RP thread: When *we* aren't there...

[Gwen Irima]

After a most pleasant breakfast Gwen returned to her usual business, which during the day is mostly serving travelers and gypsies that passed by in the Elven Quarter. At a quiet moment she returned to her quarters and sat down with the package she had received last week from two covians. It was a Trinsic cloak, a white sash, a map and some jewlery. The items had washed ashore on the Covian Coast. The covians were worried they belonged to the Duke, but considering the quality of the items she could reassure the Covians it was not his. But whoms was it then? Gwen pondered. Even though many guards were missing at the moment, they did not wear cloaks. It must belong to a paladin... but which one ? Tonight she would bring them tot he Duke... Maybe he knew.

And then there was this other matter... Gwen muttered. The information that Esca had given her the previously night had stunned her. Royal Guards working together with Brigands... And then there were those bloody footsteps... the finding of Nathan Hawke's cloak. These must be the signs Nathan had warned them about... Signs of a bad king? Gwen muttered again.

Die. Van kept telling her that. Die, Gwen. If only he knew... But she wouldn't give up, no matter how stubborn the silly pirate was. She could be stubborn as well..

She smiled, remembering waking up this morning...

[Irvyn]

Long into the night, the Duke paced back and forth in his study, agonising over the decisions made, the actions taken. The bruises and burns from the encounter with the ancient dragons were nothing compared to the anguish in his mind.

The fact that everyone had come together to find Nathan, from all across Britannia no matter what their politics, gave him hope. Perhaps Casca might serve to unite the land after all, even if unintentionally.

In vain he told himself over and over again: this is for the good of the Kingdom, for the support and protection of the heritage and dominion of the rightful King, Lord British. But still the cold, ugly word treason kept creeping through his mind. He, Irvyn Middlethorn, Duke of Trinsic, was leading the loyal citizens of Trinsic into open rebellion against the King. Even if Casca was no true king – and he was certain of that now – the horror of turning Trinsic against the king was almost unbearable.

But for the sake of the city, whatever happened, he must be resolute and calm. And so he paced, back and forth, steeling himself for the days to come.

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Dukes don't cheat, they adapt to circumstances.
(Slightly amended quote from "The Slipper and the Rose")

[Stewan Seagull]

She had been restless for a while, he couldn´t have but noticed when standing guard at the Smugglers´ Gate, he knew the signs and the tempting pull of Her voice. Soon somewhere a sailor, be it a lonely fisherman or a sea captain, would decide to face Her waves, despite his colleagues warnings, ignoring the little voices in his head or simply because he had a family to feed.
He had felt nervous then, close enough to hear Her voice, yet just out of reach.
But how could he ever really be out of reach? Her touch reached everywhere, the springs and rivers, the kitchen sink, his cup of tea...even into his very blood. Faintly, easy to resist, it still was there, like a whispered promise across a room or a whiny nag from next door, however Her mood struck Her.
She hadn´t given up, probably never would, just being there, waiting, biding Her time. But some days Her call would be more insistent and She would reach out to Her children, Her mates. Days like these...

He pressed closely against the Southern City Wall, his fingers curled into a piece of cloth that carried her flowery scent, his anchor into his new being.
Her call had pulled him here, he couldn´t have stayed away; close enough to hear Her voice yet far enough to resist... hopefully.
His eyes watched Her ever restless body to the east, even here, far away from where She took Her tithe, chose Her playthings, companions and loves the signs of her fury were unmistakeable. The storm would rage out there, shredding sails and breaking masts, more to the south, it seemed. A good sign, most likely no-one he knew would find his way to Her this night.

And suddenly, with a satisfied moan carried upon the winds, it was over. His hands clutched the tattered remains of a brightly coloured skirt to his face, filling his head with peace and the strength to move away, away from Her who he once called his love to the one that was his Love now, his anchor, the founding stone of his new self.

[Irvyn]

Again and again he relived the same nightmare. The golden streets stained red with blood, the walls cracked and crumbling, smoke from many fires rising to form a pall above like a death shroud. Demons bellowing, stamping their horned hooves in gleeful delight, the bodies of his people strewn thick as autumn leaves around them. In the centre, a gloating Casca, pointing an accusing finger at him and shouting: “His city is dead! Now kill the traitor!” The demons closed in, he raised his sword, readying himself in futile defiance ... and woke up.

He was too hot, unpleasantly sticky with sweat, his legs tangled in the blankets again and the sheet beneath him crumpled uncomfortably. Muttering, he threw back the bedclothes and pulled himself up to a sitting position. He fumbled in the almost-dark for the tinder box and lit the lamp on the table. At once the warm yellow light banished the shadows to the corners, and reduced the dark horrors to tiny mouse-like creepings in the back of his mind.

He went over to the washstand and splashed some cold water over his face and the back of his neck. Standing there in the slight breeze from the open window, he let the coolness calm him. He looked back at the bed again, then up at the clock on the wall, disinterestedly ticking away the hours. Nearly 5am. Was it worth trying to sleep again? He would be up at 6 anyway.

Making a decision, he dragged on the shirt and trousers from yesterday which were still hung over the back of the chair, pulled on a pair of shoes, then quietly opened his bedroom door and went up the stairs to the roof garden. It was chilly in the hour before dawn, and damp with the morning dew. He shivered a little at first, not having thought to pick his cloak up too, but at the same time welcomed the freshness.

Walking slowly around the lawn in the quiet grey end of night, he vaguely watched the fading stars and the slow brightening in the east as it gradually revealed the garden. The whole world seemed sleeping and silent, except for a small wind sighing in the trees. Agonising still over the strain of the trial, he tried not to think too much of Dorat’s proud defiance, nor dwell on the deep-rooted instinctive guilt of turning against a king, however illegimate a king Casca might be. The ugly word traitor was still leaving slimy trails in his thoughts.

He sighed as he stared out to the mountainside, watching the shadows steadily increase in definition as the light intensified, listening to the birds beginning to wake up. The fear of what Casca had intended and Dorat had tried to do rose like bile in his throat. Not fear for himself, he had faced that many times, but for his city and people. He felt their pain and loss, their terror and uncertainty, their expectation that somehow he would know what to do and be able to lead them out of all this. The weight of trust was crushing, but Casca’s hatred was the heaviest burden of all.

Small wisps of mist were curling in slow dances on the surface of the pond, and the birds were now in full joyful voice. The sunrise came swiftly, spilling sudden liquid gold through rose-pink clouds across the crystal fens and wide green plains of Malas. It was a perfect moment, a morning of breathtaking beauty, something to inspire hope. The Duke stood for a long moment, looking out at the world, building a memory. It was time to go downstairs to his morning bath and breakfast, and then to Trinsic, to face what the day brought with as much equanimity as possible.

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Dukes don't cheat, they adapt to circumstances.
(Slightly amended quote from "The Slipper and the Rose")

[Gwen Irima]

Happily singing to herself, Gwen was preparing lunch for a couple of visiting gypsies who had been hanging around the tavern earlier. She, or rather her cooking, had gotten quite famous amongst the gypsies that often stayed around the Trinsic public moongate.

There were many new things going on in her life. Understanding why her father had kept her "imprisoned" in Heartwood when she was growing up, had softened the anger she had felt towards him. Gwen smiled to herself as her thoughts drifted off to her bearman and the night before. With each passing day her love for him seemed to grow. Each time she believed she couldn't love him more, he'd surprise her with another trip to a beautifull place or with reading her a poem he had written for her. Who would have thought the one she thought to be a barbarian with his wild cats, would turn out to be all but that? But most gratefull she felt in her heart was Van's friendship, growing stronger (even tho they did argue sometimes) still. She valued his opinion.

Life's good. In the midst of the chaos around in the world with Casca, Nathan, warring and executions, I have found treasures that bring me great happiness...

[Kimi]

Kimi held her breath and peeked through the door, open just a crack.
On the other side, Sakaki lay on a futon, a folded moist cloth on her forehead to try and sooth her fever. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, as they always were when she thought no one was watching, her face firmly set in an expression that bordered on anger.
Some of that anger, Kimi supposed, was directed at her. If it hadn't been for Kimi's insistence, Sakaki would be doing everything in her power to avoid the bed rest she really needed.
Kimi let out the breath she was holding slowly and stepped silently away from the door, she often wondered if there was a single person alive, who was as difficult a patient as Sakaki.
As she soundlessly crept from the door to the end of the hall, she smiled a little to herself.
Hooking her fingers around the door at the end of the hall, she stepped through, hiding the sound of her quick step with the sound of the door. Once the door was open, she stepped back through into the hall, making it seem as if she had just entered.
With slightly exaggerated footsteps, she walked back down the hall to the door, and opened it a few inches to peek through.
Sakaki still lay on the futon, as she had been before. The only difference was that her eyes were closed, and her face was relaxed, as she tried to seem like she was peacefully resting.
Kimi's smile widened, as it did every time she saw the peaceful expression. False as it was, it was a rare sign that Sakaki was still human.

[Corona.]

Victor's spirits were high as he hung his cloak on a peg by the door. His meeting with the Duke had had an even better outcome tha he'd ever dared to hope for. Sitting down by a makeshift desk in his empty, derelict house he tapped a pen absently on the table. He would not be a guard. He could not live on his brother forever.

'I need to do something else..', he thought, 'but I can't really do anything!'

Suddenly, an idea started to form in his head..

[Sakaki Mai]

Sakaki suppressed a shiver as a cold breeze blew in from somewhere.
The main building work of the office had been completed before the snow had come, and the dip in temperature that preceded it had given enough time for the lattices to be sealed with paper. Although it wasn't enough to keep the cold out, it kept the worst of the weather from finding its way in, leaving only the cold to contend with.
With slightly shaking hands, she brought up the ink pot, and balanced it on top of the lantern. So that, with any luck, the warmth of the flame would unfreeze it.
She didn't remember the winters in Tokuno being this much of a problem, which could simply mean that the winters in Britannia were more harsh. However a corner of her mind wondered whether this was one of the first signs that she was growing older, and becoming more affected by such things.

[Kendra]

Written in Kendra's journal:

I suppose this should come as a relief to me.
Such hesitance over something as simple as opening a box seems consistent with the irrational behaviour I've come to expect from "normal" people. At least these daemonic changes haven't destroyed everything that makes me one of them, so I can still entertain the notion that I have a place among them.
Not that such a thing helps with my current situation. The box is unlocked, and all that remains to be done is for the lid to be opened, and the contents observed.
The only dangerous part of it is the cursed diamond, which I've become quite skilled at controlling. As it is currently, it's no more dangerous to the kingdom than a keg of alchemical explosives. But naturally, news that it hasn't been destroyed yet will no doubt send the virtuous vanguard into a frenzy, completely ignoring the original purpose for recovering the gem.
While I can ignore most of them quiet effectively, as they attempt to lecture me on the dangers of the gem, there's an outside possibility that the Queen is among them. Monarchs are difficult to ignore, with with the weight of the kingdom nominally resting on their shoulders, their notice is relatively easy to avoid.
Regardless, the gem is currently safe. Enchantments keep the curse contained, and siphon out the magical energy for the purposes of the experiment.
Two vials of blood. One filled with untainted blood, to determine whether the unlikely event that my enchantments are allowing a trace of the curse to escape is occuring, and the other filled with my own. If magic is an element in this corruption, then there will be an observable difference in the sample that comes from me.
The problem lies with learning the truth. In the not-unlikely event that I'm right, I'll have to make a choice. Either holding on to that little remains of what my life used to be for a little longer, at the cost of much of my life's study, or to simply accept that I'm destined to be consumed by this curse.
Oddly, writing all that seems to have helped.
I suppose I'll try the box again.

Kendra set the journal aside, and reached for the box. Holding it in her hands, it seemed even less rational to be having such hesitation. It was scarcely bigger than a jewellery box, and weighed just as little.
Letting out a breath, she composed herself as best she could, and took hold of the lid.
There was no avoiding it forever.

[Kendra]

Kendra looked up at the sky. It was dark, which it hadn't been before she opened the box.
A moment of panic ran through has, as she considered the worst case scenarios. There might have been a problem with her enchantments, resulting in the curse being unleashed at its full strength, or even worse, that the enchantments may have contained the curse, storing it like a dam before releasing it as she opened the lid.
Had she done the unthinkable? It wasn't impossible, but her process was meticulous with nothing left to chance, no room for predictable error. The sky seemed to support that idea, there were no stars, and everything seemed oddly distorted.
No, it couldn't have. The only way the experiment could have failed so catastrophically was sabotage, which was impossible.
With a moan of discomfort, she lifted herself up to a sitting position, every muscle in her body aching, as if from excessive exercise. That, and being on her back was different.
Had she fallen through a rift of some kind? That would explain why everything seemed different, and her body appeared to have gone through some stress.
Looking around, she discounted that idea. Although unclear, she recognised her surroundings well enough to conclude that she hadn't gone anywhere else.
Several feet away, she noticed a shape in the grass. Getting to her hands and knees, she crawled over to it, feeling a little too light-headed to attempt walking anywhere for the time being.
"Great!" she muttered, as she recognised the shattered remains of the box, and began searching for anything that remained of the experiment.
Recovering one of the vials, she lifted it to examine it. It seemed to still resemble normal blood, with similar viscosity and colour, which did nothing to conclude her experiment.
Moving around more of the the pieces, she found the remains of the other vial. Damaged by the same forces that had destroyed the box, only a trace of blood remained, the rest of it staining the debris and soaking into the ground.
The first thing she observed, was the smell, which reminded her somewhat of the daemonic realm in which she'd been trapped. She couldn't place what it was any more than she could when she was trapped, but a part of her mind associated it with daemons, and corruption.
Fighting down the growing anger inside her, she looked back down to the remains of the box, noticing something odd among the pieces. She reached for it, and picked it up, lifting it close to be able to identify it.
Realising what it was she was holding, she laughed, as every worst case scenario vanished like smoke on a breeze.
In her hand, she held her glasses, and a few blades of green grass. There was no curse or destruction, just poor eyesight and the passage of time.