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Post by alfred on Mar 12, 2013 19:47:30 GMT -5
Chapter 1 The sky's-eye is hidden behind a dense field of clouds the morning you receive your summons to appear before Count Byren Sepia. It is an ominous sign - a most unnatural one - and as you prepare yourself that morning, your personal courts are held in a grayed-out twilight. Your servants work as best they might, laboring over candle light or beside braziers and hearths so they might see to their trades. In the strange and foreboding dawn-darkness, you are each escorted on horseback by a royal messenger to the Count's side at Corsair. The horses are fine and strong, their muscles tight, though they shift uneasily beneath your legs as they navigate the densely wooded trails leading out to the province's coast. The trees groan. The wind picks up. Eyes in the darkness between the branches look out at you, watching your noble colors, made dull in the darkness. Their eyes, though, seem to shine in the pitch shadows. Emerging upon the awkward, low and lopsided hills at the edge of Corsair, you can see the skies beyond the city and the castle -- overlooking the seas, the sky is set ablaze with dawn clouds like red, tumultuous fire. The Castle Corsair, stands tall against this backdrop, masked on all sides with high, cyclopean walls of stone and shell. Guards walk its towers, and patrol its gates -- and for a moment you're reminded of it's ancient name of Corsair's Folly, the Silver Fortress on the Sea, rising out of the foam and jagged cliffs as a challenge to all pirates: come, try and take me. Try and find the passages amid the eddies, whirlpools, and razor-rocks of our sea. This memory of bravado, strength of arms, and Cunning is short-lived. As you ride through farmlands and fishing villages along the coast, the commoners do not bow their heads; they do not stop for you. They offer nothing, and they hide their food. Mothers conceal their daughters from you. Men grip their tools, their nets and their spears tightly. Priestesses of the Olde Ways make the Sign, warding off evil as you pass. The air smells of shit and sickness. Their homes are ramshackle; on the verge of collapsing, or halfway collapsed already. You cross a field of sheep, their throats slit, bodies picked clean of meat, smelling of rot and maggots, and you know the costs of War with House Adrente have only begun to be paid. Crops so long unattended by murdered farmers and conscripted militiamen can be replanted, livestock bought and broken, Faith rebuilt. War has taxed the the Count, his Land, and his people. You come to the gates of the city of Corsair, and your eyes take in it's aging splendor; a legend tarnished by reality. The guards atop the wall are few as you approach, while those at the gates are fewer still. Here, the people bow, curtsy, and make way. The merchant-baron's with their bought titles, the whores with their empty coffers, and the serfs protected day and night -- they know the proper respect, and they shower niceties on you as you ride past, flashing their goods for sale in your faces, or thrusting them into your hands. In time, with little protracted incident, you come to Castle Corsair itself. Its walls are broad and perhaps not as tall as they ought to be, its stones cemented together with small, colorful shell fragments. You're lead beyond the perimeter wall, into a courtyard. Servants silently take your horses once you've dismounted, while others run ahead of you into the halls of Corsair to announce your arrival. From here, in the broad courtyard, you can smell the salt on the sea air, and hear it roaring as it throws itself against the cliffs and reefs on the far side of the castle. Torches burn all around you, illuminating the hanging shadows, as the cloud-cover above darkens further -- seeming to bloat and stretch itself towards the warmth of the horizon. |
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adam
New Member
Posts: 32
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Post by adam on Mar 14, 2013 18:25:00 GMT -5
Braeden Adrente regards the castle casually, but his real focus is on the people. The commonfolk scuttling about their business. The child who cries out for his father. The knight who walks into a brothel. Too often Braeden has seen lords and ladies lift their heads and stare ardently at the castle when those who make the province what it is stand beneath them.
Braeden is helped off his horse by a stableboy, whom he tosses a coin. He produces his cane made of black wood from his saddle. There are ornate carvings on the cane that can only de discerned from a close distance. Braeden is a young man with ambition in his green eyes. He wears a light blue doublet with silver lining on the sleeves and a leather jerkin over top. He moves toward the castle at a leisurely pace that is aided by his cane.
Upon entering the castle, Braeden turns away from the main hallway and goes down a corridor towards the kitchens.
I want to use a secret passageway that I know of. Braeden has Wisdom 3 and 1 rank as Spymaster. I collect 4 dice, wager 1, and roll 3. I get 4 4 2 (phew). So I also get another narration with my wager.
There is a stretch of bare wall two thirds of the way down the corridor. Braeden pushes one stone on the wall in front of him and, using his cane, reaches out to press another stone on the wall behind him. A section of the wall slides inward allowing just enough room for a small man to slide through. Braeden enters the passageway and begins counting his steps as he walks through the darkness of the castle walls. These passageways were built many seasons ago by The Sly Prince during a time when no one in the castle could be trusted. Though this method of travel is long and arduous, Braeden prefers it as it allows for less people in the castle to see him. Entering the chamber where the Count meets with his small court, Braeden emerges in a poorly lit corner of the room where he waits for the other lords to enter.
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Post by alfred on Mar 14, 2013 20:45:44 GMT -5
Lord Adrente, the stones slide away under your hand, disgorging you into the Count's council chamber. Your eye's adjust, and you find yourself behind one of the tapestries hanging around the room, representing those who have sworn loyalties to House Sepia. You find yourself behind the black tapestry belonging to House Mane, and through its tight stitching a little light seeps through.
The Count sits in his chair at the round council table, his back facing the twin doors opening out onto the balcony overlooking the sea. He wears a deep blue cloak wrapped around his chest and arms, nearly hiding his brown doublet with silver-and-white stitching. He is older, well-worn some say -- 'experienced' as he calls it -- and he warms his thin body with his lengthy cape wrapped several times around his waist and over his arms. His graying-red hair curls into small silver-copper rings at the crown of his head, and his strong jawline is clean-shaven, freshly cut. On the table lay a small razor he commissioned from a smith in the city, on the advice of a smooth-faced merchant from across the seas.
Beside the Count sits a younger man with broad arms, dressed in simple brown workman's tunic and hose. His hands are grubby, stained blue and red. A short and knotty black beard hangs from his chin, and thick ugly eyebrows hide his tiny eyes. The two of them discuss glass-blowing at length. The Count asks him many questions, curiously nodding at every answer he receives about coloring the glass, how it is set, and more information.
If he notices you enter, he doesn't address you, Lord Braeden.
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erik
Full Member
Hear Me Roar
Posts: 146
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Post by erik on Mar 14, 2013 22:47:21 GMT -5
“The Ghost” of Mane had stayed silent for most of the ride to the castle. His squire had learned at this point when it was best not to engage him at conversation. A virtue that didn’t go unnoticed. He wondered if his once eager apprentice had become aware of the game and how silly it has become. Not only that, but the fact that they were not playing well.
Aside from having a reputation as being un-killable, Vahan Mane had an appearance that somewhat leant itself to the idea that he had been back from the grave from a few times: pale skin and brown hair that looked like it had once been darker. He had striking if predatory hazel eyes , the area around them having become darker recently from lack of sleep making them more noticeable. Pronounced cheekbones, pristine skin and his face cleanly shaven. He possessed a sort of beauty that if he looked healthier would be undisputed. His hair was long and chin length, as so his bangs wouldn't get in his eyes - he wore one side of it in a partial braid to the side held together with dark golden string.
Today, Vahan was dressed rather casually. Which is still somewhat extravagant compared to the lower classes. He wore short a dark grey-ish blue cape, underneath a black leather vest with ornate designs and golden buttons with a crimson long sleeved tunic. His sword hanging by his side on a scabbard on the side his cloak wasn’t covering.
Once inside the walls of Castle Corsair, Vahan sighs. He wasn’t terribly happy with events as of recently. The peace with House Adrente didn’t sit well with him after all that he had gone through. At this point, after seeing so many of his allies die, he would only be happy with sticking a sword through Marcus Adrente’s gullet. He was paranoid also. And he didn’t entirely trust the motives of others who would be in the meeting with him today. Especially since House Sepia was seemingly in a susceptible state. Granted after seeing the toll this war has taken on the land he wonders if he should be having such doubts.
He makes his way as fast as possible through the castle to the meeting chambers, his hand ready to grasp his sword. Vahan had always been paranoid of assassins and the like. It was something the son of a Lord prepares himself for. Or at least he did. Regardless of the circumstances.
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