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Emma Armelle

Do I make you uncomfortable? Are you sure it's me, and not that stick up your ass?

0 · 366 views · located in Calisma

a character in “Calisma”, as played by Script

Description

Full Name: Emma Armelle
Nickname: -
Gender: Female
Age: 28
Sexual Orientation: Fluid and whimsical, much like herself.
Height: 5' 8"
Race: Human
Class: Blood Mage

Skills:
  • 'Normal' Magic:
    • Elemental Magic - the generation of small to moderately sized fire, lightning and frost manifestations in various forms, as well as the manipulation of small to moderately sized bodies of water, fire, air and earth.
    • Arcane Force - the generation of magic missiles and barriers of moderate strength.
  • Blood Magic:
    • Blood is Power - the usage of blood from a living or freshly dead being to fuel magical spells and amplify their power beyond the normal limits of a mage.
    • Blood Domination - compulsion, suggestion and manipulation; the art of controlling the minds of others. Requires eye contact with the target and must be fuelled by blood, not mana.
    • Blood Manipulation - puppetry and brutal internal dismemberment; the art of controlling the bodies of others, inside and out. Requires a sizeable open wound in the target and must be fuelled by blood, not mana.
    • Blood Feast - the usage of blood magic to heal oneself with the life energy of another being. Requires physical contact with an open wound, or for the target to be recently (within the last five minutes) deceased. Can also be employed to knit closed wounds or injuries sustained by the caster at the cost of their own life force.
    • Blood Rituals - the usage of blood magic to perform great feats of power, usually requiring a human sacrifice and a great deal of preparation. Entirely theoretical, Emma has never actually done this before. Honest.
  • A capable fighter with her staff. A necessity to defend herself without revealing either that she is a mage without the Guild's seal, or worse, that she is a blood mage.
  • Knowledgeable regarding herbs and other natural remedies.
  • Witty remarks in inappropriate situations.

Weakness(es):
  • Overuse of blood magic may result in the obliteration of her physical form and/or its possession by a demonic entity from the darkest reaches of hell. Other side effects may include: nasal irritation, a rash in that one place on the back of your knee where it's a fucking bitch to get a rash, hair loss, nausea, stress, and lack of tact.
  • Using magic in a public place may be varying degrees of fatal depending on who's looking.
  • Allergic to being stabbed, shot, set on fire... etc.

Equipment:
  • Bladed staff, somewhere between a spear and a glaive.
  • Ritual knife.
  • Several old tomes on blood magic techniques and rituals.

Personal Quote: "You hate me for what I am, for what magic I use, despite the fact that I've done nothing to wrong you or your people... You hate me just on the principle, and you would kill me on the off-chance that I might go rogue and start murdering people. And you call me the villain? Think long and hard about that. Preferably while I create significant distance between myself and your sword."

Description: Contrary to popular belief regarding blood mages, Emma's skin is not flaked and scaled, nor her eyes glowing crimson, nor do horns protrude from her head and a forked tongue from her mouth. No, Emma in fact is rather deceptively normal. Funny that, really, how the magic someone employs doesn't actually define all manner of things about them that people think they do. She likes to make a point of how parallels could be drawn here to how rarely she dances around a cauldron naked under the moon, and how it's been at least a week since she even thought about sacrificing a virgin to dark gods. Her hair is black and long, falling to her shoulders, whilst her eyes are a deep hazel. Her skin tone is fair but not pale, blemished here and there by old scars or callouses. Her forearms are rife with scars from where she has cut herself to utilise her blood for magic. Her figure is lean and her build moderately muscular, a result of her regular travel and the various exertions involved in the wild. Whilst not a traditionally beautiful pretty princess, Emma is not unattractive, possessing a more mature and strong handsomeness to her features.

Personality: There is little that Emma cannot turn into humour. Be it a foolish comment or action made by herself or another, a slip-up in combat, an ambush, a deadly dungeon trap or the demise of a companion, Emma makes a habit of letting 'the line' know that she acknowledges its existence, but quite happily enjoys dancing a merry path all over both sides of it. Despite her tendency to make light of everything, Emma does have both a caring and a stoic side to her - they just don't make themselves obvious very often. "There's humour," she says, "And then there's sincerity and courage that just happens to be put across in a rather amusing manner. It's a talent."

Emma is not a bad person, as such - she possesses fairly strong morals, they merely allow more breathing room for methodology. She believes that nothing - not blood magic, not necromancy, not assassination - is inherently evil or wrong, and that they can be used for good (or at the very least morally neutral) deeds as easily as evil.

History: Emma's family was once one of notable nobility, her grandfather a wealthy land owner who bred some of the finest horses in Calisma, who pledged himself and his resources to the King during the war and in return received the title of Lord, and an estate in the lands just outside Paetax, and it was there that she was born. Unfortunately for her, when her father inherited the estate, he squandered it away on luxuries and pleasures of the flesh. Knowing how irresponsible his only son was, her grandfather had left the horse-breeding business to his business partner rather than Emma's father, and so with no continuing source of income it was only a matter of time until he ran out of money, and they lost everything. It was at that point which Emma's mother up and left him, to add insult to injury, taking Emma with her. Emma, age six at that point, held no particular love for her father due to a lack of contact, and so was more upset by the loss of her toys and ponies than she was with the loss of her father.

The rough life on the streets of Paetax forged Emma from a spoiled noble's child into a savvy and hardened young woman with a fierce independence. Whilst her mother worked whatever jobs she could find, Emma found other ways to make coin. She ran with a gang of smugglers for several years, her young age and already charming persona making her a perfect candidate for muling drugs, illicitly acquired merchandise and anything else they needed getting in and out of the city. It was during this time that her magical talent manifested itself, and through their encouragement that she decided to avoid the Guild. After all, she already had something of a disregard for the law and a fierce resilience to doing anything that she was told to do, so why change for magic? No, let magic change for her.

Through her contacts in the smugglers, in her later teen years she acquired a number of magical textbooks intended for students at the Guild, and learned to control her newfound abilities through them. It was through those same contacts that she happened across tomes detailing the potential of blood magic. Despite (or perhaps because of) their highly illegal nature, and the taboo nature of the magic itself, she decided she was going to learn it. Might as well go the full hog on disobeying magical laws if she was going to avoid the Guild, after all. It took some time for her to prepare herself to use the magic, educating herself on the risks and how to avoid becoming possessed as the tomes warned could happen - a patience learned from the smugglers, to act unprepared was to act a fool - but through persistence and careful experimentation she began to develop her abilities there alongside her more 'standard' magical self-education.

It quickly became apparent that practising magic in secret was a near impossibility on the streets of Paetax. There were too many other mages around to sense her, too many of the Third sniffing around. With a farewell to her mother that had occurred in all but formality many years beforehand when she was taken under the wing of the smugglers, she departed the city to make her own way out in the wilds and the less lawful settlements of Calisma, until such a time that she possessed enough control and subtlety to walk where'er in the land she pleased without detection.

That day has come, and Emma is ever so bored with the limited entertainment that can be found in the wilderness and small villages.

So begins...

Emma Armelle's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Emma Armelle
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#, as written by Script
"You're an idiot."

Emma folded her arms and scowled disdainfully at the young man that cringed fearfully on the ground in front of her. "In fact, no. I wouldn't want to offend all the idiots in the city -- and believe me, there are plenty -- by associating you with them. I'm not quite sure 'mush-for-brains' suffices either."

The room where the two stood (or sprawled, in the boy's case) was dimly lit by only a few candles. A staircase to the side of the room fed it with a little more light, but it was still difficult to see very much of anything. But then, it didn't take particularly good eyesight to notice the fact that as well as being rather drab and poorly decorated, the room was filled with corpses.

Pushing himself up slightly to lean on the wall of the cellar where Emma had cornered him, the blond youth managed to pluck up the courage to open his mouth. "Why? If you're a blood mage, you of all people should understand!"

Scoffing, Emma made no effort to hide her laugh at the boy's words. "What is there to understand, Feynal? You and your friends got yourselves killed by dabbling in things that you haven't the skill or the will to handle. That's what I understand. Blood magic is not a toy that any child can use to get ahead."

The older mage turned around and gestured around at the bodies in the room - young men and women, all of them as young if not younger than young man that whimpered in the corner, scarcely (if at all) old enough to be called adults - all of them mutilated and deformed by disgusting mutations. "Your friends died because they were weak, Feynal. By the time I got here, they were already gone. Did you know what a possession looked like before today? It's not nice, is it?"

Emma stopped next to the body of a redheaded girl who couldn't have been older than twenty. Her back was bulging with rotted flesh, and what looked like the beginnings of a second face was twisted in an endless cry of rage in the side of her head. Her arms were vicious claws, and giant fangs had almost entirely destroyed her face. "Watching those around you become abominations, hosts for malevolent demons ... it's got to kill the atmosphere at any dinner party."

The mage sniffed, "I suppose it's a good job that this was a clandestine meeting of imbecile cultists then. It would have been a pity for perfectly good china and linen to have been destroyed."

Feynal had lapsed into silence while Emma spoke. His gut felt empty, probably due to having retched up its contents after his former friends had transformed. The image of Castale, his girlfriend, sprouting an arm from her mouth in the same instant that her eyes exploded was imprinted on his mind like a brand. If Emma hadn't stormed in at that point... he would have been torn to pieces.

"Wh... what are you going to do with me?" he stammered.

Emma turned around to look back at the boy. A short, faint, chuckle came from the mage's mouth. "You tell me, Feynal. Why should I let you live? A dangerous, stupid and quite possibly driven-insane-by-watching-his-friends-explode blood mage, wandering the streets? Forgive me if I don't find the idea attractive."

Feynal's heart sunk. "B-but, I- I'll never touch blood magic again! Not after today. I swear it, on the Gods!"

Rolling her eyes, Emma waved her hand dismissively. "It's not the blood magic that's the problem, it's you. It'd be a little cheap for me to go around preaching that blood magic is wrong, whereas it's entirely my place to go around preaching that idiots make messes. Blood magic or no blood magic. Idiots just make bigger messes when they start fiddling with anything of that nature."

The mage turned away for a second time, taking another few steps away from the boy. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something on the ground glowing - just for an instant. When she turned to look, it had already gone.

Emma scowled and walked towards where she had seen the light, kicking aside the corpse of a man with a nest of tentacles growing out of his chest. Beneath his body lay a dull shape. The mage narrowed her eyes as she bent down to pick it up, turning on the spot to glare and hold it out to Feynal. "What is this?" she asked, before cutting off. The boy was gone.

"Shit." Emma swore. Another flash to her left, and she spun around. Her staff swung with her, and the haft met something soft with a thud. She slammed the feeble boy against the wall even as his magical cloaking faded, and shoved him to the ground. "Idiot!" she snapped, tossing the object at his feet. It was made of bronze, or something similar - it was hard to tell in the dim light - and its shape was that of a naked woman with three rings interlocked around her. One of the rings pierced through her stomach.

"Answer me, before I decide to carve more than just my initials on those pretty boy features." Emma said sharply, taking a step backwards.

Feynal stared down at the statuette for several long moments, before his mouth twisted in a grin. His hand reached down to pick it up, tracing the markings on it affectionately.

Emma paused, "Right. Maybe tossing the blatantly evil artefact at the feet of the weak willed blood mage wasn't your best plan of the day, Emma."

A dark chuckle came from Feynal's throat, and slowly he began to rise to his feet. "Weak willed? Stupid bitch. I'll... I'll show you who the idiot is." he muttered, before his eyes lit up in a crimson burst that exploded through his veins as if his entire body were cracking, lines of red marking themselves upon him. His voice changed, becoming deeper, unnaturally guttural. "You cannot contain the power of-"

At that point, the glowing and ominously deep-voiced boy cut off, whatever he had been saying replaced with a pained grunt. Feynal stared down at the length of metal protruding from his chest, the bright glow in his eyes rapidly fading.

Emma gave her bladed staff a vicious twist, and the boy let out a gasping sigh before he went limp. The mage pulled her weapon free with a sniff of distaste. "Save me the monologue." she muttered, "And do try and pick a host that at least has a chance of surviving longer than three seconds next time? Good grief. You just can't get practical demons these days. It's always speeches. Could have stabbed me about five times in the time it took for that fancy light show..."

With a clink, Emma hooked the end of her staff through one of the loops of the statuette. "You're going to go somewhere where no more idiots can stumble across you and make more trouble for me..." she grumbled, "Storing demons in shiny objects. Whoever thought that was a good idea? By the light, people are more like magpies than magpies are when it comes to shiny things."

The mage's boots clunked on the creaky cellar staircase as she left the decrepit (and now more than slightly rancid) room behind her and emerged out into the house that it belonged to...

...only to stop at the top of the stairs as she came face to face with a somewhat astonished older woman sitting at the kitchen table.

"Wh- who are you? What are you doing in my cellar? You aren't one of Feynal's friends -- why are you covered in blood?!" the woman exclaimed, her eyes widening.

Emma blinked and glanced down at herself. Ah, yes. She was rather coated in gore...

"... right, this looks quite bad, doesn't it?" she mused, as a drop of blood fell from the end of her staff onto the floor. Emma stared awkwardly at it for a few moments. "I assure you that there's a perfectly good - albeit distressing and heartbreaking - explanation for this."

The woman stared at Emma, "Feynal?" she called towards the cellar, "Feynal?!"

Emma groaned into her hand. "I'm going to get this out of the way. Your son slash brother slash partner slash friend is dead. Demonic possession, and all that. Was quite an idiot, really. Not to be unsensitive."

"What?!" the woman shrieked, starting forwards.

"You reeeally don't want to go down there." Emma cautioned her, but the woman was having none of it. She started forwards to run past Emma, but the mage caught her arm as she drew close. "One moment, please. Just a small thing, I can't have you remembering that I was here. No, definitely not. Can you imagine how wrong everyone would interpret what happened down there?"

As the woman stared fearfully into Emma's eyes, the blood mage drew her hand across a dagger at her hip, slicing her palm open with a shallow cut in order to utilise a subtle thread of magic that weaved its way into the woman's eyes. They became glassy, dazed, and she stumbled back away from Emma as all memory of the blood mage's passing faded. By the time she recovered, Emma was already out the door.

Slaughtering basements full of abominations was apparently a thankless job when you didn't have a badge. Really, she ought to have left that nonsense to the bothersome Third (they'd no doubt be showing up before long, the magic going on down there had been obviously chaotic enough to call them from the other side of the damned city), but they'd probably have been slow enough in getting there that the possessed ex-cultists would have torn through half the district before being taken down.

And the last thing Emma wanted was even more bad press for blood magic. Now, the Third would probably keep the cleanup very hush-hush. Who wanted to publicise the fact that a cult had been operating under their noses for gods knew how long without being detected?

After slipping off the thankfully empty street into a convenient alleyway, Emma set about cleaning herself up. A quick flick of her wrist discarded the excess blood over her into the corner of the street, where it would pass as the result of any old mugging, and she sealed up the small cut on her hand with a touch of regenerative magic.

Emma hadn't come to the city to chase down a cult of incompetent blood mages. No, nothing quite so dramatic. But after picking up on faint whispers of their magic after her arrival, she'd felt somewhat obliged. Whilst she'd quite happily walk away from a mugging or ignore a thief, the careless and thoughtless application of destructive magic was something she took an issue with. After all, it was people like them that made good, responsible users of said magic like herself look bad. Then there was the small issue of death toll and mayhem, but that was really a secondary concern.

Emma had, in fact, come to the city in order to attend a party. A masquerade, to use the proper term. Whilst it would have been perfectly within the realms of possibility that she were attending this masquerade simply because she felt like it, there was in fact a very particular purpose (or perhaps excuse) behind it, this time. She was investigating. There had been rumours. Rumours that the Prince's quest to save his father had resulted in the acquisition of a number of items that had been thought long lost. Artefacts of power and legend.

Whilst Emma was not particularly obsessed with the idea of acquiring power, the curiosity that the legendary artefacts had been recovered had drawn her to this celebration in the hopes that she might examine them. And of course, she was never one to turn down the opportunity for a little harmless mischief amidst the nobility.

Oh, she was certainly looking forward to it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mirabella d'Adreci Character Portrait: Senalae Errion Character Portrait: Tariel Vaynell Character Portrait: Emma Armelle Character Portrait: Cadeyrn Gaile
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#, as written by Script
"Are you quite sure she's on the list?"

"It has her name right here."

"Are you sure that's her? What if she's lying? I've never heard of her before tonight."

"The family crest definitely matches. I do remember her name being mentioned as associated with a family that had come by hard times..."

At the palace gates, Emma leaned quite casually upon her staff as she watched the two guards conversing in hushed whispers over her request for entry to the masquerade. It had taken no small amount of wrangling to acquire an invitation based upon her former noble status, with palms greased and words honeyed. She was attempting to restore her family name, she had said. With the advent of a new king, what better a time to come to pledge her support? So her family had seen better days, what of it? She may have lost her land and her power, but she still had her blood. And blood was power, after all.

She might have left that last line out. It probably would have unnerved the poor representative of the crown she'd been speaking to, bless.

Of course, it might have helped her case if she'd bothered to dress fancily. A little silk here, a little gold there would have done wonders for her reputability, and she probably would have scarcely been questioned. But such finery was not her way. Nor was it particularly friendly to her purse, the contents of which she was loathe to part with. Tight-fistedness had served her well thus far, after all.

Simple, practical clothing would do just fine. There would be no hiding her status as a disgraced noble no matter how fancily she dressed - mutters of her name would pass quickly, disdainful sneers shared. No, this way she embraced her far-from-noble upbringing. It was a statement, as much as a convenience. 'I will not pander to your sensibilities.'

Let them mutter. It suited them, behind their masks. "If you're quite finished..." Emma interrupted the guards, inclining her head to one side. "I believe it is customary to direct the guests inwards, is it not? I'd hate to just walk in without waiting on decorum."

A pause.

"... yes, my lady. Of course. You will need to leave your weapon with the servants at the entrance, but please, enjoy your evening." one of the guards finally said, hesitantly gesturing towards the doors.

Emma had barely waited for him to finish speaking before starting forwards, smirking to herself. She climbed the steps with a few strides, brushing off the servant that moved forwards to greet her by thrusting the staff into his hands. "Put that somewhere safe. If it's damaged, you'll end the night with it up your ass."

Taken aback, the servant briefly stood speechless before stammering a question after Emma's already retreating form. "Ah, and for whom is this being kept? A name?"

"Lady Armelle." Emma replied, before wrinkling her nose. "No, that sounds bizarre. Emma. You're keeping it for Emma."

Leaving the servant staring after her in bemusement, Emma strode onwards towards the ballroom entrance. Reaching into a fold of her coat, she produced a mask. It was an ugly thing, twisted features and an elongated nose, its colours a mix of red and black. It suited her quite well, she thought. The odd look the servants at the ballroom door gave her only confirmed that. She chuckled as the man gathered himself enough to inquire her name.

And so, finally, Emma proceeded into the ballroom. Leather boots sounded on the elegant stairs and the lighting fell upon some ominous old stains on her well-used coat. "Presenting the Lady Emma Armelle!" came the voice from the top of the stairs. Emma could almost hear the mutterings of 'who'?

She smiled a wry smile as she noted she wasn't the only one who hadn't bothered with dressing up. She assumed the armoured warrior was one of the Prince's adventurers, now famed for their role in his quest. Not quite famed enough that Emma had any idea of the woman's name or role in the endeavour, mind, but it was about as famed as anyone who wasn't royalty was likely to get.

Alighting the staircase, Emma identified the princess amidst her crowd of brownnosing nobles, and bowed a shallow (probably rudely shallow) bow to her. "Well met, your majesty. And may I say how appreciative I am of the invite. A wonderful first step in turning over a familial new leaf, if ever there was one. I hope you don't mind the outfit; I just couldn't find a dress to match my eyes for the life of me. You know how it is."




In the meantime, whilst Emma made her very distinctive first impression on the Princess, Tariel was watching the flow of guests into the room from one of the drinks tables. After having retreated away from the Princess as quickly as was polite, he found himself hesitant to approach any of the adventurer-types he'd spotted so far, more out of nerves than anything else. After all, he was a soft and young noble without any experiences like they had. Why would they want to talk to him?

He'd seen the stern-looking man enter without having his name announced, finding refuge in a quiet portion of the room. He'd seen the ones called Talsin, Nelinia and Mirabella announced as adventurers (or in Mirabella's case, an unfamiliar title), even if some of them would have fitted in amongst the nobles, but for the life of him he couldn't gather the confidence to walk up and bother them with trite like 'Hi! You're an adventurer then? What's it like? You know... adventuring?'

Gods, there was no way he wouldn't sound like an idiot, was there?

With his mask held in one hand - it had been uncomfortable and stuffy behind it, really not worth the effort - Tariel settled for letting his eyes wander between Lock and Mirabella. Lock's entrance had piqued his curiosity by his avoidance of the announcement, but he could just as easily have been a reclusive noble who preferred to keep to himself. Mirabella, in her armour, was far more obvious. He just hoped it wasn't too immediately apparent that he was looking. Maybe he should put the mask back on.

Nope. Not worth it. Blasted uncomfortable thing.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rydas Errion Character Portrait: Senalae Errion Character Portrait: Iravey Inicka Character Portrait: Emma Armelle
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#, as written by Modesty
Rydas & Senalae Errion
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(A collaborative post with Skwidge)


It had seemed like an eternity had passed in that space, it had seemed as though hundreds of people had passed by the figure who went unnoticed at the wall, when in actuality it had been perhaps only an hour. The faces had seemed bland and uninteresting to Ira, though she did perk up at seeing those she knew from their adventure. But the one she really wanted was still nowhere to be seen.

’Is he still not going to show?’ Her thoughts echoed in her head as time seemed to tick by without her present, her eyes scanning dully across the floor. The forms of others quickly began to dwindle and enter the ballroom, but Iravey remained at her wall.

It was well past the time that had neatly been printed on dozens and dozens of invitations when the solitary figure turned the familliar corridors and headed towards the soiree. It was then that a singular form stepped into Ira's line of sight. Her head immediately tilted to the side and her eyes widened just a bit, but she remained stock still at her spot, watching him for a few moments as her eyes scanned over him to ensure that it was indeed who she sought. Behind the doors, Rydas could hear the room filling with voices now rising far above the classical piece the four person band played so elegantly. The time of introductions was drawing to an end. He was all to aware that it meant soon it would be his turn, and so he lingered back. A sigh escaped his lips. For a moment, Rydas’ eyes closed, his head resting against the wall he leaned against the wall outside the stairwell where he would descend into a sea of familiar and unfamiliar people.

Once confirmed, she approached him on silent feet and stopped a few feet in front of him, leaning forward fractionally as she folded her hands together behind her back and peered up at him, expressionless. However, her stomach seemed to flutter just a bit, and her heartbeat quickened. She chalked it up to the excitement of finally seeing Rydas again, and she felt a peace settle upon her and her worries were put to rest for the time being.

Something flittered inside his stomach, though he wasn’t certain whether it were nervous or excitement energy, and he took the second to crush whatever emotion it was. His costume, tailored to fit, felt a little too tight in that moment. A fleeting whim almost had him returning to his quarters-- But oh, what would be the look on Senalea’s face if his introduction stood bare with no guest of honour to take the limelight? A grin, just barely, tugged at the corners of his lips at the thought before he pushed himself off the wall and opened his eyes.

The Prince stiffened, suddenly aware he was not alone. The face that peered back to him was a familliar one; the same one that had clung to him so unceremoniously in Idassava's dinner hall. The stranger had been a guardian angel that day, and one he had not seen since. A mix of gratitude, surprise and painful memories flooded his head and left him tongue tied. In true Errion fashion, Rydas fell back on formality to save him from inability. A rigid bow double his figure, eyes raising only when he straightened. "Good Evening, Miss."

At the formality of Rydas’ actions, a surprised look darted across her face before it was stifled in remarkable time. Ira bent down in a return curtsy out of respect, or rather, reaction. The words were another thing that threw her off; did he not remember her? Ira did not even think to remove her mask if his memory was the issue.

Her eyelids fluttered as she blinked, analyzing his facial features in quest of an answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then a rather loud raucous of laughter from within the ballroom drowned out any syllable that might have formed, and Vey pressed her lips back together with a silent exhale. ’It's better this way.’

Discarding any previous thoughts, Vey dipped her head with a genuine smile- it truly was good to actually have him here in the flesh, and also to discover that all seemed fine when it came to the rumours. 'It probably ended a long while ago, and I'm simply being foolish.'

Rydas’ lips parted before shutting again, as if he were about to say something but had changed his mind. He owed the woman much and thank you didn’t quite encompass his gratitude. Despite the large sum of gold he’d rewarded each adventurer with, even those that had joined late in the recovery, there was more he wanted to say. For all the epic speeches he could give personal matters had never been his strong suit.

”It’s good to see y-“ The words he’d fumbled around with were cut short. A young man clad in the castle livery came to a halt beside the pair, bowing deeply. Even as the youth straightened his eyes remained downcast.

“Excuse me your majesty but it is time.” He said, before turning to disappear through the door as the Prince nodded that he understood.

”Apologies, duty calls.” He offered, stepping past the slim woman. Rydas paused, a shadow of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth that otherwise remained serious. ”Save me a dance?”

In that close proximity you could see the genuinely that was characteristic to the man despite the odd request. There was a tiredness around his eyes that hadn’t been there in previous months. It was only under close scrutiny that one could tell the trials of life had slowly taken their toll. He moved to pass through the doors, stopping to grasp the wooden frame as if bracing himself. A sharp hiss escaped his mouth, body doubling in pain as if he’d just been stabbed. His pose only lasted a moment and then it was gone, his figure straightening and shoulders squared.

‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱ ‱



Sena’s hands, delicately covered in fine lace, remained clasped in a neutral position in front of her. Her head nodded and dipped with each murmured greeting in passing. A smile remain fixed on her pretty features, only speaking in reply to offer thanks for compliments. Green eyes flickered back and forth over the guests, memorizing costumes and features to the titles that were called out. Each name had facts recalled from memory; she’d been certain to scan whatever texts she could find for recounts of her brother’s “adventure” or gossip on families.

You never knew who you could trust.

"Well met, your majesty.

The Princess’ attention was torn away from the announced guest to the latest entrant. The worn clothing stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the haughty dĂ©cor. Sena’s eyes lingered, though her face remained picturesque; a warm smile didn’t even flinch at the half-hearted bow (that was masculine and shallow as if one were enough for the other). Her clever mind quickly recalled their families failed fortunes and unfortunate circumstances that surrounded the Armelle name. Sena was quick to dismiss the slights, giving the woman the benefit of the doubt that it was naivety due to poor breeding that was creating the lapse in etiquette.

The truth of the matter was that Emma was not an initial name on the original guest list, but a nudge from an advisor had shown her the potential merit of winning over even the less fortunate nobility when Rydas was to be the new king. Support was never to be overlooked. There, in that moment, she was doubting the advice.

”I’d be happy to assist you in putting together a reputable wardrobe in the future, Lady Armelle.” It was kind enough, though she was thankful that the announcer was speaking again and could draw her attention elsewhere.

“Without further ado, I have the esteemed privilege of introducing tonight’s guest of honour- First Prince, m’lord Rydas Errion.”

The doors opened and the room quieted. All eyes were on the stairwell where a singular figure emerged. It had been over a month since the Prince had last been seen. Rumour after rumour had floated around about the effect of Panacea, its immortality and the price of it. Half of them, he was certain, expected him to show up maimed and dismembered. He was pleased that they would be disappointed.

Rydas’ broad frame was clad entirely black; a stark contrast to the rest of the room. His suit was a modified take on a soldier’s uniform, embroidered in swirls of deep purples and gold. He looked much the part of a future king. He paused just to drop a half-mask that resembled a wolf and as the music began to play he began to descend the stairs. His boots felt heavy with each step, but he held his head high. Vision fixated on his sister, who looked pleased as punch that he had obliged to wear the costume she had designed.

”Well, at least someone is having fun.” He thought, and scanned the room to see the familiar faces he had so eagerly awaited.

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Character Portrait: Senalae Errion Character Portrait: Emma Armelle Character Portrait: Jiu Huson
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#, as written by Script
”I’d be happy to assist you in putting together a reputable wardrobe in the future, Lady Armelle.”

Oh, but Emma could sense the discomfort behind the Princess' words. True, the smile never faltered, but it was in the eyes that the royal lady's whirring thoughts were fleetingly visible. Doubts, concerns, disapprovals. Emma drew perhaps a little too much enjoyment from seeing Senalae mentally reason herself around to an amiable reply. "Ah, but doesn't every courtroom need a sprinking of disreputability to keep the balance, your majesty? Can't have us all tripping over the folds of our dresses in the event of an unforeseen Tommyknocker insurgency, after all." With a light chuckle, Emma inclined her head. "But of course, you are busy. I'll let you get along with appeasing the gentry while I busy myself amassing a poor reputation. Entirely unintentionally, of course, I'm just being realistic as to the inevitable outcome."

And with that, the roughly clad woman turned on heel and swept away. For all her ignoble attire, her stride and posture carried with them a prideful confidence that almost made up for it. Almost. Flatly ignoring any eyes upon her, Emma chose to focus her attention instead on what was unquestionably far more important - the tables of food. Paltry little snacks, such was the palette of the nobility, but that just meant you could eat more of them.

Jiu hadn't been quite sure what he was expecting of the ball, but it failed to live up to any of the expectations he had made up shortly after arriving. Everyone was just standing around talking as if the whole event had been arranged as an excuse for everyone to dress up as ridiculously as possible.

After a few meandering laps around the room he found himself stuffing his face with the practiced delicacy of a count. Duke, he reminded himself.

Emma sauntered up to the table of auderves a few feet down from Jiu, eyes sweeping across the various treats and snacks that were arrayed upon dainty little plates for all to sample. Selecting a plate of savoury pastries, Emma deftly took up a trio of them and tossed them one by one into her mouth in a decidedly improper fashion - namely, from several feet away. At least she was accurate. She caught the eye of a finely dress couple who were giving her a pair of disapproving glares. "What?" she demanded whilst still chewing on the food, before swallowing to continue. "Did I get some on my face? No? Didn't your mothers ever teach you it's rude to stare? Tsk, and I'm supposed to be the one who doesn't know ettiquette here."

As the disgruntled lord and lady retreated away, Emma leaned casually back on the table and glanced across at Jiu. "You just can't get the nobility these days." she remarked, rolling her eyes.

”That'd imply you'd want nobility of any sort,” Jiu managed between bites. ”Unlike these little fairy pies. They're tiny, but it's better than no pie at all.” After a moment he remembered where he was. ”Not that we don't need nobles. I mean we're all nobles here, except for everyone who isn't.”

He stuffed another pie in his face before he could say anything else.

"A notable exception," Emma replied with a small smirk, "It's rather rare they host one of these things where anyone without at least a wedding cake's worth of frills is allowed in. Maybe it will become a theme with the soon-to-be new king, a scattering of rough-and-ready adventurers at every gathering like this, just to spice it up a bit." She glanced over at the spot where the monk had briefly engaged the guards in combat, "Or a lot, if we're lucky. It'll do this lot some good to have their feathers ruffled. Quite literally in the case of some of these outfits."

Chuckling, she turned to offer a hand to the stranger. "Emma Armelle, it's a pleasure."

Grinning, Jiu nearly took her hand, reconsidered, wiped it on his robe, then shook it. ”Baron Ichabod, but you can call me Jiu. It's much easier than keeping track of whatever name I just made up. He settled back against the table. ”So why are you here? You're not hoity-toity enough to be an aristocrat. Rebellious courtesan, mistress, assassin, fancy pie thief?”

"Rebellious fancy pie assassin, actually." Emma replied glibly, "I certainly intend to rack up something of a high pie kill-count before the night is done. But no, by technicality I am actually an aristocrat. My family used to be quite important, you know. That was back before father dear ran our name through the dirt and then hung himself, but we don't like to talk about that part." She took a sip of wine, shaking her head, "Always something of an elephant in the room at family gatherings."

She smiled, "But you asked why I am here, not why they let me in. Let's call it curiosity for now. And a vested interest in playing nice with the new king. And how about you, o' made-up Baron? Am I to suppose your invitation was similarly imaginary? Don't worry, I won't tell."

”That depends on how you look at it. Did I receive an invitation? No. Was I expected to come? No. Does anyone here even know who I am? No.” He paused, bouncing his cane on the ground. ”I'm not actually sure where I was going with that. But apparently if you talk enough, they have to let you in. Seems like a big hole in security, but I certainly can't complain about it.”

"Ah yes, the good old 'talk their ears off and then sneak in whilst they're picking them up off the ground' strategy. I know that one well. Most guards are simple fellows, talk enough and use enough big words and they'll generally agree with you just to save trouble as long as you haven't stabbed anyone in front of them recently." Emma paused for a moment, examining Jiu head to toe. "And for what reason did you go to the effort of talking yourself in here, hm? Nothing sinister, I hope. I shouldn't think the guests would take kindly to their devious schemes being overshadowed by something genuinely dastardly."

“Nothing too nefarious I'm afraid. Caltinar forbid I do anything to liven this up. I'd been hearing about these adventurers ever since I got to the city and thought I'd come see them for myself, seeing as I had nothing better to do tonight.” He downed the last of his wine. ”Other than the monk, I haven't seen any of them. Well, I could have seen them, but I have no idea who any of them are so I wouldn't have recognized them.”

"I'd hazard a guess that the woman in the rather prominent armour was one of them," Emma noted with a small smirk, "Unless that happens to be a new trend amongst certain sects of the nobility I've yet to encounter before." She nodded her head thoughtfully, "They're doubtless an interesting bunch, much like the Prince himself. I'd keep an eye on any odd-looking folk he shows an interest in, since they'll most likely be part of said merry band. What is it about them that so interests you, then?"

“That was a woman? I thought she was just an effeminate looking man. Anyways, I'm a historian, sort of. I learn about things, places, people, things, what have you. They seemed like a particularly interesting sort of what have you. Thus I came to historianize. I guess I should probably make some attempt to track them down before the night's over.” He gave a mourning glance at the table of food before getting up. ”It was nice meeting you. Perhaps we'll meet again.”

"Well then, happy historianizing, my glib-tongued friend." Emma said with a raised eyebrow, "And I don't doubt that we will eventually. I think history and myself will be becoming more closely acquainted over the course of the next few months." Tapping her nose knowingly and laughing, Emma went back to dining on snacks.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Geoffrey Character Portrait: Emma Armelle
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#, as written by Celedia
Approaching the city of Paetax was never really an obstacle for the average traveler but the duo wandering through the lush green farmlands bordering the massive stone walls of the capital was anything but average.

Or normal.

“Why in the world do ye wear armor anyway? Yer dead. I don’t see how leather bracers wrapped around yer bony forearms is going to prevent a second death, Bubbles.”

A necromancer scowled at the silent skeletal warrior traipsing through the fields beside him and with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, the man spoke up to fill the void.

“Honestly and where d’ ye even put that sword of yers? Do ye just
.” Geoffrey shifted his arms so that his hands clasped around an invisible weapon before he thrust them towards his pelvis in an awkward manner. “Lodge it into yer hipbones ‘er something? Seems a bit awkward, it does. Unseemly even. Wouldn’t want to get ‘round pretty lasses with a sword jammed in yer nethers.”

Faking a shudder, the necromancer raised his hand to shield his eyes against the rising sun so that he could calculate the distance they had left before they came upon any people. People in general had a tendency to dislike him. Well, at least when he was walking around in the company of the dead so he would have to send his companion to another plane when he neared the city limits.

That, however, took another three or so hours and with a fond wave and a farewell which was unsurprisingly not returned, Geoffrey came upon the main road leading towards the city gates and he was shocked to see that there was actually a line to enter the city today.

Not one for waiting around, Geoffrey pushed his way to the front of the line and tried to stroll casually passed the guards but a large armored hand stopped him in midstride.

“Sorry, sir. You have to be cleared first. Please step in line
” The guard motioned to the back of the queue which was thirty-some-odd people long and the necromancer scoffed at the thought.

“Line? I have no time to wait in a line, peasant!”

The guard’s brow shot up as Geoffrey puffed out his chest and pointed to one of the large bags strapped around his torso.
“By the GODS man, do ye wish to delay the diralgraun pelt that has been specially commissioned by the soon-to-be King himself?! He needs this for the crowning ceremony! Before, even! It has to be sewn into a
.”

He stumbled for just a moment upon his words, trying to think quickly so that the guard would be so overwhelmed with information that he would have no choice but to let him through.

“Pair of matching snivlets! Aye! Ye can’t let the King be snivlet
less
 CAN YE!?”

The commotion caused several of the citizens standing in the line to turn their attention towards the pair and the guard became flustered, waving the necromancer through as he blubbered, “Very well sir just
 Go. Just go.”

Practically preening at his quick thinking and offering up a prayer to whatever God had a hand in that debacle, Geoffrey wandered down the cobbled streets on the look out for something to eat and he found a rather lively looking tavern called the Dancing Dragon. Music blared out of the doors even though it was still before midday and with a shrug, the necromancer slipped inside for a bit of grub.

Within the tavern, Geoffrey would be greeted with what could only be described as something of a scene. A small gathering of regulars had gathered around one of the tables to the side of the room, where a card game was taking place. Or at least, was taking place in theory. The players were currently far too preoccupied with arguing with each other that nothing was actually being played at all. The group of five consisted of four men and one woman, the last of which seemed the only participant who hadn't gotten herself into a fit of incomprehensible spluttering - possibly no small part due to the fact that the large number of coins on the table were squarely placed in front of her. The dark-haired woman lounged boredly in her chair, only half paying attention to the other four accusing her of all manner of foul play. Her staff was propped up next to her, its bladed end glinting warningly in the light.

"...no way you could possibly know what to do on so many consecutive hands without knowing exactly what we were holding." one of the men was protesting, "There hasn't been a bluff you haven't called or a strong hand you haven't folded into!"
Emma yawned, giving the man a dry stare. "Perhaps you're just remarkably easy to read," she suggested, "That's certainly what I'd assume were I playing a game where knowing what the other player is thinking is very important, and I was losing spectacularly. You might as well all stick your cards face up to your foreheads with glue for all the success you have in lying. On a side-note, never go into acting. Unless the role calls for a collection of clueless fools, in which case, go right ahead! You're practically professionals at that already."

She sighed, waving a hand dismissively and scooping the coins from the table into a small sack. "I think I'll call it there, though, friends. A game's no fun when there's no challenge. If I wanted an easy way to take your money I'd just rob you, violently. Come to think of it, that would probably be more fun too. Can I give the money back, and then rob you for it this time? No? Oh, you're all such spoilsports." Emma shrugged her shoulders and rose to her feet, taking up her staff. "Unless anyone has anything else to say, I'm going to go spend my winnings on getting outrageously drunk. I look forward to beating the idiocy out of whichever of you decide to try and take advantage of my inebriation to take the money back. I know you'll try to, but really, being drunk just means I'll hit harder and care less if I kill you. So good luck, for what it's worth."

Humming, Emma left the men searching for words to retaliate with as she crossed to the bar and ordered herself a drink. "Anyone want to make a bet on how many of them try to mug me on my way out?" she asked the other patrons at the bar, "I'm going to go with three, just enough to make them feel confident, but accounting for any cowards or, indeed, any of them with half a brain."

Geoffrey had stood right within the entrance during the debacle and though he did snap his mouth shut so that he didn’t look like a complete imbecile, it took him another full moment to approach the bar to stand next to the lady now speaking to the crowd at large.

“Nay, lass. I’m betting ye that only two of ‘em will approach. Ye see
” He turned, leaning his elbows against the countertop as he pointed back to the men now seething amongst themselves as if trying to gather the courage to retaliate. “The big ‘un
 He’s not exactly the brains of the operation, ye see? So he’ll probably come wailing atcha but he’s a big oaf an’ I bet yer a lot more
.” His eyes slipped over the woman beside him, taking his time to appraise her form before a teasing grin curved his lips. “Agile than he is, aye?”

Continuing his assessment, he motioned to the next largest man who was currently shaking his head vigorously. “Next one, he’s probably got a wife at home an’ thinks it’s in poor taste to beat up a lass whether she fleeced ‘im or not.” Offhandedly, he remarked, “No offense, of course.”

The next fellow had a hand clasped upon what appeared to be a battered hatchet and a quick once over told Geoffrey that he probably had hidden blades in his boots at the very least. “That one is the one ta watch for, lass. Steeled up everywhere. But that last one
.” He rested his elbow back upon the counter and simply inclined his chin towards the last of the four deviants that the woman had been gambling with. “He looks too plastered ta even stand up straight much less come over ‘ere and cause ya havoc. Probably going ta go take a sleep in the corner soon.”

With his assessment of the situation given, Geoffrey turned around to face the counter, flagging the bartender down for a pint before he flashed another disarming grin towards Emma and introduced himself, "Name's Geoffrey. If you'd like an escort home t'night, I'd be more than willing."

Emma snorted, "You, I like you." she stated, casting Geoffrey a smirk, "You should take up work as a detective. Or perhaps a writer, if you made that all up on the spot. Impressive, either way. Not exactly a conventional way to chat up a lady, but were I not such a raging cynic I'm sure it would have worked."

She folded her arms, angling herself towards the newcomer and leaning onto the counter. "It's a pleasure, Geoffrey. I'm Emma, and we'll have to see just how much alcohol I get down my neck before I get back to you on the escort. I'm quite confident I could manage without, but a little company on a late-night walk seldom goes amiss."

A chuckle escaped her lips, before she downed a gulp of her drink. "Oh, I know, deduce me now! What deep insight into who I am can you draw from a quick glance, hm?"

“Ah. Ye see
 When ye’re as much as an outsider to society as I am, ye tend to watch and categorize people. Ye don’t have such frivolous things as conversation to work into the mix.”

Another grin swept his lips and he passed coin to the barkeep in exchange for his ale, quaffing a third of the beverage before turning his eyes to Emma. Thankfully, he was just as cynical as she was because he assumed there would be no chance of escorting the lass back to her room anyway so what was the harm in telling the truth as he saw it? The worst she could do was
 Well, kill him. That would be rather inconvenient.

The silence stretched between them almost to the point of awkwardness until he finally voiced his assumptions. “Ye’re powerful and not just because of yer beauty. Ye threatened four grown men without the blustering of someone trying desperately to bluff their way out of a heavy situation without so much as batting an eyelash. I’m assuming whatever skills ye possess are dangerous and quick whether it be a knife to the belly or perhaps ye can melt faces with a touch because ye also allow strangers to get relatively close to ye and don’t seem to distance yourself from people which rules out ranged abilities like archery or the like.”

He kept his voice low so that she would be the only one to hear him and to anyone else it would look as if they were simply having a casual conversation. The sly, tilted grin that occasionally curved his mouth would probably also make it look like he was flirting with her, which he probably was doing in his own way.

“Ye carry yourself with confidence and ye seem able to handle yourself which makes me wonder if ye’ve faced yer fair share of hardships but ye don’t seem saddened or depressed which makes me believe that ye’ve risen above the obstacles and are now quite satisfied with life in general.”

He cast his gaze up, meeting her eyes with his own as he quirked a brow and asked, “How am I doing?”

"I've found," Emma began with a smile, "That the important part about having power is not, in fact, the power. It's making sure everyone else is thoroughly convinced that you have it, and avoiding being called on the bluff. Much as you could likely walk through the corridors of the palace itself so long as you were carrying a ladder and a toolkit with a sense of purpose to your stride, it's all about appearances."

She tilted her head in a pause for consideration, then flashed a knowing smirk. "That's not to say that I don't have the means to back up my talk, but even if I did not, perfecting the confidence of someone who knows they have the upper hand is enough to ward off most trouble in places like this, depending on how drunk the offender is. Too far gone, and they might not pick up on the subtleties." Again, she halted to think, drumming her fingers against the glass she held in her hand. "Now, hardships, hmm... I suppose compared to a life of luxury, you're quite right. But really, everyone below a certain familial net worth works through hardship of some form or another. Making a fuss over it would just be entitled."

"My hardships are neither more nor less trying than those of many low-born, or otherwise financially lacking people. But you're right that I am indeed rather satisfied with where I stand, though I'd wager I'd be a lot more satisfied were I standing on a significantly larger pile of gold. Who wouldn't? But good job, really. Not many people consciously pick up on the whole 'she could probably kill me' bit. A shame, really - it would certainly lead to less poor life decisions being made."

“Ah, let’s go back to that significantly larger pile of gold portion
” Geoffrey grinned over the lip of his mug as he took another sip before resting his glass down upon the counter to free both of his hands. Leaning back on his barstool, he cast an overly obvious glance at her feet before pulling himself upright again. “Does that mean ye’re already standing on a pile o’ gold? That it’s just not enormous?”

Laughing a bit at his own joke, he crossed his arms and settled them onto the bar. “Now as to the last part, I wouldn’t be giving me the benefit of the doubt, if I were ye. I simply assume anyone can beat me to a bloody pulp. Leads to less poor life decisions being made on my own part
”

“At least in public.” He added in a soft mutter.

"More of a mound than a pile, really. But don't you know it's rude to ask someone about their finances? Tsk, for shame." Emma tutted disapprovingly, though the smirk on her face made it clear that she was far from serious.

She paused to consider Geoffrey closely, "Now come, you mean to tell me you don't have your own bag of tricks up your sleeve? Nobody gets this savvy without having a way to get through a few scrapes here and there when people get worked up at the smartass."

Another sly grin lit the necromancer’s features as he lifted a hand into the air, gesticulating as he spoke. “Well, quite honestly, finance is the very first thing I bring up with a new acquaintance. I can’t be seen speaking to simply anyone, ye see. They must have a money pile at least this tall
” He showed her the height of this imaginary gold mound by placing his palms, one on top of the other, a good six inches apart. “Before we can move on to the next level of friendship.”

“And aye, ye have an eye on ye too so ye must be a smartass yerself. I am fantastic at brawling. Fisticuffs, as it were. Any other skills that I may or may not ‘ave acquired throughout my life is also tied into the next level of friendship thing
 When we reach the next tier then I can break out such witty one-liners as ‘I’ll show ye mine if ye show me yers.’” He finished his statement with an obvious wink before he turned to his mug and drank down the rest of his ale before tapping the rim to signal the bartender for a refill.

"Funny, people normally comment more on my mouth before they decide I'm a smartass," Emma replied with a smirk, "And brawling? I'd never have pegged you for the sort. Me, I prefer hitting people with a stick or impaling them with the pointy end. Less blood splatter, you know? Not that I make a habit of it, I find I can talk my way out of most things, as you've seen. They don't call me Emma the Glib for nothing!" There was a pause, "Well, actually they don't call me that at all, but if they did, it would be for a reason."

The raven-haired woman made a show of yawning and glancing at the door. "I think that this place is wearing on me," she remarked, "I don't suppose I could take you up on that offer of a walk back to my place, could I?" Emma grinned, "Don't go getting any ideas, mind. The only company I'm interested in tonight is verbal, and the walk home is ever so dull."

Geoffrey slipped another coin towards the bartender to pay for his second drink as well as give the poor man a tip and after draining the rest of his ale he pushed back his stool. The wooden legs scraped roughly against the floorboards and he bowed slightly at the waist, gesturing with both hands towards the door.

“After m’lady
” His brow cocked and he laughed at her clarification of terms for walking her home. “Ah so yer simply letting me in on the fun that’s about to happen when you get jumped in the alleyway, aye?” He rubbed his hands together briskly as he straightened back up. “Hopefully there’s time for verbal company after that, then. Although don’t think I’ve given up on the dream of making things more intimate at a later date. Unless that gets me stabbed with the sharp, pointy end of the stick and then I take back everything I’ve said.”

Weaving his way through the thinning crowd, the necromancer got to the door first and held it open for his newest companion.
"A good disclaimer to have," Emma remarked with a chortle as she proceeded out the door. Two of the men, as Geoffrey had predicted, were conspicuous in their absence from the table from before. "Ah, here we go again..." the dark-haired woman remarked, rolling her eyes as she walked out into the cool night air. Her breath misted in front of her as she stepped into the street, levelling her gaze at the two men loitering in wait and leaning casually on her staff.

"Well?" she prompted, "I'm waiting. This is the part where you demand the money back, right? Then there's the part where I refuse, you turn violent, and then I thrash the both of you with a bladed stick and leave you bleeding on the ground, right? I've done this one before, don't worry. You can just follow my lead."

There was a pause where the two men hesitated to act, before one of them piped up. "Er, maybe we should just talk this out-" he started, before Emma interrupted.

"Yes, we could do that. The conversation goes like this - you leave me alone, and you get to keep what's left of your dignity! A fair deal, I think, far less than you deserve. Don't you think, Geoffrey?"

The necromancer pretended to look fairly indignant at the turn of events. The two men were backing down and she was going to let it happen? He let his jaw fall slightly, leaving his mouth agape as he stared from the dark haired lass to the two would-be muggers and back again.

“Ye’re going to let them go? Honestly?” He feigned distress, gesturing broadly to the men in front of them before turning towards his new-found friend with his arms folded acrossed his chest. “Ye promised me fun, I believe and letting these two go wouldn’t be quite as fun as messin’ with ‘em. Aye? Can’t we just
.” The eyes on the two other men widened as Geoffrey made a fist then slammed into into his opposite palm with enough force that the sound of impact could be heard throughout the entire alleyway. “Y’know. Smack ‘em around a lil?”

"Really Geoffrey," Emma tutted, "You're a terrible influence. Can't a girl be a good person once in a while?" The raven-haired woman laughed, cracking her neck. "But if you insist..." She hefted the staff in her hand, twirling it expertly around to level it at one of the men. "I'll try to avoid hitting you with the sharp end," she said to him, smirking, "Promise."

The weapon whistled through the air, smacking against his side once to unbalance him, sweeping around to take his feet out from under him and slamming down to catch him across the gut after he fell, knocking the wind from him.

Geoffrey practically preened as Emma decided to indulge him but after her swift moves with the staff, the other man decided to flee for his life which left the necromancer without an opponent of his own.

“Oy, ye’ve got ta be kidding me! COME BACK HERE!”

He turned from his brief chase, deciding that using magic wasn’t the best idea in Paetax when he still didn’t quite know the layout or the dangers involved and when he moved back towards Emma he delivered a swift kick to the downed man’s ribs just because.

“Unfair. Who runs away from a fight?”

"Well, in this case, I'd say someone with half a brain. Only half, mind. Don't want to flatter him too much." Emma chuckled, "If we happen to be set upon by a pair of oafs again, I'll make sure to give you the first pick." With a final cursory glance at the fallen man, she shrugged her shoulders and started to walk. "I'm sure he'll be fine. There aren't too many murderers in this part of the city, right?"

Geoffrey shrugged in response to her question then realized that she had already started off without him so he offered a verbal response as well. “Couldn’t tell ye, Emma. First day in the city but it looks like the place to house murderers and such.”

He spun around but continued walking backwards so that he was facing their fallen foe while he addressed him. “No worries though! Pick yerself up and head back to the tavern an’ I’m sure ye’ll be all right!” Spinning back around, Geoffrey came closer to Emma and fell into step beside her. One hand lifted to ruffle his hair a bit before dropping down to swing freely by his side once more.

“Swear ta the gods fighting t’would be a lot more fun if so many of the prickly bastards weren’t against the use of magic.” The words came in a low murmur as they made their way down one alley and turned onto a slightly wider street.

Emma raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" she queried, "Geoffrey, you don't mean to say you're a renegade are you? A sealless mage, a danger to all the realms who is undoubtedly about to tear the very world asunder with his dangerously untrained powers?" She folded her arms in mock disapproval, "Why, I ought to report you to the authorities this very moment."

Geoffrey had the good sense to look shocked and appalled by such a statement, even pressing his hand to his chest to emphasize his reaction. “Me?! Have ye seen me do so much as twitch a finger in the air? By the Gods woman, be careful when ye throw ‘round such accusations!”

“I simply meant that t’would be fun to see such things in a fight.” He coughed into his hand, clearing his throat though his eyes stayed focused at whatever interesting sights were in front of him.

Chuckling, Emma nodded her head and winked. "Of course," she said, "How terribly presumptuous of me. Really, that's the logical explanation. Absolutely. Just a little fireworks, yes?"

The path Emma led them on seemed to be taking them towards the centre of the city, as was evidenced by the steady increase in quality of the buildings and the growing frequency of night-watch patrols. Though they attracted a few suspicious glances, there was nothing stand-out about either of the pair to have them challenged. As the palace gates came into view, Emma turned to Geoffrey. "Well, this is my stop." she said with a smirk, "Is this the part where I say, 'surprise'? Bet you weren't expecting that."

Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked from Emma to the palace and back again. “Ye’re the Princess, aren’t ye?” He sighed heavily and shook his head, as if the puzzle pieces had clicked together for him.

“Wait. The bored Princess escapes the confining life of the Palace to mingle with the peasantry?!”He shot Emma an amused look though he was quite obviously trying to remain serious.

“Nope, too far fetched. I don’t believe in fairy tales.” He inclined his chin towards her palatial digs and quirked a brow.
Emma laughed, "Not quite," she replied, "Noble blooded, though. Never mind the name dragged through the dirt by the last generation, turns out if you show up on the royals' doorstep with the right family name and talk at them for long enough you can blag yourself into using the palace as a fancy hotel. A few earnest lies - or rather half-truths, I should say - go a long way."

Geoffrey chuckled and edged away from the Palace steps, as if simply being nearer to the royals would bring out the Thirds. Though to anyone watching it would just look as if he were getting ready to leave and make his way to the inn.

“I would ask ye for a grand tour but I assume that they don’t allow visitors an’ the like. So I’ll take my leave of ye. Sleep well, noble-blooded but not the Princess Emma with the sharp and pointy stick. I have a feelin’ I’ll be seeing ye ‘round.”

"And you, definitely-not-a-mage Geoffrey," Emma replied with a smirk, "Hold onto that feeling. I know I plan to be wherever the trouble's at. That is, of course, if there's trouble. But there's always trouble, isn't there?" she winked, "You just have to know where to look."

And with that, she swept away towards the palace without so much as a glance back.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tariel Vaynell Character Portrait: Murtagh Alden Character Portrait: Emma Armelle
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Amidst the crowds of nobles straining for a better view or an otherwise more advantageous position in the crowd, there a number of figures who seemed somewhat out of place. One such figure was that of Emma Armelle. After her late return to the palace the night before, the unusual noblewoman was a tad fatigued, and it showed in the occasional yawns that drew her distasteful looks for her lack of effort to hide them.

Despite not being as well rested as might have been ideal, Emma was alert. Her gut told her that today was a significant day. Not simply for the obvious coronation, but for more. There was a good reason for her to be here beyond trying to scrounge some worth back to her name, an endeavour that she did not truly have any passion for. She could hardly care less what the high lords and ladies of Calisma thought of the name Armelle, unless she could get gold out of it.

Unfortunately, for all her instinct and perceptiveness, she wasn't quite sure what that reason was. It was a time for change, that much wasn't in doubt, but it remained to be seen if her feeling that more would change today than simply on which head the crown sat would turn out to be right.

Another of those feeling not entirely at ease amongst the coronation crowds was young Tariel, perched near one of the room's side doors that led out towards the gardens where he had spent his morning reading. He had decided to venture from the library and into the cool morning air after his conversation with Lock the other night, and the change had certainly been pleasant. Of course, the wind had rustled the pages of his book and the grass wasn't quite as comfortable as the soft chairs of his family's estate, but it had been refreshing. When a small bird had chosen to perch upon his pile of tomes and tweet its morning chorus mere feet away from him, he had resolved to spend more time out there amongst the flowers.

Now, however, was just another repeat of the masquerade. A fine event, of course, but he had little interest in engaging with the majority of the crowd. He doubted he would stay long after the ceremony, should he find an opportunity to slip away.

A third figure that had not been present at the masquerade sat in a seat near to where the prince was due to be crowned. Clad in a faded brown cloak that was of visibly high quality despite its worn appearance, little was visible of his face beneath a mop of straw-brown hair that hung down over it as he leaned forwards over his knees. He said nothing to the other guests, and none appeared to know him or desire to approach him.

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Character Portrait: Tariel Vaynell Character Portrait: Murtagh Alden Character Portrait: Emma Armelle
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The library felt a lot less cosy and welcoming tonight. Tariel stood fidgeting nervously along with a small collection of other mages who had been present at the coronation. They had been rounded up and brought to the library by the guards on the chance that any of them had been able to discern anything useful during the attack. Of course, Tariel had nothing to offer. Whatever magic that the assailant had used to control the princess was nothing he had encountered before nor had he been able to determine anything about it. His areas of specialty were in normal arcane magic, not whatever demonic powers had been used tonight.

His face was still somewhat pale from witnessing the death of Lord Egis. The guild mage that had dived before the blade of the bewitched princess had been one of Tariel's former tutors. He remembered the older man's stories, told by the warmth of his quarters' fire during late-night tutorials. He had a comforting, warm voice that somehow made even the most mundane tales and lessons entrancing.

But he was dead now. Tariel sniffed back a distraught tear at the thought. People had been murmuring that this was the work of Niluxiel, the demoness who had confronted the Prince and his adventurers on their quest to save the former king. If so, and she had now taken the Princess from the heart of the palace itself... was anywhere safe?

Elsewhere in the room, wearing a significantly less traumatised expression, was Emma. The roughly clad woman leaned up against one of the bookcases with her arms folded, waiting for the arrival of the Prince. It hadn't taken a genius to pick up on the trickle of people towards the library, and it hadn't taken much persuasion to get the guards to allow her to pass and get here herself. Apparently they'd been under orders to let anyone who wanted to help through. Whether or not she actually did want to help with whatever there was to be helped with was still in question, but certainly she had no interest in seeing a demon run riot across Calisma.

Demons were awfully messy. She should know, she dealt with them enough. And chasing down one of their most infamous names and teaching her just who was boss of this plane of existence? That was an opportunity she couldn't miss.

At the back of the room, the cloaked man from the coronation stood in continued silence. The straw-haired figure seemed to emit an aura of unapproachability, but whether that was simply his body language or something more was unclear. He, too, awaited the arrival of the Prince.

The first of them had revealed themselves - the Princess, no less. The other was here as well, he could tell. It was time.