α ωoяℓ∂ ∂єvι∂є∂ - Accepting/Open

[N K Cake]

“Oh yes, that's the spot.” Moaned the werewolf happily. He lay on a soft bed in a pure white room, on his stomach, and his muzzle sunken into a thick pillow like into a giant soft treat. There was a tall female fairy sitting beside him and giving his furry back a massage. She giggled happily at his obvious enjoyment.
“Hey, dog!” Came the sudden interruption. 'Huh?' Wulthgrand lifted his head to see his companion gone.
“Hey, wake up!” With that shout his whole head felt extremely cold and wet, and the werewolf struggled to his feet off the tavern floor. “Goddammit! Berthunk would you let a wolf rest!” Wulthgrand complained loudly. The fur on his head was wet and matted against his skin, still dripping with water.
The tavern keeper was looking up at him with a particularly sour expression, the empty water bucket still in hand and another readily on the floor beside his feet. Wulthgrand's worn eyes looked around the empty tavern, the morning sun shining through the windows to the room. Tables were upturned, chairs were laying sideways... The heck happened last night? 'Ugh, the pain'. The wolf just noticed his hangover and began rubbing his temples.
“Wulthgrand you mutt, did you spend the entire night down there?!” The tavernkeep bellowed. “Eehh... h-hold on Berth..” The werewolf resisted weakly and wobbled before taking support of a table leg, that was pointing upwards from the floor where the rest of it lay.
“Oh, just clear off would ya?!” The tavern keeper kept at it and now picked up the filled bucket of water. Before he could throw it though, Wulthgrand had seized his hand and lifted the Elven man up by it. The werewolf glared dangerously through his painfully reddened eyes. “The heck you gonna do huh Berthunk?” Oh he should not have asked, and he should have remembered...

Out on the streets people were going about their business through the sandy streets of the city. Many wore the regular get up of hooded plain coloured clothing, used to divert some of the intense heat of the sun. Everything was rather quiet besides for people just walking along the street, heading for jobs or heading home after night work.
Then – BAM – the tavern door burst apart and a steaming werewolf landed out on the street, face flat. The fur on his back was charcoal black and he was howling quietly in pain. The tavern keeper exited his establishments, fire burning in his bare hands with no seemingly negative effects to himself.

Wulthgrand rolled over and lifted his hands up defensively. “Alright alright! Berth I'm sorry!” The werewolf spoke swiftly and then fumbled for the pouch on his waist. When his shaky hands got a grip on it, he pulled out several golden coins and threw them at the tavern keeper. The elf appeared to calm down and the fire died away. He gathered the coins and scoffed before re-entering his tavern to sort out the mess.

That was exactly what Wulthgrand had forgotten in his senseless state. The keeper of the Rusty Boar tavern in the city of Blainkheld used to be a magical warrior in the Mythomortian military, and not to be messed with. Many drunks, like poor Wulthgrand, found this out the hard way – repeatedly.
“That damn elf, thin- blaaghh..” The werewolf vomited onto the smooth sandstone street in the middle of his mutterings. He breathed heavily and stayed on all fours for a good while, trying to get a grip of his senses. Wulthgrand blinked several times in attempts to clear the spots of surreal colours in his eyesight. 'Oh Goddess I need a drink...' He complained in his head. The creature forced himself to his feet, and instantly had to take support from the wall of a building on the opposite side of the street from the tavern. The tavern sign which hung above the broken doorway swung slightly in the warm breeze. Wulthgrand's stomach churned and he groaned in agony. “Okay, okay.. not that kinda drink...” He told himself and turned to walk down the street. Walking came with some difficulty now though, so it was more like... staggering and stumbling. His balance was very commendable as he swayed form side to side yet remained standing.
Up ahead along the road, after what felt like a very painful eternity of walking, with his head banging and back burning, there was a fountain. Several such constructs were put up regularly in Mythomortian cities and towns, in order to bring up water from the underground systems beneath the desert. Wulthgrand walked into what was a type of a town square, quite an open area with numerous people around, and went over to the fountain in the middle. He fell forward the moment he was close enough and the water encased his upper body completely. Ahh, no sound, very refreshing, and it washed the sickly taste and smell from his muzzle. Someone must have been in a hurry, for suddenly the fur on his wet shoulders was grabbed firmly and he was pulled back, out of the fountain.
Wulthgrand landed on his backside and looked up, wide eyed, at the two armoured men before him. 'Sh*t.' He cursed in his head. What they wore was an obvious mark of the city guard and, while one of them was obviously an Aterisan elf as was only expected, the other man... “Zuuk?” Wulthgrand called the werewolf's name with a confused expression on his face. The other werewolf, clad in guard armor, frowned deeply and glanced at his companion before turning back to Wulthgrand.
Wulthgrand's expression grew to one of tiredness and anger. “Well ain't you cosy, you swine.” He growled, and instantly in reaction the guard smacked him across the face with one of their heavy metal gloves. Wulthgrand lifted a paw to his cheek and rubbed it, and spat a little blood onto the ground.
“Clear off Wulth. This isn't a public bath.” The other werewolf commanded sternly. Wulthgrand looked around, a crowd was gathering. He sighed and slowly got to his feet. It was best not to raise a mess with the guards, everybody knew that, even if they were arrogant pricks that liked picking on people like him. In fact, Wulthgrand was a little jealous. Guardsmen were paid a handsome salary and at least carried some respect in this steaming dump of a desert. How Zuuk Small-paw had become one he would never find out.
Wulthgrand cursed under his breath as he stomped off, leaving the guards to clear off the people that had come to watch what they had hoped would be a citizen versus guard fight. It tended to happen when tensions rose high.
Feeling much more clear-headed and better, though his hangover stung a little still, Wulthgrand made his way to his place of business. It was a small delivery service, quite new, and being the only employed werewolf he had become a rather important part of the business, even if the Master of the Craft never would say it out loud. On the outside the shop looked quite insignificant, it blended into the other surrounding sandstone buildings and the barely readable sign outside did not give a very confident first impression. Wulthgrand entered and banged the door shut behind him. He looked up to the counter where a short, balding Aterisan was standing. He had been occupied watching a younger elf pulling on a very large backpack, the metal contents of which poured out from its flap. The older elf looked up to see the werewolf and began shouting. “Where have you been you worthless dog.” The man growled and then pointed to the younger man. “Take that crap off and hand it over to this good for nothing, let him carry it.” It was evident whoever wanted all that heavy gear delivered would not want the elf taking it, he could barely stand with that weight on his back. Instead the massive package was pushed on Wulthgrand, who held it with little concern.
“The h*ll have you been doing, you're late. The guard captain of the district wants this armour taken to Shentzthuul. The small village has been having some problems with raiders, so the guards are enforcing the men there.” The shop owner explained. Wulthgrand agreed with little hesitance, pulling the large back pack on his back and attaching its strings across his chest. “How much are we getting?” Wulthgrand asked curiously while flexing his shoulders underneath all the weight.
The old man grumbled angrily. “The Captain feels the shop is lucky to have such an important duty...” That meant they were getting nothing. Wulthgrand stared peculiarly at the old man and then at the wall. “Bullsh*t.” He muttered under his breath. That was just ridiculous. He needed food too, and the old elf looked like he was on his last legs. If their delivery service did not get enough recognition the Tradesmen guilds would not support them, they had already been given this office as a sign of goodwill. Wulthgrand figured he would have to go see the guard that had punched him earlier, as soon as he was back, and see if he could get any money off this farce deal.
It was best to get it over with first of course.
“... Shentz ain't far. I'll be back tomorrow evening.” Wulthgrand spoke quietly and walked over to the counter. He picked up the travel cloak laying there and pulled it over his furry form. With a small salute, the werewolf made his way outside. The owner of the shop did not say anything. The beast was a professional traveler, especially when it came to the deserts of Mythomortia, but there was a certain issue here still. The elf knew it too. Shentzhuul was two days away if the weather stayed fair, and it never did.

Outside, Wulthgrand gazed up at the sun and scoffed. “You **** on your people as if they're damn worthless.” He cursed up at the sky. True Goddess, pfft. He had never seen any sign of a great and powerful being that had the power to solve all their problems. It was left down to him often.

The large male turned his direction to the nearby gateway leading out of the city. He began walking quickly, slowly picking up pace. He was soon jogging. He began to sprint as he neared the gates and caught the attention of the two gate guards standing there. As Wulthgrand passed them, he violently tore a water gourd off one of the elven guards, and kept on running. They yelled after him, trying to run and even cast magic. The werewolf, feeling unusually rebellious against authority, went as fast as he could with the heavy load on his back. He figured he could lose the guards over the sand dunes as he disappeared from their view.
It would be a harsh trip, he needed a bit of a drink with him.
 

[Lord Zerix]

((Cake I'm seriously considering imposing a word limit upon you. There's just no other option left at this point.
Then again your posts are damn fine good reading, damn fine indeed...So I'm quite conflicted.))  

[M3Gnificent]

Romhild was blissfully unaware of her newfound audience as she hacked and slashed the dead bark away. She practiced for a little while longer before relenting. Thankfully, she did not get her blade caught in the tree this time. "A sign of improvement." she muttured softly to herself, a genuine smile gracing her lips as she now sheathed her sword. After practice, she began stretching and doing light excercises - something she always did before and after combat practice. It was almost theraputic for her, perhaps even a little reminiscent of the few happier moments of her youth.

~*~

Aamira's eyes glanced over in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. A rugged, elvish looking man with unusually pale skin and dark hair seemed to be the one who'd called her over. Not relinquishing her pleasant smile for even a moment, she approached the male, gaze locked onto his. "What would you like?" she asked, her voice sounding calm and melodic, perhaps even serene as she spoke to the patron. Her demeanor seemed pleasant enough, perhaps not as forceful or talkative as other serving girls might be, but still pleasant nonetheless.

 

[N K Cake]

((Hahah. Thanks man. Not to worry, Ahriman has, unexpectedly, got several RPers that will interact with him so the posts won't be that long again. Maybe.))  

[Lord Zerix]

((We can only hope so.))

"A decanter of freshly spiced dwarven mead if you have access to it," he ordered softly, keeping his expression neutral towards the lovely woman taking his order. Recognizing her as a dancer, at least from how her entire figure had swayed to an unheard rhythm on her way over towards him, he felt a sharp compulsion to watch her dance if only briefly during the night. It wasn't as if he didn't have the time to entertain far more alternatives for burning his hard-earned pay, but again some undefined trait in her possession prompted him to pay special attention to her above the rest of the serving girls. "If possible, I'd also like a meal to go with it. Nothing fancy or splendid; just whatever your chefs might whip up quickly for a paying patron." He admittedly had a rather extensive appetite, such a trait greatly owing to his professional background, yet he wanted to simply spend more of his time drinking and mulling over things for the future regarding his latest assignment. It was easier for him to take things one step at a time on a half-full stomach, for if he ate to excess he would grow bloated and lethargic; a combination that saw his fellows in the field dead for being a second slower than they had been just minutes earlier.  

[N K Cake]

"And then... and then... The man just dropped it in my hands! The entire darn animal!" Gmurk finished the jovial story of how he had found he could trade little gold for so very much food in the Elven world. The rest of his kin at the table laughed more, which was only silenced by them all taking big chugs of drink from their tankards, and continued as soon as they put their mugs back on the table.
"You shoulda seen the first time we came here. The caves 'ere are connected to my grandpappy's old tribal territory, so naturally we were tracking back our long dig to pay our respects n' all." Another of the Vul-Infusco began speaking and the rest of the short, dark drinkers stayed quiet, nodding in agreement at points they recognized about their own culture.
"Only had ... What was it, silver in the weight of one human youngling, couple of them diamonds?" The inquiry as to the correct amount went to another, a bit more finely dressed, goblin. The individual snorted and lifted his hand, showing the appropriate numbers with his fingers.
"Two standard ingots worth of silver, two rubies and five unclear diamonds." The individual spoke out very clearly even though his brightened face suggested he had been drinking quite a bit already. Silver, or any unrefined metal for that matter, was smelted down into bars called ingot for the purpose of trade and crafting. The standard size meant pricing could be standardized between tradesmen and easily carried. They are often used when one does not have the appropriate weight in minted coins.
"Aye! See wha' I mean 'bout 'im? Ledger keeper, they calls him up here. We just say he's eaten a few too many shrubs." The group burst into more laughter. 'Ledger keeper, priceless. Them elves had a wording for everything.' Gmurk thought to himself. Keepers of financial accounts, or ledgers, otherwise known as accountants, were of course important individuals in the civilized trade industry.
"So what happened as you came about?" Gmurk wanted to hear the end of the story.
"Oh aye. So we come 'bout and find these Antlers... Aters.. Eatersen..." The man's words slurred. "Aterisans, brother." Clarified the finely dressed Accountant.
"Aye 'em! Naturally they don't want us anywhere near. Point with stick and sword an' everything to get us out." Several of them scoffed at the often rude ways of the sun-dwelling folk.
"Show 'em the diamonds o'course an' everyone's kissin' our feet!" The Vul-Infusco yelled out the ending, and they all roared in joy, stomping their feet while hitting together their drinking mugs.

Their laughter slowly died away as their drinking increased, until they found they were lacking in the sweet nectar. A nearby elven... human? man had just called over one of the servant girls of the tavern and they were nearby enough to catch at least one goblin's attention.
"Oi oi!" One Vul-Infusco called as he raised his empty tankard, not particularly caring that he was disturbing the lady serving to the tall man at the moment.
"We could use a uhm... a uhm... More uh, this stuff." The short man spoke with apparent confusion and shook his tankard in the air to signify that he meant the liquor they had so far been consuming. Many of them were quite out of it by now. Gmurk however made a point of keeping his wits about him and avoided such vast consumption of the Aterisan spirits.

"So traveler, how long you in Samiel fer?" One of the goblins asked him now and Gmurk raised his attention to the individual that spoke. "Eh, deal's done so I'm leaving tonight. Going to see if I can hire some muscle to travel with across the border to Yih'moor." Gmurk replied. He had come to Mythomortia last week on business, a little farther out than he liked, but it had payed off. Here about the Elves paid very handsomely for magical items from Mystocentria, especially fairy wings.
"You runnin' the border above ground again ye fool?" Another goblin interrupted. Fool was quite right, as underground the Mystocentrians did not tend to have any border patrols or specific guard stations. That was of course different for Mythomortian cities such as Samiel where the caves leading in were watched vigilantly.
"Aye well, need the roads. Big delivery back out to the snow lands." Explained Gmurk. He had hired two carts pulled by oxes to transport weapons and armor for an anonymous client. No cheaper place to get them than here of course. Rumors were that it was some human activists looking to arm themselves, but Gmurk could not care less as long as he was payed. But considering such controversial rumors, he had been looking to hire protection.
 

[M3Gnificent]

"Certainly. I'll have your meal and mead for you momentarilly." Aamira flashed the customer a friendly smile before sauntering off, offering the goblins a nod as she headed towards the bar and kitchen behind it. "Of course! I'll have a pitcher ready for refills as soon as possible!"

Upon arrival in the kitchen, she saw that the chef had made too much of his specialty stew yet again. Not that she was particularly surprised or dissappointed, seeing as how giant scorpion meat was all too easy to come across these days. In her oppinion, that wasn't necessarilly a bad thing, seeing how the meat itself was delicious if cooked and seasoned just right. If carefully done, the poison could be used while cooking as well, giving it an extra tangy flavor once the toxins had been neutralized.

She returned a couple minutes later, carefully carrying a bowl of piping hot scorpion stew in one hand and the mug of freshly spiced dwarven mead in the other. After setting both down gently in front of him, she dared to say, "Here you go. The mead you asked for and some fresh, piping hot stew. Be careful not to burn yourself." Her smile widened a little more as she continued, "Please, by all means let me or any of the other girls know if there's anything else we can do for you." She would not have mentioned the other girls if the bartender's break was not almost over. It wouldn't be long until it was time for her to return to the stage, after all.

Afterwards, she returned to the bar to retrieve a pitcher filled to the brim with the alchoholic sustinence that the goblins had previously been enjoying. She was always careful and precise when refilling the patrons' mugs, taking her time to do everything right for the customers. Where else would she be, after all, if it weren't for them and their coin? She was greatful to even the most loud and unpleasant of drunks who frequented The Blossom's Rest.

 

[Lord Zerix]

During the relatively short wait for his order the mercenary came to overhear the sounds of the Infuscos' conversation regarding their initial trading habits with the Aterisans, a topic he himself found amusing to ponder. The goblins considered the surface dwellers beyond foolish to the point of absurdity for trading food for jewelry and gold, yet their race did not understand the intricacies of magic and financial wealth it seemed. Not that he blamed them for it; trading away food, water, and beasts of burden for glittering pieces of stone hardly made sense once you examine the underlying intent of the trade. It was only once you applied cultural significance did the true nature of the bargaining made between the varying races made sense at all, especially with the economic principle of comparative advantage fueling such transactions.

With the notice of the less outspoken of the party, a well-groomed little creature that spoke in precise estimates as though he had worked with such statistics all his life, Gareth turned his head to watch the party openly against the rest of the patrons going about their business. He could see the opportunity arising for his potential marketing and indeed Gmurk had brought up mention of needing assistance across the borders to help maintain the safety of his wares. Approaching to the table he lightly tapped the goblin on the shoulder before nodding at his request, shifting to the left to expose the sword on his hip. "If you are in need of extra muscle such as my own, be sure to visit the Mercenary Guild Headquarters here in Samiel a few minutes down the road. All official requests for spare soldiers run through them, and you may even ask for 'Gale' directly for my blade." He trusted that his advice would be sufficient for all he had to offer up in terms of his skills as a warrior and a magician.

The mixed breed turned back at the welcome visage of steaming hot food and a drink in both of her hands, his lips parting into a rare smile of pleasure before her inquiry registered within his mind. "Hmmm...While your company is lovely enough I don't think I'll keep you or your fellow waitresses much longer. I'll be perfectly content with myself as company." Declining her offer was almost second nature to him for he avoided drawing excessive notice to his features in the hopes of retaining his anonymity. No one truly connected his reputation as a mercenary with his features for he had registered multiple alias within the Guilds across Mythomortia to conceal his true identity as needed. One did not remain one of the few examples of his kind, generally regarded as abominations who had no right to live at all let alone among 'decent creatures', without being overly cautious to the point of absurdity. the name he had given the ledger keeper was one such title that maintained his neutral status for only those he felt could be trusted with the information..,or easily dispatched in case of the worst. At her introduction of other serving girls he felt obligated to ask, "You sound as if you're about to go on break or that you won't be on shift for very much longer, Miss..?"  

[M3Gnificent]

"Very well. I hope you enjoy your time in Samiel, stranger." Before Aamira would head backstage to prepare for her preformance, she gave a flirty wink to the unusual patron. Whether he read more into it than it actually was would entirely depend on what sort of individual this oddly colored elf was. The more impressionable and insecure tended to take it as a sign of romantic interest on her part. The pessimistic and grumpy tended to take it as her being desperate or possibly a slut. Those that knew her just took it as a bit of subtle showmanship on her part.

She could not linger a moment longer amongst the guests, else she would be late for her own preformance and her master would be most displeased. Aamira was incredibly spoiled for a slave. She preffered to keep it that way.

It wasn't long until a dwarvish woman's deep voice could be heard from the stage, sporting an unsurprisingly loud yet eloquent form of speach. She introduced each of the previous dancers by their stage names before promptly dismissing them, rambling on for a little bit before finally getting the hint that nobody cared what she had to say. So without further ado, she introduced the next preformer, which of course was none other than the Blooming Lily of Samiel herself.

As soon as the annoying dwarf got off stage, Aamira walked forward with a bold swagger, a sultry smirk resting upon her facial features as she began to dance. She was by far the most graceful in comparison to the dancers before her, her hips skillfully swaying to the melody the musicians towards the back of the stage were playing. One could also see that she was more than a little bit of a show-off, making particularly difficult forms of dance look enticing and as natural as could be.

 

[N K Cake]

"You sure get around." A Vul-infusco commented on the talk of Gmurk's busy activities. "Don'tcha think it'd be better to return and settle in the caves, start a tribe with the wealth you've raised, rather than keep at this running about?" They continued. Gmurk scoffed and looked back at the individual with a whimsical expression.
"Nay brethren. For what else is there in life?" Gmurk replied and every single goblin raised their empty mugs and banged them together. "What else is there!" They yelled happily. Money - what else was there in life for a worldly man? They were all in agreement.

It was then that the group was distracted by the approach of the tall man-elf - They had not quite decided which he was yet, not that many of them cared much for a stranger outside their own kin. They would never have guessed he was a bit of both of course, rarely seeing any half-breeds.
No one replied, but they all stared curiously and listened, intrusive little folk that they were.
Mercenary guild, that sounded very promising. A monicker? Most likely, giving credibility to this man's careful ways of handling business. Such a keen man to have picked on that from their conversations unfortunately was often very bad news. In the business of a smuggler, privacy bordering on absolute secrecy was key and the less aware the folk around you were the better. Then again, he was in a hurry and maybe a good head on the man's shoulders would make for good conversation during the trip.

While the rest of his kind eagerly filled their drinking mugs as the female brought them refills, Gmurk stood from his chair and stepped over to the mercenary that had just introduced himself. He waited for the servant girl to head off before speaking up. "Sellsword eh lad? How much do you normally charge?" Gmurk asked curiously though never turned his beady black eyes to the individual even when addressing him.
The Vul-infusco gent had little interest in bringing a lot of attention to his presence, even if he was just one of many traders of his kin in the city.  

[gaaras and milk]

The world was cold it seemed; Mysto had blessed her people with snow.
Llewelyn slowly undressed from her white robes with the help of her maids. She held her elegant head upright as she smoothly redressed in her blue garnished dress. How disappointing it was to find a council member absent. Certainly, the meetings where the only things that Llewelyn looked forward to; this one ended so abruptly that there had been no meeting what-so-ever. Mutely, she dismissed her maids and stood silently in her room. Her sea green eyes drifted to the glass pained window. Gracefully, like a spirit floating in mid-air, she approached it and touched her elegant fingertips against it. She could feel the chill of the outside. Her eyes shut, allowing the feeling to fill her. This was how close she would get to the snow.
Mystocentria—the silver hall—it all was a prison.
Her eyes opened again. From the palace she could see the red-cloaked elves marching down the street, creating paths through the snow. She could see the glimmer of the white substance, how it lay over the plants and ground like a blanket—Llewelyn would give anything to touch it.
About fifty years ago, she could have. Though blessed by Mysto, her parents had always treated her tenderly—allowed her to be a child. Ever since entering the council, her life had been much different. She sighed and pulled her hand away, turning back to her quarters. Her room was extravagant, covered in rich silks, fabrics, gold and silver paints, and yet Llewelyn thought her possessions as good as dirt. They meant nothing to her. The council and her servants did everything to please her, for she was the embodiment of their goddess, but nothing could spark emotion in her. They thought it was because of her regality, but it was from her distaste. How could she take pleasure in such things?
The one thing she valued was her harp, which sat proudly in the center of the room.
Llewelyn would sit for hours, strumming, singing, filling the palace with hymns of love, adventure, and the goodness of their patron. Truly, it was the only thing that could make her smile, but it did not please her today. She strolled to her harp, gently running her fingers along the strings. It uttered a pleasing, bell-like string of notes. “What an empty sound…” she muttered.
Across her room, the mirror caught her eye. Her eyes sparkled back at her, her fair skin nearly glowing in radiance, her lips as pink as rose petals, and her blue silver hair tumbled down from beneath her modest headdress, with some sections braided. Her servants, the council members, and even her guardian often remarked about her beauty—but Llewelyn found none. How could she if she never saw other’s faces?
The world was so foreign to her, and so badly she wished to explore it.
She saw the necklace with the emblem with the number ‘11’ carved into it. She would never escape here. The Council had ruled that the Seat of Wisdom, number eleven, was to be filled by Llewelyn. She was the closest to Mysto, besides her guardian and ruler—but he must venture out into the world and protect his people. The Council decided it was best to have a pure one, and since Llewelyn was so heavily blessed, she seemed the proper choice. To prevent any corruption of her values, or the old philosophies that were stored within her, Llwelyn was to reside in the Silver Hall the rest of long life.
Llewelyn looked at the sun, recognizing the time. She needed to pray. Silently, she left her bedroom, and strolled down the grand corridors of the Silver Hall. She began to sing her normal hymn, the sound reverberating off the walls as she came to Mysto’s temple. A servant stood outside the door. She curtsied low to Llewelyn. “Your ladyship, his lordship is in prayer until noon. He wishes not to be disturbed.”
She gently. “Then I shall not disturb him. I will pray alone. Open the door.”
The servant obeyed, knowing Llewelyn must complete her rituals in order to maintain her gifts. Gracefully, and silent as the snow, the Elvish woman stepped into the white temple. At Mysto’s feet, a figure crouched. Llewlyn lowered her head and went no further, falling to her own knees to pray. Her actions were necessary and respectful to both her guardian and her goddess.

 

[N K Cake]

All was silent, nothing moved. It was a moment of purest innocence, befitting his grand Mistress. The skeleton was as lifeless as the statue of Mysto, yet somewhere deep within, both were alive and stirred with a worldly understanding no other could grasp. It was a moment of ultimate peace, and when Mysto reclaims her form in their realm, the whole world will sink into this eternal bliss. So was Ahriman's understanding. Such were the answers to his questions, none of which he had left to ask her. All the information they now sought was out there, beyond these walls. For the greatest question still stood unanswered, dominant and pressing on their ethereal minds - how could she prove herself to her mother and reclaim her rightful place. There was no other task for him, a mere tool of her will, but what she willed and so he would find her answer, someday.
Then, the door opening, the footsteps leading to the temple, and the stranger's lingering presence... He would claim to have heard it, but he lacked the ears. Ahriman... understood the actions taking place.
"The Lady of Innocence wishes for you to come forth, Countess Dulaman." The Lord spoke up but otherwise did not stir. He awaited for the elven woman to join him by his side at the altar, beneath the statue.
The one most like her majestic grace in the mortal realm, Llewelyn Dulaman, lit a spark of life within his conscience every time he saw her. He could be claimed to adore her, but he lacked the heart for such emotion. The existence of the mortal woman and the Goddess were so very alike. Perhaps in time, it would be she who held the answer to the Goddess's freedom.
"You are not dressed warmly enough." Ahriman observed when the girl arrived by his side, though he never turned his head. The open design of the Temple did little to protect them from the environment. It would only get colder during the day and more so into the night.
 

[gaaras and milk]

“The chill does not bother me, your Lordship.” Llewelyn said coolly, picking her skirts up slightly so she could kneel at the feet of her Goddess. “I enjoy the cold of the snow that She has blessed us with,” she explained. Lord Ahriman was Llewelyn’s designated guardian as she resided in the Silver Hall. To Llewellyn, he was her warden.
Because of his rule, she was kept here; never to go outside. He knew of her never-ending desire to venture out, but they would never speak of it. The Council had made their decision. Llewelyn realized how incredibly gentle he was towards her. If anyone else had disturbed him in such a state, they would be banished, or worse, killed. He, in some ways, loved her—though that was not possible, due to his state of being. Llewelyn felt nothing for him. She felt sorry that Mysto had raised him when it was his time to pass. He had to watch the world change and rule—it was most defiantly piteous.
Llewelyn folded her hands and looked up at the statuette of Mysto, her dead, marble eyes staring out into the temple. Those I would never close, those eyes were always upon her. She bowed her head slightly. “I apologize for disturbing you in prayer,” she said softly. “That was not my intention, your lordship.”

 

[N K Cake]

"I would never deny the wishes of her Ladyship," Ahriman replied quietly, "she graciously receives you into her presence." In other words, her disturbance was forgiven. The female maintained proper social graces to perfection, Llwenelyn could not do him wrong.
"I must speak with you during my interval." Ahriman added. An outsider would think they had the privacy to speak together at the moment, but it would be disgraceful to speak of his insignificant mortal matters and duties in Mysto's presence. They would have to wait for when Ahriman's business at court was finished, his next break, which coincided with the lunch hour within the Silver Hall. He did not eat, but he would be in Llewenlyn's presence when she did - unless his schedule was warped out of its common order, and it never was.
"Pray for peace of mind and heart, High Countess." He stated calmly. "Let Mysto's gentle grace soothe your desires." Ahriman was of course talking about her passion for freedom, escape to the outside world. If Mysto saw it fit, she would settle her adventurous spirit, but no doubt the Goddess longed for the world as much as Llewelyn.
The lights in the skeleton's eye sockets calmed and he stared down at his clothed knees. This way he stayed, perfectly silent, as he should not further disturb the peace of the moment. No doubt he had his tasks to attend to soon and so Ahriman would stay in prayer to the very last passing second till he had to depart.

After a considerable while of flawless silence and peace, the chime of a small bell rung through the air. It was time. The skeleton lifted his magical gaze to the face of the statue and grasped the small figurine hanging underneath his clothing. "With your blessing and pardon, I must depart to carry out your will, across your land and to your people. Mysto prevail." Ahriman spoke up. He then took to hand the silver mask sitting on the altar and stood up, turned, and walked off. Ahriman held that he did not have the authority to dismiss the High Countess, Mysto's flesh and blood, from the Temple and so had chosen to not utter a word even though she was left there by herself. No doubt the servants would worry and come see her soon anyway.
Ahriman adjusted the mask over his featureless face and pulled up the hood of his cloak before re-entering the castle. Met in the hallway by his personal servants, he was led back to his room to prepare for the court meeting being held.
The Lord changed from his outfit to the hooded black robe of a court judge and his black and white mask, a symbol of equally balancing both sides of every argument. When he exited his personal quarters he commanded the servant with a nod who led him from the Silver Hall to the courtyard outside.

The Noble court met at its own signified court house within the rich part of the city, and there he was traveling to now. The luxurious and beautifully built stone accommodation of the noble classes passed by the carriage window as it was pulled along by Centaur servants, down the smooth grey streets of the city.
The courthouse was easy to recognize, towering above its neighbors and extending farther than them on both sides. Lines of well armed bodyguards kept the entire street clear as the carriage halted and the Lord stepped down onto a blue carpet laid down before him. Ahriman kept his face ahead as he was led inside the building.
Several minutes later, he found himself standing on a high marble balcony overlooking the rest of the room. Below, it consisted of a semi-circle of tens of seats, all placed behind sturdy wooden desks. Behind him was a deep crimson curtain that covered the way into the pathway exiting the area.
Now that he was present, numerous court members - all noble Arcanisan elves - were taking their seats below. The shouting-and-pointing-fingers game that was politics was about to start.  

[Drunken_Ninja08]

Iri quietly watched, golden eyes locked onto the human. He marveled at how unaware this little one was. As she finished and started on her little movements(Stretches? Exercises? Humans and elves had some of the oddest warm ups when it came to physical activity), Iri shifted again, adjusting to get more of the sun on his back. Putting his head back down, he snorted, sending a puff of smoke from his nostrils. "Come now, little one, you just swung your stick around madly for quite a while. One would need a water break after such exertion, no?" A deep voice rumbled from his chest, breaking the silence of the forest. Amused, Iri turned his large head so that it was directly facing the girl, a good 6 claw lengths between them.