Propriety

'' The injury we do and the one we suffer are not weighed in the same scales.  ~ Aesop, Fables''

Throne Room 


 * The high ceilings of this gray stone chamber are supported by rows of massive columns along an aisle that features a purple carpet that extends from the arched entrance to the Emperor's throne room and ends at the first step of the dais that holds the gleaming majesty of the Imperial throne - a chair of gold, armrests encrusted in jewels, back and seat cushioned with stuffed pillows covered with crimson velvet.


 * Torches flicker in stanchions attached to the columns. The fluttering wings and twitter of birds can occasionally be heard in the shadows overhead, where the fowl have nested after coming into the estate through one of the balconies or the courtyard.


 * The seal of Fastheld - a crown within a dark, unbroken circle - is on the tapestry that hangs behind and above the throne of Zolor Zahir.

 

The Emperor of Fastheld is pacing slowly in front of the throne, watched over by his usual assortment of guards while the ravens flutter in the shadowed rafters. The herald standing near the doors regards the new arrivals, sizes them up, then shrugs and points in Zolor Zahir's direction. "I believe His Majesty was expecting you."

An armored figure, certainly not a Watchman by the look of his protective gear enters the room, nodding at the herald. &quot;Thank you.&quot; He reaches down to his belt and pulls his scabbard off, placing it by the door. His sling, too, is left next to the encased sword. Considering his Seraphite shield, Nepos pauses, but then continues on to the throne. He remarks to Vhramis, &quot;Well... Shall we?&quot;    The armored man's companion doesn't need to stop to unload any equipment, however. In fact, Wolfsbane could almost come off as a normal looking person, not clad in his leathers and chain, nor baring his regular excessive assortment of knives, or bow. The man, as a result, is faintly jittery as he nods to Lucius, his jaw clenching as he grits his teeth and gestures for him to proceed.    The double-doors to the throne-room are closed behind the two postulants, a sentry taking up a position before each panel.    Zolor Zahir ceases his pacing as the commoners approach. Clasping his slender hands behind his back, his gaze is drawn toward Vhramis as Wolfsbane approaches through the flickering torchlight. The raven perched on the throne's armrest ruffles its feathers and squawks as a preface to the Emperor's tilting head and furrowed brow. &quot;In this light, one might almost mistake you for....&quot; His voice trails off and he shakes his head. &quot;Never mind.&quot; A hazy smile touches his lips and he turns to regard Lucius. &quot;Nepos. Alive and well, I see.&quot;    As Nepos swings his gaze back in front of him, he quickly approaches Zolor's position. Once at the appropriate social distance, the soldier removes his steel helm from his head and kneels down in deferrence of the Emperor's position. &quot;Your Highness, I am, thank you. It is to my understanding that Count Thayndor has not been to appraise you of the post expeditionary situation?&quot;  <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Vhramis follows Lucius, eyes shifting about the Throne room. It's been some time since he's been here. Still, he seems to know just where to stop, even without his companion's prompt, and takes a knee, watching Zolor quietly. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;I thought perhaps you were here to tell me that his body had been found adrift in the Fastheld River,&quot; Zolor replies with a grim smirk. &quot;No report. Nothing. I send you people off into the wilderness at no small expense to the crown, you vanish for weeks on end, and not so much as a raven with a note strapped to its talon, saying: 'Wish you were here, Majesty.'&quot; The Emperor lifts his eyebrows. &quot;Enlighten me.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Lucius Nepos is far too stoic to crack a grin at the Emperor's sarcasm, however tempting it may be to do so. He doesn't rise up from the ground but lifts his green blue eyes to regard Zolor. &quot;The expedition did not well as planned, due to a variety of reasons. Unforseen ones, the lot of them, your Highness. I am not surprised that he did not come to you after, to be truthful, given the facts.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Wolfsbane glances briefly to Lucius at his words, though his attention soon returns to regard Zolor thoughtfully, He rests his hands on his knee, fingers entwining together tightly. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> The raven on the armrest hops down into the cushioned seat of the throne as the Emperor listens to what Lucius Nepos has to say about the expedition. &quot;Stand and be heard,&quot; the Zahir replies before turning and walking up the brief steps of the dais that bears the throne. He grunts faintly at the raven, prompting the bird to wisely evacuate its temporary seat of power and hop back onto the armrest. Settling into the throne, Zolor says, &quot;We would hear your report.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> This time, though, Lucius passes a suspicious gaze towards the bird, if only for a brief moment. &quot;Your Highness, we left Fastheld just as the ice was thawing. Smoothly we moved along until reaching the Daggerford. There a disturbing turn of events happened...&quot; He trails off for a moment. &quot;Ester Shardwood had appeared on deck a few days before through Shadow magic. Unfortunately, she must have miscalculated this because something followed her out... it was, as I believe it is called, a Shadow Wraith and it attacked the ship at Daggerford. The arrival of two unexpected visitors saved us - Val'sharax, the Arbitrator, and Kalath'aria, the Instrumentalist. They did not banish the evil, though, permanently, but simply left us to ponder the consequences of Shardwood's impulsiveness.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Wolfsbane is moved enough to speak, the man rising to his feet. &quot;Kalath'aria did little but observe,&quot; he clarifies, glancing to Lucius. Does he sound slightly protective? &quot;Val'sharax scolded.&quot; He shrugs slightly, glancing up to the rafters above for but a moment. His hands fold behind his back. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Zolor's gaze drifts from one man to the next before returning to Lucius. &quot;This .... Shadow Wraith? It followed Shardwood out of....where, exactly?&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Wherever she came from, my Emperor.&quot; Lucius answers with a shrug that sends his segmented pauldrons up and down, like a coiling snake. &quot;Wherever people go when they use their powers in such a way. I had thought before that they didn't go anywhere but where they ended up but... apparently not. We made repairs on the Pride of Darkwater for a week at Daggerford, though Count Thayndor wished us to abandon the ship and proceed to Ravenrend, a village we'd heard of but did not know where it was, on foot. This was luckily averted, and it would have been tantamount to suicide.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Vhramis can only nod faintly in response to the report thus far, waiting in silence again for a place to jump in, apparently. Still, he doesn't seem particularly eager to speak, either. It's a nice place he's in. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Curious,&quot; the Emperor says, lacing his fingers together. The raven flutters its wings, lofting just high enough to arc up onto the back of the throne so it can observe Lucius with beady black eyes. &quot;I should very much like to discuss this matter with Ester Shardwood when the opportunity presents itself.&quot; His own attention goes once again to Vhramis. &quot;You *used* to be bald, right?&quot;

Lucius Nepos falls quiet when the Emperor asks Vhramis the strange question. His eyes follow the raven again as he waits.

Vhramis seems faintly surprised at the question as well, his reaction being to quickly lift a hand to drag his palm over his scalp. "..ah..yes. Just haven't taken a blade to it in a while, is all. I plan to again fairly soon, however. Probably. Most likely." He glances to Lucius and clears his throat. "..I think."

"Indeed," Zolor replies, smiling faintly, and then he returns his focus to Lucius. "Go on, then, Nepos. I have this feeling you are only now getting to the meat of this epic adventure." At the mention of meat, one might notice, the bird perched on the back of the throne sinks its talons ever so gently into the purple velvet that serves as upholstery.

Lucius Nepos has to once again jerk his head abruptly back to the Emperor and he nods. "Yes, your Highness. We sailed on after the repairs without any particular issue, until we arrived at Crown's Refuge. If your Highness would remember the last report on Crown's Refuge, it would be that it was a small township at the top of a strategic bluff. When we got there, an extensive harbour had been emplaced, but nobody was on it. So I took a portion of the expedition up the hill to the town." Pausing, he takes a deep breath. "It was no longer a town. Crown's Refuge is a city the size of Hawk's Aerie, bigger perhaps. Upwards of ten thousand must live there. The case when we arrived was in the middle of a siege. The original protectors of the Refuge, called the Blood Guard, had been forced out by a group of brigands headed by someone named He Who Is Not Named. Heading the Blood Guard is.. the former Justiciar, Soravyn Zahir. He told me to pass on the message that he has resigned his position, as an aside... but Soravyn, as the Archon, told me that He Who Is Not Named claimed to be an avatar of one Xil'varath. The only reason I remembered this name is because it is also who the Cult of the Drake claimed to worship when they were apprehended half a year ago by the Blades."

"Some story," mutters Vhramis at that, looking over to Lucius and blinking as the man rattles all that off. He seems vaguely surprised, all in all. "..we did all that? Huh." With a scratch to his chin, he seems to suddenly remember where he is, and shuts up, regarding Zolor a bit sheepishly.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Told you to pass it on, did he?&quot; The Emperor snorts indignantly. &quot;There's another fellow who could do with learning that our house mascots are useful for more than just decorating the furniture.&quot; He shoots a brief glare at the raven as it hops down onto his armrest with a squawk. Zolor sighs. &quot;Fine. Resignation accepted, I suppose. So, Cult of the Drake. Ominous bunch. All under control, then?&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> There's a small degree of murmuring beyond the entrance to the Throne Room; murmuring that eventually culminates in the guards offering one of the usual couriers of the Fastheld Courier Service a slight nod of recognition before permitting them access into the Throne Room itself. The courier, in turn, nods back, and makes his way into the chamber that holds the seat of power at a casual pace, evidently here to collect today's mail. Routine stuff, all in all. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;I have no idea, as this He didn't claim to be a part of them. I was just theorizing, your Highness.&quot; Answers Lucius. Another of his amour’s snake-like shrugs follows. &quot;In any case, we negotiated, perhaps foolishly, with Val'sharax to lift the siege of Crown's Refuge, so no blood would be shed. He did this.&quot; Briefly, anyways, the soldier glances at the door at the new arrival, noting him and then turning back. &quot;The... inhabitants of Crown's Refuge are people from all around the Wildlands. But also some Green Wildlings. And in bigger numbers, a new race. They are half-men, half-snake and call themselves the Syladri. An agile, amiable bunch.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Men on the top, snake on the bottom,&quot; clarifies Vhramis at that, trying to be helpful, glancing to Lucius and nodding his head. &quot;They have horns as well; a strange sense of humor also. When I was there, two of them picked me up and...&quot; He glances back to Zolor, before biting his lip and shutting up again. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Amiable, you say?&quot; That gets a brief chuckle from Zolor. &quot;Yes, well, I hope you didn't bring any back with you, Nepos, because while I may be able to push forward a basic agenda that allows some leniency for the Shadow-Touched after centuries of backward-minded thinking, it would likely push this realm over the edge of madness if we started introducing them to your slithering snake people friends. It was troubling enough to have to cope with those little people and their flying machines.” <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> “*Snake people*, though.&quot; He shakes his head. &quot;A lot of people don't like snakes, Nepos. The mind goes wandering to some nasty places when considering the origins of snake *people*. So, best we keep that little bit of information to ourselves for the time being.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> The courier - only now noticing that the Emperor is currently entertaining guests - decides to present as little a distraction as possible and, soon after passing under that main archway, moves off the purple carpet and into the shadows of one of the faux side passages that run behind the central columns. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Er, no, of course not. Amiable to us perhaps as guests, but Fastheld is a closed society. There is a reason we are not inviting people, nor would they come even if we did, your Highness, as you are no doubt well aware.&quot; Lucius ploughs on in any case, shooting Vhramis an amused grin before his features flatten out into neutrality once more. &quot;In any case, the plan had been poorly constructed, but generally followed the line that we would find out where these flying machines came from by talking to the locals.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Ebonhold, it was said, was likely behind or supporting of the He who had tried to usurp Crown's Refuge and would be hostile to us. I talked to near a hundred people, from all walks that had lived in various parts of the Wildlands for their entire lives. Rangers, woodsmen, farmers, crafters and even one or two Green Wildlings. All of them, including the Archon, returned to me this - we have seen the ships but do not know where they come from, except it is likely beyond the mountains. The Dragonspine is... well, the mountains are a hundred times higher than the Aegis, and nobody knows a path through them. They are a thousand miles long, or more. We simply could not do anything further with the party we had. But Crown's Refuge has a vast amount of goods that we could trade with, it being raised by the same magic that raised the Aegis, and they could likewise benefit from trade with us.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> With a small nod at that, Vhramis shifts his weight to his other foot. He idly glances back over his shoulder to observe the front end of the Throne room, though not seeing anything of interest, turns his attention forward again to Zolor, considering the Emperor. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> The Emperor nods. &quot;I have no doubt they would benefit from trade with us. However, I am curious as to how Little people on explodable flying machines.&quot; He steeples his fingers and settles back in the throne. The raven at his side shifts to the left and ruffles its feathers, fixing Vhramis with its beady-eyed gaze. &quot;If you were a little taller, maybe....&quot; Zolor shrugs it off, then looks back toward Lucius. &quot;Anything further? Did you perchance find Hartnek Lomasa planting a flax crop? Orell Mikin on a horse, trampling little green Wildlings?&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Lucius Nepos shakes his head. &quot;No, other than... I think you should know before the Count comes and tells you himself, if he does, your Highness. He pledged to run on into the wilderness, no matter the cost, despite the fact that we all knew nothing could come of it. We all told him that was unacceptable and we would not do it. We went, essentially, against his order, though it was ignored out of logic and experience of those who lived in the Wildlands.&quot; On the first point, Nepos expands a bit. &quot;We could benefit because there are a whole variety of plants, ores and other extremely useful and abundant resources out there. It is likely they have techniques in such trades that could complement and improve our own.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> With a soft clearing his throat, Vhramis chimes in. &quot;I saw some walking about with weapons made of exotic metals. Whether those are specifically worth mining, there are still more ample minerals out there, than there are in Fastheld. Everything isn't as mined out.&quot; He pauses for a moment, before adding, &quot;…your Highness.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Very well, then, perhaps a trade expedition might be in order on our next foray,&quot; the Emperor replies. &quot;I will escort this next expedition myself.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">The sound of someone breaking into a paced sprint from a previously standing position permeates from within the shadows of the faux passageway behind the columns near to the Imperial Throne; an echo of boots scuffing upon the marble floor, a shift of fabric around flesh forced into motion. From within those shadows a lone figure emerges. A figure clad in a robe of shifting shadows, his face concealed beneath a mask of equally fel magic. Throwing his right hand out to the side, that same figure conjures a short blade of darkness within his hand. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">&quot;The blood of an Empire shall flow this day!&quot; he cries in a shrill voice, heading directly for the throne; and the Emperor upon it. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Lucius Nepos's eyebrows shoot up when Zolor makes his pronouncement. &quot;Your Highness, I don't know if-&quot; His voice is cut off when the 'courier' breaks his silence and sprints to the throne. Thinking quickly, Lucius reaches under his left bracer. What is he ruffling for there? The answer becomes very apparent when he removes a wicked sharp looking obsidian dagger. At the same time, he shifts his seraphite shield off of his back and positions it in front of him. &quot;HALT, YOU FOOL!&quot; He bellows, holding position near the Sovereign. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Wolfsbane would very likely like to draw some hidden weapon or some such as he turns about in surprise, and he even makes a grasp for his wrist, but unfortunately comes up empty. &quot;Propriety,&quot; he mutters to himself in annoyance, hesitating for a moment, before grunting and moving forward, unarmed. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> RAWRK! The raven perched on the throne, startled by the outcry, wings up into the shadows of the rafters, crossing the attacker's field of vision just long enough for Emperor Zolor Zahir to go from looking rather surprised by the shout and the footfalls to....not looking anything at all. Between the flapping of the raven's wings, Zolor Zahir fades from view as if he had never been there, leaving the would-be assassin nothing to shed but goose feathers from the cushions. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">The scene plays out just like that; the assassin enacting a slashing uppercut motion at where Zolor was but a moment ago, sundering the cushions and leaving deep furrows in the wood. Once, twice, nothing. Foiled by the very same Shadow that would have seen an Emperor murdered, the assassin mutters a curse in a guttural language before facing Zolor's 'guests' - and the juggernaughts of the Imperial Tribunal who have finally stirred into motion from their previous stances of sentry around the room. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">&quot;Xil'varath take you all.&quot; he snarls. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Vhramis. Go get my sword, at the entrance.&quot; Lucius says, though his voice does not hint that it is a command of any sort. Holding his shield out in front of him he slowly steps towards the Shadow shrouded mage, measuring each movement slowly. &quot;C'mon then; 'ave at me.&quot; taunts Nepos, grinning menacingly. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> With Zolor being abruptly out of harms way, Wolfsbane pauses his forward movement. Being unarmed as he is, he wisely backs off and rather quickly at that, backpedaling to let the incoming angry guards deal with things for him. &quot;Maybe.... uh… take him alive?&quot; he suggests, glancing to Lucius, and frowning a bit at him. &quot;I won't make it back before the Guard cut him to pieces,&quot; he protests. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">The assassin doesn't rise to the insult. Instead, he merely remains standing in front of the throne, looking upon Lucius and Vhramis from behind the faceless mask of shifting shadow and darkness. The Shadowblade in his right hand dissipates into nothing, followed by an action turning that very same hand palm up. At first there doesn't seem to be anything unusual at all about that hand.... until a small spark of fire swirls into few. A spark that swiftly begins to grow into a marble of fire, and then a small sphere, and then a ball.... </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">
 * we* would benefit from trading with *them*? Shadow Wraiths. Snake people.

"Vhramis.. I don't ask you things for no reason." Laments Lucius. "Right then boys, time for some action eh? Figured you'd lend me a bit of a hand." The soldier smiles weakly but does not look back, instead focusing on the fireball. His shield arm stiffens.

The ranger freezes as the fire begins to conjure up in the mage's hand. His eyes widen a bit, before he doubles his pace backwards, nearly falling over himself. "You see what happens when I leave my bow behind?" he calls to Lucius. "Throw that damn knife at him or something!"

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">The assassin holds his hand behind him as if to throw; a hand that starts to shudder from the raw amount of arcane force that's being channeled into the manifestation that it holds. The ball of fire is now less a threat than a living, breathing, creation of flame, swirling with anger and ominous power.... </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">....and then just as suddenly thrown in the direction of those that stand before the Cultist. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Vhramis throws an arm up in front of his face, not quite registering the command from Lucius. &quot;Blood and Shadow,&quot; he spits as the roaring increases in intensity, clenching his eyes closed. He stops his retreat, and instead springs forward into the incoming flame - and happens to come out the other side no worse for wear; aside from a ringing in his ears. He stumbles a bit, glancing over to Lucius, wide eyed, and with a push of his legs, sends himself charging to scoop up the dropped knife. &quot;Nepos? You with me?&quot; he calls out, concern for his friend combined with awareness for the still very real threat of the cultist. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Some of the Palace Guard from the Tribunal are stunned and burned beneath their armor. Others stand around in a daze, thanking the Light that nothing happened. One appears to be somewhat motionless, his body propped up in a sitting position at the other end of the room against the back wall. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Lucius Nepos grimaces at the pain, his hands clenching up and his eyes closing tightly for a few seconds. On top of this, an audible grunt of pain is emitted from his <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> closed mouth and for a few moments the soldier doesn't get up. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">&quot;Xil'varath's wings sweep far.&quot; The Cultist taunts, evidently satisfied with the carnage he's wrought. Throwing his right hand out to the side once more, it seems that he's planning on an encore of flame. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Lucius Nepos grimaces at the pain, his hands clenching up and his eyes closing tightly for a few seconds. On top of this, an audible grunt of pain is emitted from his closed mouth and for a few moments the soldier doesn't get up. But he does, eventually, and instead of dashing towards the Cultist he moves to the back of the room, to do what Vhramis would not - get his weapon. &quot;Attack him!&quot; Comes his deep, practiced voice, feet falling at irregular intervals as he weaves around the fallen bodies towards his destination. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Wolfsbane is already in motion, not needing the prompt from Lucius, the man breaking into an all out sprint at the cultist. &quot;Done more stupid things before. Like dealing with Wildlings. Light, but they smell,&quot; he mutters to himself, almost a nervous babble, eyes narrowing as his muscles tense, holding the his knife hand across his chest, parallel, in preparation to strike. &quot;Lady guide me,&quot; he adds, fixed on the robed man as he springs up the last few steps and takes a wild slash. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">The Cultist isn't in much a position to evade the counterattack; the concentration required to maintain the Shadow Robe, Mask, and summon the Fireball, is difficult enough without diving all over the place. Thus, the Cultist could only hope to loose the sphere of flame before any such counterattack was made. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">A hope that is in vain as the obsidian dagger, backed by the inertia of the running strike, drives beyond the robe of shifting shadows and into the flesh beneath, cutting a wide swath through that illusionary robe and across the chest of the man beneath it. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">There's a sharp and audible electrical *CRACK* of energy that results from that contact, stinging the hand that wields the dagger but doing little else. Wounded from the strike, the Cultist is unable to maintain the Shadowrobe, which soon dissipates to reveal the damage beneath; the Cultist staggering back to stumble into the throne behind him as a result. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> While Lucius may be trying to sprint to the end of the room, it is apparent that his amour didn't do very much for him in face of the fireball and that he is slowed down, dazed as a result of the arcane magic. He continues to trek on to the end of the room, in sight of his weapon now. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Wolfsbane gasps at the sharp jolt and burn of electricity that courses through his hand, clenching his teeth at the shock. His hand grips the dagger all the tighter as his muscles spasm, the man stumbling a bit as he attempts to recover from his jump. With a grunt and shake of his head, he shakily turns to regard the cultist sprawled across the throne, staggering forward to pursue him. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> After the Cultist sinks into the throne, his attention seemingly fixed on Vhramis and the obsidian blade that scored him, the raven settles once more on the armrest of the royal seat. There's a faint whisper of wind and the twingiest bite of sharpness brushing over Wolfsbane's scalp, and then - seemingly from thin air - crimson-streaked steel catches flickering torchlight before k-chunking into and through the neck of the Cultist. Attached to this sword, known as Radiant Darkness, is the previously invisible Emperor Zolor Zahir, now standing next to the throne and grimacing at his would-be assassin. &quot;You're certainly not invited back,&quot; he quips to the intruder in his chair. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">The body of the Cultist is shoved to the side from the force of the strike. Though previously sprawled mostly over one arm, gravity soon takes over and drags the torso of the decapitated man over the side fully, resulting in the headless corpse crumpling to the ground in a dull thud of limbs. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#339966">The head, however, manages to roll backwards and lands square on the seat of the abused throne. Curiously, the Shadowmask is maintained for a few seconds after that head comes to a rest until the final spark of life is fully drained, and the last ounce of channeled shadow fades into nothing.... revealing not the Fastheld Courier behind it, but a herald who has served in the Imperial Palace since even before a Zahir sat upon the throne. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> In the silence that follows the dramatic resolution, a soft sobbing can be heard from somewhere in the shadows behind the columns of the Throne Room, hinting at the current location of a certain courier. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Lucius Nepos grabs his sword scabbard, several moments too late, though the soldier doesn't notice yet. No, he attaches it to his belt, tucks his sling in and once more limply sprinting towards the throne... except that he realizes that everybody is far too still for there to be something hostile still going on. Slowing his pace, Nepos moves up to see the Cultist's corpse. He frowns. &quot;Light. I think I've seen that man, before.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> On instinct, Vhramis snaps his head to the side at the tickle and sting of something to his scalp, before blinking in shock as Zolor again appears, only to finish off the cultist. The ranger stumbles to a stop, blinking, before a small shiver chills his spine. &quot;...if I come back, do I have permission to come armed?&quot; he asks quietly of Zolor, staring at the severed head blankly, not moving yet from his spot. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;No,&quot; the Emperor says curtly, turning his head toward the sobbing noise. &quot;Now, deal with our other visitor.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#993300">The Palace Guard tend to their wounded; two of the unharmed ones finally making their way to Zolor's position in the wake of the event, while one ventures off to handle the woeful task of seeing to the dead. It is at this moment that an officer of the Imperial Watch bursts into the Throne Room, his attire speaking of heavy travel. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#993300"> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#993300">&quot;My Lord!&quot; he cries, catching himself as the scene in the Throne Room actually registers. &quot;Light, what happened?&quot; </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Lucius Nepos limps on over towards the courier, withdrawing his weapon from its sheath. In the flickering torchlight of the throne room, Dasbeck's painted runes glimmer as brightly as the blood in the Battle of the Rolling Hills, the painting in the background of the room. By the way he's walking, it's evident that the flame must have affected one of his legs more than the rest of his body, and the soldier does not seem to be very pleased about it. &quot;Show yourself.&quot; Says Lucius simply, his tone controlled. He stops near where the sobbing is coming from. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#666699">The courier isn't difficult to miss once you actually look for him. Curled up on his side upon the floor amidst the shadows of the throne room, it would seem that the unlucky courier has been quite viciously stabbed. Blood pools out around his shoulder, tainting the marble beneath. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Wolfsbane frowns slightly at that and looks to Zolor as if he's about to argue the point, before his eyes widen a bit, as if remembering just who it is. He swallows and turns about, moving about a crimson plated tribunal officer to make way to where Lucius stands. Bloody dagger is still held loosely in his hand, the man not having the thought to clean it at the moment. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> Zolor Zahir narrows his eyes, turning to regard the newly arrived officer. &quot;Someone tried to kill the Emperor. Quite exciting, really. If you hurry, you might just make it in time to....oh, wait, *I was saved by a babbling commoner* instead!&quot; He gestures toward where Lucius has gone. &quot;A perfectly good prisoner or corpse, I don't care. I want that garbage removed.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#993300">The officer looks a little taken back by the snappy rebuttal he gets. Still, he manages to snap off a salute to his Emperor all the same, attempting not to take it personally, given the situation at hand. &quot;I.... I bring dire news. Well, dire enough given the....&quot; Again, he catches himself, going rigid once more. &quot;It's.... it's Apple Village, my Lord.&quot; </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;He's about to die, your Majesty, if we don't tend to him.&quot; Lucius slides his sword away just as quickly as he'd withdrawn it, and ever the aspiring hero lowers his shield, too. &quot;Vhramis, give me some clothing of yours. Or cloth. I don't care.&quot; Nepos turns to look at the ranger for a moment, eyes speaking with urgency that his voice doesn't carry. He looks back at the man. &quot;Come out here into the light so I can see it.&quot; He says now, gently. Apple Village is apparently ignored for the moment. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> The talk of Apple Village isn't missed by Wolfsbane, apparently, the man glancing back towards where the officer speaks with Zolor. Still, Vhramis unfastens his brown cloak, tugging it off of himself. Dropping to his knees and with knife in hand, he begins cutting out strips from it, making what he undoubtably hopes are servicable bandages and bindings, laying them out next to Lucius. &quot;How hurt is he? How many cuts?&quot; he mutters, obviously attempting to listen in. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> For Zolor, on the other hand, the courier's condition doesn't matter at all. Alive or dead, whatever: The Imperial Watch officer has his attention. &quot;What happened to Apple Village?&quot; The raven on the throne squawks, ruffles its feathers, and bounces down to rest on the decapitated head of the herald. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#993300">&quot;The Shrine of the Horsemaster was defiled, your Grace.&quot; The officer begins, taking courage from his own words, &quot;But.... that's not all. They say something from /beyond/ was loosed upon Apple Village after that. Apple Village is....&quot; He pauses, and the steel of bitter resolution and outrage strengthens his tone. </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#993300"> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> <span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:Arial; color:#993300">&quot;Apple Village is burning.&quot; </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"><i> </i> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;A stab wound, made by a barbed dagger. Deep. Do you have any spirits with you in a skin?&quot; Asks Lucius, gratefully taking the strips of the cloak. He stops and stares at these for a moment. &quot;My wife's, eh?&quot; Without waiting for an answer though, Nepos starts to wrap the area around the shoulder snugly. The talk of a burning township within the realm, however, does indeed catch Nepos's attention. &quot;Light. The Watch needs to be mobilized...&quot; He mutters to no one in particular. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;I have none,&quot; mutters Wolfsbane at that, his voice hushed as the Imperial officer's news strikes him. &quot;Just...tie him up and we'll carry him where we need. It'll be treated better after...&quot; He pauses at that, swallowing heavily, lowering the knife as he apparently figures he cut enough. &quot;Light. <span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">Apple <span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial"> <span style="font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Arial">Village , Lucius.&quot; <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> &quot;Burning,&quot; the Emperor repeats, his tone a mix of disgust and dismay. <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-autospace: none"> He shakes his head and then turns to glower at Lucius and Vhramis. &quot;I want to see Shardwood. She either comes on her own or I put another bounty on her head.&quot; With that, Zolor Zahir stalks away, leaving the bloodied courier, the decapitated herald, and the Imperial Watch officer with the guards and vistors. And the raven, which gives a contented RAWRK! (sounding a lot like an upset RAWRK!) while it rests on the dead man's cheek and watches through beady black eyes as the Emperor passes through the doors into the main hall.

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