wings and golden-blonde hair proof of his noble descent. Several maps and reports are spread in front of Raelyn. He keeps shuffling them, as if trying to decide on a plan of attack to share all the information he has.
Too much information, Bastian thinks with a grimace. This little rebellion's been going on too long. Too long, Bastian had listened to the assurances of local captains and glory-hungry lieutenants that the rebellion would be easily stamped out. Now, the king gathers his four great generals. The problem shall be addressed swiftly and without mercy.
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Post by Neo on Aug 8, 2015 23:07:33 GMT -6
The doors to the throne room of Solgen are suddenly thrown wide with a loud creak. The clinking of chainmail heralds the appearance of the newcomer: Maxwell Bronson. Beorc. Lightning General. Bandit Lord. And an all around badass.
Inclining his head to the Red King, Mad Max casually plopped down in his usual chair and nonchalantly propped his bronze winged boots up on the table. He then produced a rather large stick of wheat from seemingly thin air and popped it into his mouth to munch on it.
"Top O'the morning to ya Granny," he said politely- politely for him- to the dragon in the room. "Though maybe not-so-top, eh? You stay up all night again?"
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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 8, 2015 23:55:36 GMT -6
"When you get to be my age, sleep doesn't come so easily," Elaine tells him. "Even when you sleep well, you feel exhausted throughout the day. I have to save what energy I can for when it's necessary, Child. Always save your energy for the right moment."
Leilah saddles up her pegasus, assuredly patting her snout. "It's a special assignment, Oika. Requested by Tilo himself! We're going to find someone in the mountains."
Oika snorts.
"Don't give me that," Leilah says. "It'll be fine."
Oika shakes her head.
"...A storm? Well, we can't really wait... If it starts to storm, we'll find a place to land and ride it out, OK, girl?"
Sonja gives Falk a relatively pleasant send-off. As soon as he leaves, Sellen whirls around on her, ready to launch into a stern lecture.
"Hey, Sellen?" Sonja preempts him. "Let's go over those financial reports. I want to see if we'll be able to put in a new mill in the next year or so. If not, we'll need to figure something out. At least make some serious repairs to the current one."
Sellen reflexively launches into a stream of numbers, speculation, and suggestions. If Sonja has to listen to him go on for an hour, may as well have it be about something useful.
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Post by HHDeception on Aug 9, 2015 2:27:00 GMT -6
"Now's the time for that energy lass. The kid's carrying a novel of a bedtime story."
General MacGriever's voice. The distinctive click of his gait sounded clearly from the other side of the room. Despite the distance, he was eyeing the papers before the heron "kid" he made his way towards.
"Just pick the one I need to hear, laddie. Mountains, eh? Those are fun."
He sat down lightly, cane leaned up against the table. The question of why a beroc was still at the table flashed through his mind, just after the question of whether he'd fancy a midday snack.
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Post by Neo on Aug 9, 2015 8:48:23 GMT -6
Mad Max inclined his head in respect to the old Dragon, then leaned back in his chair and snorted as Old Man Birdy came a clinking in. "Always a pleasure General Mac," he greeted the Hawk General in between munching on his wheat, grinning slightly. Antagonizing the crazy old bird had always been a favorite past time of his. One of the many reasons people called him "Mad" Max.
"We're just waiting on the She-Wolf now, eh?" He casually leaned back in his seat. "Well, she's late. That's a first."
"A lady is never late," a soft, smooth feminine voice calls out from the hallway. "Nor is she early. She arrives exactly when she intends to."
A tall, beautiful, and elegant woman strides into the throne room, her long snowy white hair billowing behind her. Silvery gray wolf ears peek out from her beautiful mane, and a similarly colored bushy tail swishes behind her. Her skin is dark and creamy smooth, almost mocha colored, and her eyes are a bright, shining amber, like a pair of golden stars. She wears several pieces of golden jewelry which clink as she walks.
Farah Dune, known by many as the White Wolf, walks up to the Red King and gives a low, deep bow. "Forgive my tardiness, Sire. I was out... Scouting. And I may have learned some interesting information."
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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 9, 2015 20:57:36 GMT -6
"Interesting information, hm?" Bastian asks, keeping his face impassive. "I see. Well, save it for now. Raelyn wants to speak first, to make sure we're all fully aware of the situation. Take a seat."
Bastian rises, taking his seat at the table with his four generals and his adviser, draping his red cape over the chair. Bastian gives Raelyn a nod.
For the next hour, Raelyn explains in unnecessarily painstaking detail everything they know about the rebellion. How it began as a small uprising in a small town in the southwest of the kingdom, and slowly spread from there. How the rebellion was driven west into the mountains, and presumably slipped into Selsen. Reports suggest Selsen may be providing the rebellion with weapons, but nothing can be proven. After covering all the rebellion's movements, he begins to go into detail about their leaders. Phandra Lye, a cat and (retired) mayor of a small-but-well-off trading town. Bartholomew Nelson, a captain that defected a few months ago, taking most of his troops with him. Verron Wrenn, an infamous crow responsible for numerous robberies. Jack Triton - not much is known about this one. He seemed to just appear from nowhere. The name's probably a pseudonym.
Finally, Tilo Hartmann, the one who started it all when he tried to resist arrest. More exactly, to prevent his mother from being arrested. She was an innkeeper, and a phoenix accused her of stealing from his room overnight.
"Did she?" Bastian interjects.
"...Probably not," Raelyn admits. "Her inn was fairly well-to-do, they weren't having any financial trouble, and they'd never had a complaint before. Anyway... the fight turned... violent. And I think I covered where things went from there earlier."
"I can certainly understand this Hartmann's motivation. No less than I'd expect from a decent man, to protect his mother's reputation. Had it ended with those soldiers, perhaps I would have even pardoned him," Bastian muses. "But now, this has gone too far, and he must be eliminated. If there are no questions, let's move on. Farrah. What's that information you had?"
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Post by Neo on Aug 9, 2015 21:33:13 GMT -6
"I believe there may be an unknown Black Dragon living in the Nezhun Mountains," the White Wolf answered. "While out on a morning hunt, I saw an enormous shadow in the clouds. The shadow was far too large to be a Hawk, Crow, or Wyvern, and it was flying at a speed only a select few are capable of. I did some investigating on my own, and was able to catch a glimpse of it descending into the mountains. I know I don't have to tell you, your majesty, how problematic this could be. Since all of the known living Black Dragons are part of the Royal Family in their home nation, if what I saw, is in fact, a different Black Dragon, and Hartmann learned of this..."
She trailed off, knowing full well her King could connect the dots.
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Post by SummerCrow on Aug 9, 2015 22:15:25 GMT -6
Bastian shrugs, unimpressed. "What of it? If it truly is the dead king's brat, what would you have me do? Send assassins roaming the mountains for his head? Pah. Cowardice. There's no guarantee he'd join Hartmann's ilk even if they sought him out. And if he does throw in with their lot, we'll simply kill him on the battlefield."
Raelyn looks concerned. "Sir, are you sure doing nothing is wise?"
Bastian folds his hands in front of himself on the table. "Wise or not, there's naught we can do about it. At this moment, Caderyn is a loyal member of the kingdom. I'll not act against him on a hunch. We focus on the immediate problem. Maxwell. Were you in Hartmann's position, what would you do?"
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Post by Neo on Aug 10, 2015 6:33:27 GMT -6
"Well, if I were in his boots, your majesty, I'd wanna make a big impression," Maxwell answers casually, leaning back in his seat and stretching. Then he grins. "Something that would force my enemy to take notice."
His grin suddenly fades as he cracks his knuckles, a sign that he was being serious. "Most Laguz don't take Beorc seriously, sire. Especially not on the field of battle. While those present here may be the exception, the same can't be said for the lower ranks. I'd reckon Hartmann knows this, and plans to use it to his advantage. While we're just now starting to take him seriously, Hartmann has had months to plan. If he does something big now, our forces might not have time to mobilize. Hartmann is betting on this. If he wants his little rebellion to have even a snowflake's chance in hell of succeeding, then he has to establish a fortified position now, before we have time to realize he's not playing games."
Mad Max suddenly slams his hand down on the map spread out on the table, shaking the table and jolting anyone awake who might or might not have been paying attention. He was pointing at one particular spot. "Here. Fort Verrist. This is where he will strike, and he will strike in full force. How do I know this? Because it's what I would do, and it's always better to overestimate your enemy than to underestimate 'em."
He suddenly leans back in his seat and relaxes again, grinning, his mood and expression changing like the weather. Yet another reason why everyone said he was mad.
"Also, Beorc don't like the cold. I reckon it can get pretty chilly up in the mountains, eh?"
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Post by HHDeception on Aug 10, 2015 12:04:16 GMT -6
*THUMP*
Ehh, guess the worm wants attention.
From behind still closed eyes, Lastrykan coughed.
"Bittin' humans and their flash-in-the-pan extravagance. Impression you say? If they want the fear and hate of a thousand merciless beasts from across the country drawn down upon their ilk then let them have it. Offing their head's an easy task lad, but so is making a martyr."
He brought a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples as his eyes opened. Why do they hold meetings this early in the day?
"Verrist is easy to reclaim. Mountains lie to the west. A score of my hawks could take it from some ragtag terrorists in an evening. We declare it an act of war from Selsen and they're forced to disavow themselves lest we retaliate. If they make the first move then the bloody idiots have already lost."
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Post by Neo on Aug 10, 2015 13:11:03 GMT -6
Maxwell gave a loud, roaring laugh. "See?! That's exactly what I'm talking about. War ain't as simple as all that, General. A rebellion is a dangerous thing, and while it may be easy to call them idiots from the planning room, real time war is hella different. It's a fluid thing, like a river. Diving head on in and screaming screw the consequences is a tactic of the past. I respect your experience, but we ain't all worms; and that attitude may just be your undoing one day."
He turns to look at the King. "Give me the reigns, sire. I want to crush this little rebellion of theirs with my own two hands."
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