Final Fantasy: A Song of Blizzaga and Firaga

Sword in hand, a warrior clutches stone to breast​

In sword etched he his fading memories​

In stone, his tempered skill​

By sword attested, by stone revealed​

Their tale can now be told.

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>ooc Thread<



The Church of Andalos and the Zodiac Braves
Six thousand years ago, before St. Ajora, the kingdom of Ivalice was split into six nations, each wanting to expand its territory. Its people worshiped a pantheon of seven gods, the Occuria, led by the Father. On the day that Ajora Andalos was born, he stood on his feet and walked to the town well and spoke of its poison. True to his prophecy, all those who drank from the well died. Ajora grew and spread the gospel of the Seven, the one true god with seven faces, across the Crownlands and the neighboring nations. He performed miracles and enlightened all in his path, eventually gaining 12 disciples.​

When the King of Dorne grew mad in want of conquest, he used forbidden magic to summon an Ancient Demon. With hopes of using the Demon as his weapon, the Mad King unleashed it upon all of Ivalice. The Ancient Demon was too powerful for the Mad King and killed him before going to lay waste to all of Ivalice. Ajora led his 12 disciples to fight against the Ancient Demon, using the power of 13 holy stones -the Auracite- and defeated the Ancient Demon. Ajora was named as Saint by his followers for this victory and because the Auracite were marked with the signs of the Zodiacs, he and his disciples were dubbed the "Zodiac Braves."​

Though Ivalice was united by his victory against the Ancient Demon, the church branded St. Ajora a heretic and traitor to Ivalice. One of St. Ajora's disciples sold his location to the pagan church and he was executed at the gallows. For their transgression, the Crownlands were immediately destroyed by the Cataclysm.​

The Church of Andalos, as it is now, rose from the ruins of the Crownlands. Worshiping the Father as the one true God and St. Ajora as the child of God, savior of Ivalice, leader of the Zodiac Braves, and vanquisher of the evil Demon, the Church of Andalos gained prominence in all of Ivalice and ruled alongside the noble families.​

Those who still believe in the old gods, the Occuria, are heretics and may hold no noble title. These heathens are said to be victim to a curse as punishment for their transgression.​

The Church of Anadalos
​

Before St. Ajora Andalos, the ancient Ivalicians worshiped seven different gods, the Occuria, led by the Father. However, St. Ajora preached the truth: there is only one god, the Father, with seven faces. Though each face is prayed to for different purposes, they are all acknowledged and respected under both Church doctrine and throne law. A seven-pointed star represents the faith.

• The Father - represents divine justice and judges the souls of the dead.
• The Mother - represents mercy, peace, fertility, and childbirth. She is often referred to as "the strength of women."
• The Maiden - represents purity, innocence, love, and beauty.
• The Crone - represents wisdom and foresight. She is usually portrayed carrying a lantern.
• The Warrior - represents strength and courage in battle
• The Smith - represents creation and craftsmanship.
• The Stranger - represents death and the unknown. It is rarely prayed to.

Though the faces can be referred to as "gods," it is important to note that they are only faces of the Father. Collectively, one can refer to all seven faces as the "Seven."
The Church of Andalos is led by the High Judge, usually a blood relative of Zodiac's Baron.
The Espers that the Summoners call upon are essences of the angels of the Seven, evoked temporarily by the Summoners' prayers.
The signs of the Zodiac were named after the archangels in the Father's court.
The Church of Andalos has an armed faction, 13 warriors called the Knights of the Round, that are sent throughout Ivalice for religious promotion and other such affairs.

The Wall, the Jagd, and the Watch​

Though St. Ajora and the Zodiac Braves vanquished the Ancient Demon, its evil forces still remain in the world. After the unification of Ivalice, the monsters were pushed north and a massive wall was built between them and Ivalice, separating us from them. The monstrous underlings of the Ancient Demon, the Cie'th, are now contained to the Jagd, the lawless and wild regions outside of the Wall. Both the King and the Church forbid venturing into the Jagd, employing the Night's Watch to guard the Wall from those seeking out...and in.

The Night's Watch consists of a few hundred men, though its army is at its all-time smallest. While the Night's Watch employs soldiers from all armies, its dwindling numbers have led to most of the guard stations being abandoned, leaving only a handful. Due to decades without incident, both the throne and the Church largely ignore it aside from forbidding crossing of the Wall, leading it to its current state. Though the Night's Watch was once considered an honorable position -the Watchmen swear an oath of loyalty to the Wall and no individual kingdom, committing their entire lives to the Watch- it is now mostly criminals and nobles avoiding either punishment and scandal, as well as orphans and other such outcasts.

 

It was late morning as the sun shone down upon the Westerlands. There was nary a cloud in the blue sky as the residents of King's Landing, capital of both the Westerlands and Ivalice as a whole, bustled and scuttled through their daily routines. The main road, the Kingsroad, was full of pedestrians on foot, horseback, and carriage as they went along with their business. Merchants setting up shop, soldiers on patrol, septons preaching the word of the Father, children at play, tourists and citizens alike all filled the streets as if the threat of war wasn't looming...but looming it was. More soldiers than normal patrolled; students from the Academy of Magickal Arts were practicing outside as opposed to studying in a classroom; even the merchants seemed seedier as they sold "magic-boosting amulets" and the such. In the midst of the crowds, two tall figures, both clad in dark cloaks, moved towards the castle.

"Amazing, is it not?" Asked the shorter of the two, under the Night's Watch standard cloak, his face hidden by its hood. "My shortcut saved two days from our trek, and we only had to escape one single Behemoth! Quite worth the journey through the forest." As he said it, he felt the sweat drop from his brow...though not from the sun's rays. Something ailed the traveler, and it ailed him greatly. Lowering his voice, Lark -he was often called by his surname- pulled his hood even lower and asked, "Have you ever experienced anything like this? You know, out in the you-know-whats?"


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The Regent walked with purpose through the castle halls. There was no stagger in his step, no falter in his demeanor. Assertive in everything he did, there was one reason why the one called "Ser Duskblade" showed no weakness: he simply had none to show. The clang-clang of his steps echoed through the hall, accompanied by those of the following soldiers. His stern eyes looked out from beneath his dark, golden hair; though they never moved from his target, he was entirely aware of his surroundings. He was adorned in his personal armor: regal gold and black in color, but light and flexible with the crest of House Valefor over the chestplate. Its white cape flowed almost impossibly behind him, revealing the hilt of his signature sword. He may not have been as big as the two soldiers tailing him, but their stature paled in comparison to his. As he reached the door at the end of the hallway, he stopped, grabbed the handle and addressed his knights, "No interruptions." It was a simple command, but the subordinates already knew their orders. With a single "Ser!" They turned and stood, flanking the door, with hands on their swords. Without giving them a second thought, Ser Vali Garmond of House Valefor, Regent to the Iron Throne of Ivalice, entered the room.

"Gentlemen, my sincerest apologies for the wait," He said it without introducing himself. He has met all in attendance before, on some political occasion or other. "The young King has been troubled with...well, he is an infant after all," he said it without the slightest bit of amusement. He took his place at the end of the table. To his right, sat a man in gray armor and a flowing blue cape. The man's long brown hair was starting to gray and the wrinkles of experience were evident on his face. One purple-gloved hand rested on the table. "As the Regent of the Iron Throne, allow me to formally introduce you all to Lord Mareth Anima, Hand to the King of Ivalice," he nodded his head towards the Hand. Turning to a long-haired main in light armor farther down, he continued, "The esteemed Lord Baron Roshan Azi-Dahaka of House Dahaka of Dorne." Raising a hand to the cloaked young man across from Azi-Dahaka, he went on, "Ser Whisk Arrior of House Anima, Ambassador of the Iron Island, here on behalf of Baron Anima." Finally, the Regent looked to the elderly man next to Whisk, "And, of course, Septon Frye from House Zodiark, attending on behalf of both the Baron of the Crownlands and the High Judge himself. Thank you, Septon." It was a simple acknowledgement; the Septon wouldn't take part directly in any diplomacy meetings, but was only there to bless them. Per tradition, House Zodiark stood with the Church on all political matters not related to their own domain. Vali spent no breath on the various soldiers in the room; they were there to protect their respective nobles and had no other diplomatic purpose. Looking to the two empty seats, the one to his left across from the Hand, and the one next to Baron Azi-Dahaka, Vali cleared his throat, "The Queen must attend to the young King. Mother's duty and all that. I am here on her behalf, as is Lord Anima," he nodded towards the King's Hand. "However, it appears quite evident that House Ragnarok will not be attending today's meeting."

"Yeah, yeah!" Whisk leaned forward, anxiously slamming his hands on the table. His ears wiggled through his red hair as he grinned, revealing fangs, "Enough with the formalities, Lord Regent, and it is a pleasure to meet you and you and you and everyone else under the Father's damned sun." He pointed to the Hand, Baron Azi-Dahaka, and Septon Frye (who gasped), "Now let's talk war." He leaned back, grinning ear to ear. "That's what we're here for, isn't it? To -and I quote my own respected Baron- 'solving the conflict between Houses Valefor and Ragnarok with words in place of swords?' So, let me be the first to bring up the vital and quite delicious point," he waved to the empty seats, "Neither the heads of Valefor nor Ragnarok are attending this diplomatic council of Houses, so-called forth to usher peace talks and held to promote calmness throughout Ivalice."

 

Kara hefted her battle ax onto its customary place on her shoulder. The wood had become slippery with the sweat from her hand, causing the weapon to slide further down her grip until the iron blade was poking her in the shoulder. If she was pushed or tripped, it could easily impale her, and that would be the end.

What an end. She thought scornfully, her attention barely on the road ahead. They'd have a fit back home if they knew. Her mind momentarily stalled on the memories of her mercenary band back in Dorne. They had been sad, as sad as a handful of rough men with the emotional range of a teaspoon could be. She hoped they were all still alive and in mostly one piece.

"This heat!" The merchant was walking ahead of her, fanning his face with his hand. He was a squat, pale skinned fellow, dressed in clothing that would cost her an entire year's pay. She questioned his choice of garment, considering the weather, but she also questioned his choice of guards. She and one other man were the only ones helping this fellow get to the strangely named village. It was a rather long journey to take, with only two guards and no horses. By her count, it had been six months at least.

It didn't help that he slept in late, never rising before noon, and stopping well before dusk. His physique didn't make matters better. But, she had chosen to take the job. Most of her mates had laughed at the request, brushing it aside. Only she and the man next to her had taken it seriously, considering the amount of gold offered versus the time and travel.

And they had taken it. She glanced at Heralt beside her before turning her gaze straight ahead. He was older by a few years, and as such had traveled through Ivalice more then she. He was comfortable with the crowds of people, the buildings made of stone, and the strange landscape that surrounded them. Kara? She was homesick, for the first time in her life. It was a strange feeling, to miss a place she had detested so. But she missed the strange rock formations, the wastelands that remained empty of people, and the silence that was brought by the wind.

So unlike the Westerlands. The only upside was that Heralt promised to take her to the sea. By the time this journey ended, they would only be a day or two's journey away. Even though she had lived in Dorne her entire life, she had yet to see the ocean. A shameful thing to admit as one of the Dahaka. But she had extenuating circumstances, and besides, Heralt had promised!

He, unlike her, was not one of the Dahaka. He had refused to elaborate on his past, other then that it gave him the skills he needed to perform well in the mercenary line of work. And because she too, liked her privacy, she didn't push the subject. Something crackled in the bushes to her left and she froze, pulling her ax in front of her body as her eyes glowed with the power of Ifrit. A rabbit crept from the bushes, wiggling its nose before darting back into the trees.

"Jumpy." Heralt commented, and the merchant laughed, though his hand seemed to be shaking as he wiped his shiny forehead.
"Whatever." Kara slung her ax back to lean against her shoulder, the glow in her eyes dying. Heralt gently nudged her shoulder before continuing on, this time taking a place next to the merchant. Kara fell back behind, her gaze swiveling from the left to the right in order to be aware of every movement, any sign of potential danger. It wasn't easy, when every little breeze shook the leaves, and rodents of every kind were scrounging around in the brush.

Please, keep death far away and out of sight. At least until we get to the ocean. She prayed to the Stranger, hoping he would accept it. It was a small time restriction, after all.

 

"One, two, three, four, SWEEP!" Darias struck the training dummy with his staff four times in quick succession, following it up with a sweep at what would be the dummy's legs if it wasn't just a burlap sack filled with hay attached to a wooden post. Darias had been training his melee skills all day. He knew that there would come a time when his magic failed him. When that time came, we wanted to be sure he was ready. But he was already so tired. Shaking the weariness out of his muscles, he took a deep breath. "Alright. Once more. You can do this." With a grunt, he renewed his assault on his burlap foe. "One, two, three four, sweep! One, two, three!" He repeated the move he did last time, but added on two quick jabs and a sweeping blow to the dummy's head. "Hm." Darias nodded to himself. That was enough for today. With a sigh, Darias turned and began his post-training run. He was rather proud of himself had come far in the short time he had been practicing. Then again, he worked harder than anyone. At least, that was what he thought.

The cold of Winterfell helped with that somewhat. You had to be tough to deal with the cold. Though he spent most of his life in a castle where it was nice and warm (or at least as warm as possible), it still didn't take him long to get used to the cold. Maybe it was just in his blood. Not to say he liked the cold. On the contrary, he despised it. While he was used to it, it still bit him to the bone like a hungry dire wolf. He didn't know the outside world would be this uncomfortable. The only thing that kept him from going back to his room and burying his nose in a book by the fire was the potential to find answers to the questions he had that he couldn't find in a book. Namely, answers about his mother. He was always curious about her, even when he was a lad. What boy wouldn't look at all these kids with a father and a mother and wonder about his own? Why was he different? His father would always brush aside any questions with "I'll tell you when you're older." It still didn't change once he did get older. Now, the popular excuse was "Now is not the time."

Do not be mistaken, Darias loved his father. He was always supportive in everything else. All he had to do when he wanted to be a Summoner was to tell his father and he instantly began looking for the best trainer money could buy. Of course, that could have just been that Darias had not show any concrete interests up until that point. It had always frustrated his father. Thinking about the moment he told his father that he wanted to be a Summoner got him thinking about his trainer; Harold Eistad, a Hume from the Westerlands. He was a tough teacher, but Darias learned a lot from him. If he ended up in his neighborhood, he would have to look him up. The icy cold wind stung his face as he continued on his run. It felt like it was going to be a good day.

 

As Amelia looked back at the small house, A faint smile appeared across her face as she began to recall her training there.Although her training was only temporary, Amelia remembered how determined she was to make the most of it, so that one day she might be able to become an great healer like her teacher. However this no longer seemed to be the case for Amelia, as recently it had seemed as if she was unsure of her abilities as a healer and whether or not she would be able to follow in her teacher's footsteps. Amelia then closed her eyes and sighed before saying " how am I meant to become a great healer, when I understand so little about the kingdom I'm supposed to help?" Knowing she would not find answers to her question by staying in Ragnarok. Amelia took one last look at the small house, before heading of towards her next destination.

 

OOC: Anyone who knows me knows patience is not one of my strongest suits. Not even in the top five.

Kara shifted her weight from one foot to the other, beyond restless. She had suggested, thirty minutes ago to be exact, that she and Heralt leave the merchant behind. Just take the gold that was owed them, bid him farewell, and leave. "We're a day's journey away! It's close enough!" She had come dangerously close to whining in her desperation to have this slow task over with once and for all.

Heralt had flicked her nose and turned away, heading inside the tavern. Most likely to eye up the women. Kara thought, huffing and crossing her arms across her chest. She had no desire to have the same attentions that he offered the wenches thrust onto her, but it was certainly exasperating. Especially when they had been here for half an hour, and would likely end up staying the night. It was ridiculous, but she should have expected it. For some reason, the closer they drew towards the end of their contract, the less eager the merchant seemed.

He better be able to pay us. She closed her eyes and let her head thunk against the wood of the beam. The awning that it supported shuddered, and she opened her eyes to glare up at it before shutting them again, satisfied that the unstable structure wouldn't collapse. Or else we'll take it out of his hide. And while Kara didn't have a desire to hurt other people, her need to be paid overruled everything. Besides, they had given up half a year for this. She would be damned if she was expected to do it pro bono.

Laughter filtered out from the open windows, heavy and loud. She grimaced as Heralt continued to chuckle, his obscene suggestions following soon after. He was one of the most reliable fighters in their band, one of the best swordsman she had ever encountered, and a great strategist to boot. But a gentleman, he was not.

At least someone is enjoying themselves. She grumbled to herself before heaving another sigh and staring down the road longingly. She had asked the Stranger to protect them from death, but she had no doubt that even if he was so inclined to do so, his benevolence wouldn't last long. She only hoped that it wouldn't turn into rage. She would rather face a hundred Behemoths then a single enraged god.

 

"It comes and it goes," replied Lark to his companion, "but I fear my sanity will soon fall into step with my health." He reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "For now, I am not doing horrible. Perhaps, some time shall past before need for another cure." True as that may be, Lark would not turn away a permanent cure to his 'condition' if presented with one. "Regardless, we are...almost at the castle. Right around the next street, I believe. Question is, how do a cursed Crow who abandoned his post and someone forbidden to enter the kingdom gain an audience with the Queen?"



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"Prayer would be beneficial to us all, Lord Baron," Vali responded before the Septon could speak a similar line. "However unfavorable House Ragnarok's absence here may be, the point still stands. We are nearing war, gentlemen, and that is something that no one here wants, regardless of our individual reputations, I'm sure."

Whisk leaned back, shrugging. "Of course not," he grinned, "War brings nasty things: civilian casualties, loss of faith, and, even worse, economic troubles." The ambassador raised a clawed finger to his teeth and picked them. "The Iron Island has been making great progress with our technologies -with the Church's blessing, of course- and my Lord Baron would really, really be disappointed if we had to break progress for squabbles over who gets to sit on the shiny cushion." Picking his teeth again, he mumbled, "So what must we do here to avoid the fun that you call war?"

If Vali was any lesser of a man, his hand would have reached for his sword, but the Regent showed no discomfort from Whisk's words. "You may take this matter lightly, Ambassador, but I do not. Neither does the Lord Hand nor the Queen. Baron Rybalte's claim to the throne may hold legitimacy -The High Septon himself is looking into that- but only in the absence of an heir. Infant or not, the young King is King in blood and his blood is more royal than Rybalte's. Giving the Iron Throne to Rybalte could strip my nephew of royal status, preventing him from taking the Throne when he reaches of age. I did not take the position of Regent out of ego; I did it to protect the Throne's true successor. Ragnarok is making a claim to power that cannot stand. However," he leaned forward, this time looking to the Hand, Lord Mareth, "We must make them see this peacefully. After the last War with the East, Ivalice cannot afford a civil war."

"Which then begs the question, Uncle Regent, what would you like from us? I've got a tingling that it's firepower," Whisk revealed all of his fangs in an ear-to-ear grin as he said it. "Because that is a proposition one does not offer lightly," he said it sarcastically, as if the idea of war was tantamount to where one should tie their horse.

"Perish the thought, Ambassador, and assure me that your Baron does as well!" Vali finally showed emotion as he snapped back. "I will endanger neither my sister nor the King and I will do everything in my power to keep safe every citizen of Ivalice, regardless of House! I did not call you here to conspire against Ragnarok, otherwise, the invitation would not have extended to them as well. My -Our intentions were to offer a treaty with Ragnarok, involving all Houses. A closer relationship with the Iron Throne for Baron Rybalte if his aggressions cease, resources for House Anima for your research, and even something for those from Dahaka! After all, will you forever live under the Mad King's shadow, Baron Azi-Dahaka?" Vali asked and then glanced at the Hand, his eyes asking for help explaining their position.

A laugh escaped Whisk's lips as he took in Vali's words and then laid eyes on the Hand, "So now that Ragnarok has evidently and officially rejected your offer to diplomacy," he waved to the empty seat next to Azi-Dahaka, "what is the current purpose of this council?"

 

As Amelia made her way through the busy streets of Ragnarok, she couldn't help but think about the journey that was ahead of her. Although Amelia continued to walk on , it was easy to see the nervous look that slowly crept it way across her face.After all she had never stepped foot outside the stormlands before now, and to add to her nerves was the fact that travelling to and from the different nations of Ivalice was sometimes considered to be quite a dangerous task.Although Amelia had her healing ablities to help her out of any difficult situation, when it came to self defense her ablities weren't exactly the greatest.However Amelia knew she couldn't let that get to her, in order to achieve her goals , some risks would be necessary. The only thing left for Amelia to do now is hope that she has managed to gather enough supplies together for the journey.

 

Vali nodded at Mareth's words and gave them a moment to sink in. "The Hand's words ring true," he finally said, acknowledging that he couldn't have said it better himself. "Baron Rybalte believes that he must claim the Iron Throne by force if it isn't handed on a mythril platter. His House alone may stand no chance against my own, but that does not mean I would prefer to defend the King's place with my blade. Even winning a war costs more than we can afford, for the sake of the Kingdom." He looked over at Whisk, who strangely hadn't responded. "We do not want to defend the King's rightful place, his birthright, in combat. We should not," he clenched his fist on the table, "have to defend it at all. Since Rybalte appears to disagree quite passionately, we hope that a lack of support for his unjust war will dissuade his efforts."

"And it all comes down to that tasty little fact, does it not?" Whisk chirped gleefully.

"What are you implying, Sellsword?" asked the Regent with subtle scorn.

"Exactly what you are inferring, Lord-pardon- Ser Regent. You say you wish to avoid war and that may be true, but is it really for the sake of Ivalice? I doubt not that may play a part in your reasoning; or yours, Lord Hand; or even the ever-absent Queen. I simply believe -and this is the opinion of me as your loyal citizen and does not reflect the views of House Anima- that you wish to cause House Ragnarok to cease their claim to the Iron Toilet where the King shits and the Hand wipes," pausing to scratch his an ear, the young Mi'qote chuckled at his own joke. "After all, if he ceases his aggressive claim, it will follow that any argument against the current monarchy will stifle before it grows into any real threat to your House."

The Regent showed no emotion, but met Whisk's eyes without falter.

"Fear not, lovely duo of the Iron Trinity," Whisk laughed. "As I said, that is simply my opinion as a citizen. Not one of an Ambassador's. My Baron wishes to avoid war as well, regardless of your true reasoning. Thus, to appease him, I do highly recommend that we follow your plan of action, or inaction, as it is. That is, as long as the honorable Septon here agrees that is best."

Obviously surprised, Septon Frye nodded hastily. "Y-yes, the Church agrees wholeheartedly. The Crone herself -who guides us in her wisdom- has shown us that this is the path we must walk. One of peace, not war. A path of tranquility, not turmoil. A way to light, not the dark places to which war will inevitably lead."

Whisk leaned back in his chair and stretched. "I believe that is that. We are all in agreement, yes?" Letting a yawn slip through, he continued, "We can discuss those new benefits you talked about -oh I have not forgotten about that- once I report this...non-treaty to those in charge. Consider, at least unofficially, House Anima in accord."

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Lark laughed. He could not remember the last time he laughed genuinely. "You really know nothing about Ivalice, Baritus. Not only is the castle defended by soldiers and certain magicks, but the layout of this whole Kingdom was developed to offer the castle natural defenses. Now that we have an infant King, even more so," he nodded to a group of patrolling soldiers. "In fact, if your nature was known, it'd be off to the gallows with me and off to the pyre with you."

 

As she had predicted, Kara's charge had been dispatched to his room by a less than sober Heralt, who had soon followed. Kara had watched them walk with disdain before stepping back into the outdoors. Sleep was a long way yet for her, and as she sucked in a large breath of air, trying to calm herself, she was reminded yet again that they should have made it to their destinations. Why did it have to take so long? She kicked a rock, frustration succeeding in overwhelming her control for a moment.

It was in that moment that she sensed the other presence. She was not alone. As she peered at her surroundings, her hand subtly going to her weapon, the back of her neck prickled. Whoever this was, was definitely not friendly.

OOC: Short post is short.

Veera made her way through the crowds of King's Landing, her eyes shifting from side to side as she easily slipped between the populated streets, never letting a single soul brush against her. It was yet another day in this glorious city, and she was yet again bored. It had been a few weeks since her last contract, and it was finally time for her to accept another. She had considered starting to look for potential customers in the local taverns, but laziness tugged at her mind. Just one more day. One more day off. She promised herself, easily side stepping a farmer with his horse and wagon. She smiled easily at the man, slipping into a friendly facade before fading back into the crowd.

Likely the man would be hard pressed to remember her face. She stopped in front of a food stall and bought a pasty. Munching on it as she turned to rejoin the throngs of people, she glanced at the guards that were patrolling the streets. Their faces were solemn, their eyes blank, but she sensed an air of wariness and uneasy about them. Interesting. Shoving the rest of the meat pasty into her mouth in an unladylike manner, she slipped into the shadows and began to stalk to the guards, intent on listening to whatever gossip they would speak of. It may be her last day off, but that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun, and perhaps find herself another job along the way.

The life of an assassin wasn't easy, but it was never boring.

 

Hunter followed the woman across the clearing in the land and towards the lake. He'd had his eye on this woman for some time now, and yet she had eluded him for months. And now she was his. Draped in a cloak, the mysterious stranger stopped by the entrance of the lake. It was too easy, it had to be some kind of trap, Hunter thought to himself, but he'd checked the area earlier and found nobody or any signs of a trap. Was it so hard to believe that this woman, like most others before her, had succumbed to his charm and wit and decided that she would be his for the day? They all came around eventually, this one was no different. And so he let down his guard. He walked towards the woman, who held out her hand towards him. He accepted it, grabbing it firmly as she smiled and stepped into the water. Once in the water, she released his hand and took a few more steps forward, before she removed every bit of clothing she had on in a seductive manner, causing Hunter to simply gasp in awe. She was gorgeous, easily the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon. With a fierce grin, Hunter acknowledged the signs and hurried towards her, where he grabbed her and began kissing her furiously, before he-


Before he woke up.

Angrily, Hunter slammed his fist onto the ground beside him. He was on the cold, hard floor of a brothel, he remembered that much. "Why the **** does it always end there?!" he exclaimed. To make his situation even worse than simply the interrupted dream, he couldn't remember exactly what had happened the night before. He knew he'd gone to the brothel as he did every so often; the majority of nights he got blind drunk always either ended at the brothel or in bed with some woman who he could scarcely remember the name of that he had met at a tavern. He also knew that he hadn't been alone in the night, though he could neither put a face nor voice to the person he'd been with. On top of that, his rear end was a little sore, but that was likely due to him staggering into a corner and sitting down for too long as was common in his drunken adventures.

With a groan, the mercenary stood up. First thing was first, he had to figure out which brothel he was at. It was one in King's Landing, he knew that much (all the best ones were there), but the decorations around the place weren't familiar. Had he found a new one? Was it possible there was one he hadn't visited? His head hurt and his throat was killing him...god he hated hangovers. Staggering out of the room, he stepped into a room quite populated. How strange to them it must have seemed to these people to see an Elezen in these parts, but Hunter wasn't focused on their reactions to him. Rather, he had broken into an intense sweat as a chilling wave of fear and paranoia swept over the usually-cocky man. Hunter wasn't the only male in the room. In fact, there wasn't anyone except for males in that room. And due to his keen eyesight, Hunter could see everything. Yes, everything. All the men were stark naked except for him. All at once it dawned on Hunter what may have happened the night before. Being a slight homophobe, Hunter took a few steps towards the door, before he could contain himself no longer and he released an all-too-high-pitched scream and bolted for the door. Opening it, he rushed through the opening and slammed it shut behind him, where he stood panting in the middle of the streets, clearly distraught with a look of fear fixed to his face. This could have been avoided if he had simply looked behind him after he'd left to see the group of women that had been in a discussion the room over.


Strolling around a few houses in Winterfell, Tobias Greipr kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. At any moment he could be attacked by somebody. Being from the Iron Islands, Tobias wasn't exactly a local so there was reason enough to get him ambushed out of spite, but on top of that the guards were said to be ruthless, aggressive, took no prisoners, and damn they loved their brawls.

Of course, they could always attack him because of the small, well designed dagger with a jewel in the hilt of it that Tobias had stolen from the place 2 doors down...but no, it was because he was an outsider. So far so good though, he'd managed to walk past plenty of people without them so much as batting an eye in his direction. Maybe Winterfell wasn't as bright as he had thought they were.

"Hey, that's the guy that stole my dagger!"

Then again, maybe he'd underestimated them slightly. Turning in the direction of the voice, Tobias put on a look of disgust. "Sir, I am offended! I would never steal from anyone. I'm just an honest farmer from the Iron Islands, who-"
"Then what do you need a dagger such as that for, and how would you obtain one?" a new voice asked. This one belonged to a rather burly looking man, intimidating indeed.

Tobias shrugged his shoulders. "Hounds terrorizing the farm?" he asked, but one look at the townies and it was easy to see they weren't buying it. Well, he'd tried. "Well, can't blame a guy for trying. Let's see you run, fat man, looks like you could use the exercise" the Thief insulted, before turning and racing away as fast as his legs could carry him. He tried to run around a house, but another intimidating townsman was in the way, armed with an axe. What was with these people and all being actually competent? Turning around, Tobias raced down an alleyway between two homes. The people chased him quickly, but he was fast. Much faster than they were. Another few turns, losing them in between houses and he saw his method of escape.

The small group of fighters chased after the thief they were after, but they lost sight of him for a short amount of time, making things difficult. Not giving up, they turned the corner they'd seen him go past, and ran as fast as they possibly could, shouting angrily as they stormed forward. Not one of them noticed the horse that had begun walking off in the opposite direction towards the entrance to Winterfell, or more importantly the man hanging desperately off its side, curving his body to match the horse's precisely. The man that was chuckling quietly to himself, the light glinting off of the jewel-encrusted dagger he now had strapped to his side.


OOC: Arch did say that he accepted me, just in case anybody is wondering. Hopefully this post doesn't conflict with anything D:​

 

As the accords ended, the Ser Regent sat and watched as his own soldiers held open the door for his guests. The Septon left first, after exchanging a few words with the Hand and blessing Vali for his quest of peace. Thanking him, Vali stood as the Baron Azi-Dahaka and Ambassador Whisk headed towards the doors. "I eagerly await the end of this conflict. May the Father watch over our lands as move forward," he said before walking to the window. One of his own guards, sensing his cue, moved and stood next to the Regent, signaling no disturbances.


"I have a feeling it is the Warrior who will answer our prayers," Whisk mused as he moved behind the 'bodyguard' he was demanded to bring along. Suddenly, he remembered something. "My Lord Hand, Baron Anima requested that I deliver a message to you," the sellsword-turned-ambassador looked at the Regent's back and then back to the Hand. "He simply sends his congratulations on your...promotion from simply a Hand to a ruling Hand. Though the circumstances surrounding your ascension are...regrettable, my Lord Baron is pleased to see one of our own in such a prestigious position. And to go so long without scandal!" Casually and unenthusiastically clapping his hands slowly, Whisk continued, "it reflects so well on the Iron Island to have someone like you, Lord Hand. Truly, truly an inspiration to us all." The sarcasm was strong, but Whisk bowed nonetheless and walked out, his voice trailing behind him, "Can anyone point me to the nearest brothel? Preferably one with a two for one deal..."

After the door closed behind their guests, the Ser Regent spoke up, "Well then, Mareth. That went better than expected, considering that Sellsword was here. The only preferable change would have been Baron Rybatle's presence. Regardless, all appears well, would you not agree?" He turned around and placed a hand on Mareth's shoulder. "Peace would not have been an option if not for your eloquent words, old friend. Our House is truly blessed to have you," he gave a rare smile and nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I must catch the Septon and have him deliver a message to the High Judge. Would you mind telling the Queen of the accords? I shall meet with both of you after I dismiss the Septon."

-------------------------------------

"Whether or not that could work," Lark replied, stopping to lean against a tree, "I doubt that would offer us any credibility. We'd be in the dungeon as soon as we approach the Queen, nay, anybody." The young Crow -as those in the Night's Watch were called- crossed his arms. In truth, he had not thought this plan through. "Perhaps...it is neither the Queen nor the Regent with whom we should meet," he started. For their plan to work, they'd need someone in power, someone with authority, but a higher inclination to hear them out and not...well, behead them on the spot.

 

Kara's head felt heavy, her eyes unable to open of their own accord. She couldn't move her arms, her hands, or her legs. Every part of her body felt numb, and her tongue was thick with sleep. Even if she had been able to move her lips, she doubted she would be able to speak legibly. Her mind was fuzzy, and she couldn't quite recall how she had come to be here. Where was here, exactly? It would have been helpful to be able to open her eyes, and view her surroundings, but she couldn't get her body to listen to her mind's commands. Was her mind even making the commands? Hard to say. Hard to think.

She let her mind go and wandered back into the darkness of sleep, hoping that with unconsciousness would come some sort of clarity as to what exactly was going on. For now, she just couldn't give a damn.

Veera was minding her own business. The lead she had thought about following had disappeared, and now bored with the idea, she had let it go. She had bought another pasty, vegetable this time, and was munching quietly when her senses warned her to stop. She held her foot in the air, moments from taking that next step, when a young man crashed into her path. Had she moved forward, his body, his naked body, would have been slammed into hers. As much as she could enjoy the look of him, she certainly didn't think that this was the type of conquest she had in mind.

"Pardon me." She said politely, foot still held above the ground, food in her hand as she looked at the man. "You seem to be a great hurry. And missing a great deal of clothing. Is there something I can possibly do to assist?" An assassin who offered help to those in need around her was the last one looked at when things went wrong. At least, it had always worked in the past. A smile twitching at the corner of her lips, she held out her pasty to him, eyes solemn. "Have a pasty?"

 

"Daf*ck is a pasty? You can keep your poisoned food to yourself" Hunter responded, before her words had sunk in. She was right, he was missing a lot of clothing. But....his clothing was...in there, he thought to himself as he turned his head slowly back to the brothel. "I, uh, I don't need any clothing. It's good to let the boys hang loose in a while. I'm sure you can relate, given there's probably a dick under those garments of yours. No sane woman can resist staring, except you. In any case, I'll be back in just a moment" Hunter said. Taking a deep breath, the man readied himself and then shoulder charged straight through the doorway and back inside.

He came out roughly two minutes, though he did not use the door. No, rather he came crashing straight through one of the empty windows, rolling in a heap and thudding into the wall followed by some angry shouting as people began clambering out of the window after him. Didn't matter though, Hunter was clothed and had his blade. He turned to look at the woman who had offered him food. He didn't like people, but she was female and had offered him food, so how bad could she be? "There's no real time to explain, just follow me" he said, before turning and hurrying in the opposite direction to make a head start on the people that he was sure would soon be following.​

 

Veera brushed the comment about a having a male appendage aside. It wasn't the first time someone had asked, and it wouldn't be the last. Though it usually did happen late at night, in the sketchiest of taverns. Instead she ate the rest of her food in small, quick bites while the man disappeared back from whence he came.

She barely held back a smile as the man crashed back onto the street from one of the windows of a well known brothel. He must have had a really bad night in there. Funny, I don't remember the women being all that bad.

After he called at her to follow, she rolled her eyes but did as he asked. She pretended he asked, instead of commanded. It was more polite. As they wove their way through the crowds to his desired and as of yet unknown location, she couldn't help but reflect that the gods had, in a way, given her what she desired. Entertainment.

 

Well damn, it'd actually worked. If he'd known that all it took was getting women to do what he wanted was asking, he would've had plenty more bending over for him. Maybe he ought to try it one day. Maybe he ought to actually treat them like humans, give them freedom, and-

Yeah, he couldn't even think the last part without cracking up a little as he ran. He could hear the men running after them, and with Veera following he ducked into an alleyway. Unfortunately, it was a dead end. Turning around, he looked at Veera and shrugged. About to leave the alleyway, he was suddenly interrupted by five of the mob catching up to him. There was only one way to escape, and fortunately for them Hunter had found it. Pointing behind them, he did his best to look absolutely shocked. "My god, is that the leader of House Anima with his pants around his ankles? Has he no shame?" he cried out, causing four of the five to turn around. "Uh....and his son?!" he tried. The fifth turned around. Even Hunter was disgusted by that.

Using the moment of distraction, Hunter gestured to the window just to the side of them. It lead into a house, and breaking into a house was very much illegal, but what choice did they have? "In through there" he instructed, climbing through the window and into the house. There was a shriek from the woman inside, but Hunter just pushed her away and onto the bed nearby. "If you're ever bored and need a sex machine, look for Carlos of House Dahaka" the male said with a wink, before pushing past her and racing outside of the house.

A couple of minutes later, Hunter had managed to evade the men. They no longer seemed to be searching for them, but still he had to be careful. "We should be fine, but keep an eye out for them anyway. If there's one thing they specialize in, it's coming in from behind when you aren't looking" Hunter said, making what had to be at least the sixth gay joke that day. Taking a seat on a nearby bench, he breathed a sigh of relief. "You're quicker than you look. What's your name?" he asked, getting straight to the point.​

 

OOC: I'll edit for Kara's



The run the man had taken her on was entertaining, to say the least. "Carlos of Dahaka?" She murmured to herself as she followed him through the woman's house, nodding to the owner before darting out the door. He took a seat on a bench, clearly relieved as he made a crass joke about sex. Again. This man must be addicted. Veera thought with a smirk as she stood next to him, arms braced above her head as she scanned the area for potential enemies. She was barely winded, but the act was habit based, also raising her shirt up and giving anyone looking a nice view of her midriff.

She lowered her arms before too long and sat down beside Carlos?, hiding herself from the view of a priest. Women were not supposed to wear men's clothing, and they most certainly weren't supposed to reveal skin. She had no problem killing a priest of that vile religion if she needed to, but she would rather avoid the commotion, especially with her new companion in tow. He didn't look or act like a religious fanatic, but she would hate to be walking by when he had an "epiphany" and decided to grab her unawares. She slumped down in her seat before glancing at him, her face now level with his shoulder in the most unladylike pose.

She wouldn't mind if he had a different sort of "epiphany", but this was hardly the time or place. Besides, it looked like he had a rough night, and he might need time to recuperate. If he was an addict, he would be back in action before too long. She just hoped he wouldn't try to grab her in a public place. Veera didn't mind that sort of action, in the right time and place, but neither was she a whore.

Taking as long as possible, she finally sat up when the priest disappeared, straightening her clothing. "Veera. Veera Dorson, from the House of Valefor." She had no problem giving out the information on the normal part of her identity. The other side of her didn't carry a name or a house. Her other half held a broadsword and a wicked good sense of where to hide before striking out of the shadows. If this man sensed that side, she would have to end his existence, sad enough for such a fine specimen. But if he didn't, they might get along famously. "Are you actually Carlos of Dahaka?" She asked next.


Kara blinked, forcing her eyes open. Her mouth felt as though it had been stuffed full of cotton, which, after trying to move her tongue around, she discovered that ti had. Or at least some type of cloth. That was an instant reason to panic, and as she slowly awakened, she discovered more. Her hands had been bound behind her back, and she was lying on her side, legs curled up to her chest. Her ankles were also bound, tight enough that her toes had started to go numb.

Her head was pounding and her throat dry, so she had obviously been drugged. She tried to remember the previous events leading up to how she had gotten here, but to no avail. Her mind simply wasn't ready to remember yet, it seemed. She rolled onto her back, eyes adjusting to the barely lit cave as she manuevered her arms over her rear end, straining before they managed to slide over her bound ankles and up her knees. At least having her hands in front lessened the ache in her shoulders.

She scrutinized the bonds that held her limbs together as best she could. They appeared to be made of rope; the chafing of her skin definitely supported this, but it was also less bendable then rope, and more restricting. She tried to reach for her magic, hoping to burn them off, and found to her dismay that she was somehow blocked. Were the bonds magical? Shit. She was in deep trouble, and she couldn't even begin to remember how she had gotten into it in the first place. Looking around desperately for a clue, or even an escape route, her eyes happened on a motionless form. A second prisoner?

She got onto her hands and knees and slowly, ridiculously slowly, scooted her way over to the body. "Hey." She tried to say, but it came out muffled, like a strange gurgling noise. Right, the gag. She reached up with her hands and managed to pull it out, before turning the stranger over gently and doing the same for him. At least, if he wasn't awake yet, he would be able to breath better. She licked her lips, then tried again.

"Hey, are you awake?" Which really translated to; Are you alive?