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Post by The Kingdom of Alban on Apr 10, 2016 11:46:50 GMT -8
(The Main Hall.)
A'Tigh Lagh - The Council Chambers.
The Seat of government for the human population of Alban. Here is where the council of thirteen meet to discuss what little future Avelius has. More often than not the topic of discussion is whether to try and help the coastal villages. More often than not much is said and little is done. This was once a place where the lives of all in Alban could be effected. In these dark times it is where old men make hard choices and younger men die or live by them. |
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Post by The Kingdom of Alban on Jun 19, 2016 14:13:31 GMT -8
Arthur's runner would be stopped at the gates to The A'Tigh Lagh. The guards were a dour beaten lot. Looking for all the world as though the weight of it was on their shoulders. They would eye the boy warily and wearily, before one man spoke his voice curt.
"What do ya want boy? Yer from the pirates crew ain'tcha?"
Arthur's crew was well know in Avelius, one of the cities few links to the outside world.
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Captain Arthur Maddock
Established
Roleplay posts: 36 
Age: 28
Physical Description: Arthur is of roughly average height for a human male at 5'10", with a light but solid build of essentially no body fat at about 160 lbs. His figure, nonetheless, is very striking thanks to his hair (so pale blonde as to look white in almost any light) and eyes (ostensibly a light grey, but appearing silver in many settings). A very quick way to get on the Captain's bad side is to call his face androgynous, pretty, or anything of the sort -- the eccentric pirate has heard it often before, and generally responds violently. Considering his profession, Arthur has incredibly few scars... whether due to prowess in battle or cunningly avoiding it being a matter of some debate outside of his crew.
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Clothes and Equipment: Arthur is almost always clad in one of several identical outfits consisting of his black tricorn hat trimmed in a dark red (and adorned with what the Captain often claims is "a genuine pixie skull, mate"), a lace-up white shirt generally worn unlaced at the top to help him stay cool and because he thinks it looks dashing, black lace-up pants worn laced up and belted with a length of silk cloth because it wouldn't do to have one's pants fall down in a boarding action, very fine black leather boots, and generally a black long coat with a very elaborate, high collar to shield him from both sun and inclement weather. Like many sailors he wears some few ornaments, primarily beads, in his hair -- even the few he wears tend to click together when he turns his head rapidly or in a strong wind. His only jewelry consists of an old silver signet ring bearing caravels on waves and, like almost every member of the Silver Shrike's crew, a simple necklace bearing a ship's wheel charm. Arthur keeps several daggers concealed about his person, like any sensible brigand, and carries his schiavona -- a basket-hilted blade much like a slightly shorter, broader rapier, a weapon of war rather than one for dueling and useful for both cut and thrust -- at all times, including to the head or bed. He has been known to carry a hand-crossbow for the initial stages of a boarding action.
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Player's online availability : Variable. PST.
Registered: Apr 1, 2016 14:16:58 GMT -8
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Post by Captain Arthur Maddock on Jun 19, 2016 14:16:52 GMT -8
"Aye, sir. I got a letter here for the Council." The boy seemed anxious; if told to, he would turn over the letter, but he would have to be told. The Captain had entrusted him with the mission, after all, so he needed to complete it personally. The boy brandished the aforementioned letter at the guards, and then tried to slip between them. It would take a limb or weapon being put in his path to stop him short of actually grabbing him.
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Post by The Kingdom of Alban on Jun 19, 2016 14:25:32 GMT -8
The boys arm is caught as he tries to slip through. The grim faced men look at him annoyed and one snags the letter, he looks at it and freezes. The seal in the wax was the same seal set above the door, made by a signat ring not seen in years. It was an image of a sword, interesting with a crown about three quarters of the way up the blade, a dragon in the back ground. It was the seal of house Arach. One of his friends looks at him and takes the letter for himself, his reaction is similar, finally the man who spoke takes the letter. He sucks in a deep breath and turns to the assembled men.
"Summoning the council hurry!"
In the confusion the boy is forgotten, but he had succeeded in his mission. Things were set into motion, change was coming to Avelius.
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Post by The Kingdom of Alban on Jul 2, 2016 14:23:35 GMT -8
The Coronation of Averin Arach
The day has come, one that the people of Alban have been waiting for. It has been twenty years since Hevrin Banach struck down King Derim Arach. Since then the city of Avelius has seen much strife. First under the tyrannical rule of Banach, before the populace pulled him down. Then under constant threat of the ever encroaching Wyld and raids by Wildlings and the Fae. Still the people of Avelius clung on to life, even if hope slipped from their grasp as the years passed.
Still hope had returned to the city in the weeks before Averin's arrival. Whispers spreading like wild fire. 'An heir to the Arach bloodline lived.' 'He had met with the dwarves and slain a mighty beast.' 'He had met with the Wildlings and bested their leader.' 'He had traveled into the Wyld and won the favor of the Fae.' 'He had slain a dragon!' On and on the rumors circulated, before and after he entered the city proper. The council had been advised of the full events and had even issued a statement with the facts. That hadn't stopped the rumors from being blown out of proportion.
As the royal procession made it's way to A'Tigh Lagh, the people of Avelius line the streets. All eager to catch a glimpse of the man who would be king. To catch a glimpse of a man said to have felled a dragon in a single blow, to have tamed the Wildlings, to have brought the Fae to heel. Exaggerations and out and out lies, but they persisted. A cheer went up as the carriage rumbled to the council hall and stopped. The cheer turned to a roar as the door to the carriage opens. Avelius was ready to have it's new king. |
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Ailionóra uí Muineacháin
Committed
Roleplay posts: 86 
Age: Ancient.
Physical Description: As with all of the Fae, Ailionóra is tall and lithe, at a respectable 5'11", and although she is thousands of years old, she appears to be in her mid-twenties. She has long hair that falls to her hips, which is a mix of shades of auburn with golden highlights, and bright green eyes. She has a delicately-formed bone structure resulting in limbs and fingers that are just slightly longer in proportion than a human, and features that are wildly beautiful in an almost harsh and feral kind of way, along with the pointed ears possessed by all her kind. Her skin is lightly tanned from several lifetimes spent out in the Wyld, and heavily adorned with a great number of intricate tattoos in varying shades of green ink that she proudly displays.
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Clothes and Equipment: While safely at home within the Wyld, Ailionóra typically wears very little, allowing her to be closer to the nature within the Wyld. Her usual attire typically consists of a vest in any number of colors that bares her shoulders, back, and midriff, paired with a knee-length loincloth, and accessorized with gauntlets, upper arm bands, and various beaded necklaces and belts. She can occasionally be seen carrying a long spear, most often while out in the Wyld engaged in the Hunt. When outside the Wyld, she dresses a bit more conservatively, but still tends to wear dresses that display her shoulders and the tattoos on the skin there. When attending to important matters of Fae governance, either within the Wyld or when dealing with the Council of Alban, she often carries an staff composed of intricately twined pieces of wood, adorned with ever-blooming flowers and a few magic-focusing crystals of green and gold.
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Player's online availability : Variable; usually afternoons and evenings. (PST)
Registered: Apr 1, 2016 10:51:15 GMT -8
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Post by Ailionóra uí Muineacháin on Jul 2, 2016 15:27:14 GMT -8
Silent and regal atop her large feline steed, Ailionóra moved through the streets in the wake of the carriage, doing her best to ignore the other leaders pacing to either side of her - that being Madadh Allaidh and @dwarf king, of course. Once the carriage rumbled to a stop, she reined her mount to a halt and slid effortlessly off its back, her elaborate green ceremonial robes (which appeared to be made of living leaves and did very little to hide the abundance of tattoos across her body) drifting around her as she came to stand in the street. Letting the reins drop, the tiger understood the cue and laid down to await her return. Once Averin emerged from the carriage, she would follow him into the council hall to witness the coronation. She was tired of this human city.. it was loud and dirty and too far from the Wyld for her comfort.
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Madadh Allaidh
Established
Roleplay posts: 28
Age: 36
Physical Description: Madadh's form is slightly fluid, as normal for the wildlings, but it is always somewhere between human and wolf. His most common shape is essentially humanoid, walking on two (more wolf than human) legs and with opposable thumbs, but with the head, fur, claws, and tail of a wolf or werewolf... and about six feet eight inches tall (tall even for a wildling), and thickly muscled while retaining some of the lithe quality of the wolf. His fur is a dark grey, in his humanoid form appearing almost black, and his eyes a pale grey -- though at his most wolf, they become a more typical golden hue. Humans generally find his expressions very difficult to read unless they've spend a lot of time with either the wildlings or wild wolves.
Clothes and Equipment: In a concession to human sensibilities, Madadh is clothed more often than not in his semi-human forms in almost gentlemanly attire of a high-quality white linen shirt, custom-tailored leather pants (they would have to be custom to fit a wolf's reversed knees), and a very long leather coat. The coat is adorned with small (relative to his massive frame) pauldrons looted from a dwarven warrior, and the various buckles, buttons, and adornments of his attire are similarly forged from looted dwarven metal. Shoes or boots are scorned, as his massive paws are higher-performing on any terrain. At his side he wears a sword like a cutlass, but made to the scale of a massive wildling -- a weapon for the battlefield, certainly, as in any skirmish his sharp claws and the scale gauntlets he wears would be more than effective.
Player's online availability : Variable. PST.
Registered: Apr 1, 2016 14:13:05 GMT -8
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Post by Madadh Allaidh on Jul 2, 2016 16:02:50 GMT -8
Madadh maintained his composure well, though all of his escort had been left behind -- Wildlings did not care for crowds. Still, one lip seemed perpetually raised, just short of showing teeth, and likely conveyed his comfort level at being surrounded by humans and next to a Fae. He wore the same attire he always did to deal with humans -- it was his equivalent of formal wear, after all -- and the sword had been left behind. Not an appropriate setting to be armed, and the Fae wasn't. Still he maintained that respectful demeanor toward Averin -- and, while Averin was in the carriage, Averin's carriage. The massive wolf remained directly next to the Fae, just behind Averin, as they entered the council hall.
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High Chancellor Reagan Barrach
New
The once and future King will return one day... and we await him with bated breath.
Roleplay posts: 3
Age: 51
Physical Description: Reagan was 6' 3", with short-cut, grey hair, and a well-trimmed beard. He would have been considered handsome in his hey-day, but in age, he had settled down, and now was left with a scarred, tired face. He had brown eyes that glimmered wiht a faint, dying fire.
If one were to see his bare skin, they would notice it was covered with scars and burns from his time fighting on the frontier, protecting the lands of the humans from the sieges of the Wildlings and Faen.
Clothes and Equipment: Reagan wore his own personal armour in favour of his official attire considering the volatile and dangerous conflicts that were taking place.
His armour was a deep, rich purple, and was emblazoned with decorative white-gold lions - the crest and colour of his house. It was made out of a most unusual metal.
Registered: Apr 2, 2016 17:46:09 GMT -8
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Post by High Chancellor Reagan Barrach on Jul 2, 2016 19:07:17 GMT -8
The High Chancellor of Avelius, and the human population of Alban, kneeled before the throne, facing the great doors through which the King of Alban would enter, and waited for him to come. When he had first heard of the news, he had not dared believe that his lifelong hopes would become real,but now, as the carriage rumbled through the city he had tried to defend for his entire life, he knew that the King has finally returned. The cheers of the people outside only helped to further his reassurance.
Around him, the other 12 councillors knelt, awaiting the approach of Sir Averin Arach.
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Sir Cairex Forgepyre
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 274
Age: 23
Physical Description: Wolf - stature of a large grey wolf, mottled patches of darker grey and black mingle in with a lighter grey coat. A single black patch of fur surrounds the blue eye, while the brown eye is surrounded by the light grey color. Teeth are sharp and well maintained, just like his claws.
Hybrid - His most common form, his coloring perfectly matches the wolf form. This form stands around 7ft tall, weighs nearly 330 lbs, with a fairly long tail.
Human- only used when interacting amongst civilized society, he is tall for a human, around 6'3" and about 210lbs. His long hair matches the grey and black coloring of his wolf fur, and the only distinguishing feature is his canine eyes and elongated canines.
Clothes and Equipment: Clothing - Cairex now wears a custom suit of armor, enchanted so that it will resize as he does, providing his already formidable wolf forms with substantial armor that is lightweight but strong, akin to mithril in both strength and weight.
Equipment - A good sized bastard sword and a small dagger are his only weapons, plus teeth and claws.
Player's online availability : Weekends/Nights
Registered: Apr 1, 2016 8:02:28 GMT -8
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Post by Sir Cairex Forgepyre on Jul 2, 2016 20:45:42 GMT -8
Cairex kept pace with those who had joied Averin back in Gauldin, marching behind the leaders in a relatively cohesive group. He carried his sword with him, slung across his back in its usual manner. He wasn't particularly fond of so many of any kind of people in one place, but this didn't seem so bad. Hopefully Averin's speech would be fairly short.
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Post by High King Ulfr Borgsson on Jul 3, 2016 5:18:07 GMT -8
High King Ulfr had arrived in Alban by ship, with only himself and twelve well-trained thanes. He wore a set of ceremonial battle armor, complete with chainmail and plate, a black gambeson, a purple cape, and his purple Ki'gar slung around his neck and shoulders. His usually unkempt hair was styled and brushed straight, and his stern blue eyes observed the Council Chambers with great admiration. He was a tall, strong man, the epitome of a what a perfect warrior might look like, one might say. He was the High King of Asgeir; of course that title was more honorary than real; Asgeir was ruled by the jarls, not the High King.
The thanes found themselves situated near the back of the chambers, out of the way of the other guests. They were all heavily armed, but their presence served more as a ceremonial role than a protective one at the moment. The High King stood within the chambers among the other folk and awaited the arrival of Averin.
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Warlord Ei Halvard
Established
Roleplay posts: 40
Age: 180
Physical Description: Of the Dwarven race, Ei Halvard is about 4'5" (relatively tall for a dwarven male), has jet black hair, and thick stony muscles.
Clothes and Equipment: Bronze armor, iron boots, lead alloy axe.
Registered: Apr 2, 2016 16:08:04 GMT -8
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Post by Warlord Ei Halvard on Jul 3, 2016 6:47:11 GMT -8
The entire procession was still so surreal. El Halvard had arrived with the Justicars, a few select members of the various castes, and little Queron, the mithril metallurgist girl. Halvard's keen eye was of course aware of Ailionóra uí Muineacháin's reluctance to make eye contact with the other races. This was to be expected. Although the various races had all been friends in the past and would be again, that didn't mean they had to agree in every aspect. The dwarfs, for instance, with their relatively long lives, tended to scorn human architecture for its overemphasis on aesthetics and underemphasis on integrity and durability. Even Halvard, who was no expert architect, wanted to chuckle at some of these ridiculous structures as they entered Avelius and even Atigh Lagh. Some of these flourishes wouldn't be able to go more than a few centuries without renovation! Alas, for the humans it was the concern of the next generation, which in his opinion caused them to be somewhat short-sighted in their actions. But who knows? Maybe the dwarfs would be able to offer their counsel. Halvard observed the rest of the crowd, mostly with safety in mind. He saw how uncomfortable the furry ones were. Wildlings, as he understood, had great senses compared to the other races. And it was very likely this crowd was offending their senses of smell and hearing. Still, he admired them for showing up just like everyone else. The justicars and warlord muttered to themselves when they saw the presence of foreigners. The men from Asgeir were armed, a typical sign of military posturing if you asked the dwarfs. Still, they had made a long and difficult journey. It would pay to be respectful. Halvard wondered who else would be present at the coronation. |
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Alanis Waterbloom
Established
Roleplay posts: 20
Age: 140-ish, but who cares?
Physical Description: Reddish brown hair, dark eyes, not particularly athletic-looking but with reflexes and speed comparable to most other elves.
Clothes and Equipment: A white robe, a silver tiara, she carries no weapons of any kind
Registered: Jun 9, 2016 15:24:46 GMT -8
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Post by Alanis Waterbloom on Jul 3, 2016 7:57:18 GMT -8
Alanis, with long flowing white robes and a silvery head dress, was at the coronation on behalf of the Land-Tiller's State. She and several tribal elders had traveled via an airship, on loan to them from Gauldin's air base. The vessel apparently wasn't alone. It seemed like airship capability existed here in Alban too, although the Gauldish would claim theirs were superior.
In any case, Alanis and the elders chattered rapidly at this new land. They had never seen so many different humanoids in one place, not since the food festival some time ago. Alanis could also sense a massive amount of earth energy somewhere towards the mainland, and only had a cursory understanding of what exactly the Wyld was. She was so used to the earth being benevolent, it was hard to imagine a nexus of such tumultuous and ravenous energy. Very odd indeed.
It seemed by now the elders were getting used to dealing with outsiders, but for Alanis it was still a relatively new experience. It was the dwarfs and fae in particular she found so fascinating. Long-lived, like her kind, and connected to the earth in equal yet opposite ways. The fae looked very similar to the elves, but the dwarfs were completely different. Short and stocky, they were almost adorable. She had to stop herself from grinning at the little armored men who seemed to command so much respect. As for the wildlings... she had never seen anything like them at all.
She was very curious to hear this coronation speech Averin prepared. Such a young man to be a hero. Humans, what were they like on this continent?
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Neva-Svir-Suna, Wavewarden
Dedicated
Roleplay posts: 259
Age: 850
Physical Description: Neva's form is as fluid as the rivers she protects. Her usual form is approximately forty meters, armored with an incredibly thick, scaly hide. Her head is a armored as well, with long horns or fins, depending on whether she is moving through water or land. In her human form she tends to take the shape of a young, tanned, attractive woman, with long dark hair. Finally, she can take the form of any animal that spends the majority of its life in any watery area of the world.
Clothes and Equipment: In her human form, she is wearing thick leather armor of a similar substance to her dragon hide. The only weapons she wields are a pair of javelins and a long spear. The weapons are magical as she sees fit, variously imbuing them with her own magical powers.
Registered: May 17, 2016 15:08:26 GMT -8
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Post by Neva-Svir-Suna, Wavewarden on Jul 3, 2016 9:26:42 GMT -8
Neva-Svir-Suna was present as well, more lut of curiosity for what was going on than anything else. She had never seen a coronation before, and the presence of so many powerful people sailing across her oceans had piqued her curiosity.
She was wear a gorgeous floor-length sea-green dress that hugged her lithe body almost perfectly, and had the bonus of hising the brightest of her tattoos, and she managed to suppress those one her arms to a dull blue for the moment.
She found herself standing near the assembly from the Land-Tillers, though she was unaware of their identity, and she would keep to herself unless interacted with, prefering to observe, for the moment, in silence.
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King Renaux of Travére
Dedicated
The King of Gauldin
Roleplay posts: 368
Age: 29
Physical Description: Standing at 6'4 Renaux is an imposing figure. He is well muscled from years of training and he has collected his fair share of scars. His auburn hair is kept short in a military style, and his face is clean shaven. He has a powerful jaw, mid set cheek bones, and a smooth brow. His blue eyes are fierce and determined, though there are smile lines in the corners.
Renaux was never supposed to be king he is actually the second son of the now deceased King Voltair. The former king and the crown prince Vyun both died in an a tragic airship crash three years ago much to Renauxs sorrow and anger. Renaux never held any aspirations for the crown and hated the thought of having things given to him. He entered the Académie Royale de le Pégase by winning the yearly tournament while posing as a peasant. He kept up this charade over his years serving with the Royal Air Force reaching the rank of Captain on his own merits.
He may have spent another few years in this guise but with his father and brother dead he was forced to ascend to the throne. Relatively unknown among the nobility Renaux has faced many challenges in the last two years. These turned the young military commander into a king whether or not he will prove to be a good one is still unknown.
Clothes and Equipment: Pretty much whatever he wants he's a king.
The Crown of Wings, and his Bastard Sword.
Clothing changes between enchanted plate, military dress, and casual clothing.
Registered: Dec 3, 2015 18:03:01 GMT -8
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Post by King Renaux of Travére on Jul 3, 2016 11:54:51 GMT -8
Renaux stood within the council chambers and waited. He was flanked by his body guards and the notable absence of the queen. Arianne was well along in her pregnancy and the healers insisted she shouldn't be traveling. Something his rambunctious young wife had not enjoyed hearing. Still after some arguing she agreed to stay at the palace while he attended the coronation.
Thinking of the coronation Renaux's thoughts turn to the man who is about to be king. It was hard for Renaux to believe that the boy who had been his squire, was the heir to the throne of Alban. That the youth he had rescued from barbarians, had risen up to be a fine knight and apparently a hero. The king of Gauldin waits patiently for the king of Alban to enter the council halls.
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Ryden Greyiron
Dedicated
Chancellor of Isra
Roleplay posts: 226
Age: 42
Physical Description: Taller than most at 6'4, with relatively short, steel-grey hair, and a well-groomed, dignified moustache and beard, Ryden Greyiron would have been considered handsome, once upon a time, and still might be by some, but stress and worry has gotten to him over the years, and more than anything, he looks weary. With well-defined, prominent cheekbones, a strong-set jaw, and a proud nose, he looks every part the stately nobleman he professes to be. His dark blue eyes are filled with a solemn and calculative consideration of everything around him. He has the lean and muscular body of a great swordsman not long out of their prime, and his movements show it - they are graceful, yet dignified, confident and determined.
Clothes and Equipment: Ryden is generally only seen in his engraved armor. His armour is an assembly of intricately engraved detail and runic symbols in equal measures. With his long and flowing grey cloak, he creates a distinctive impression of gravitas in all situations. His preferred weapon, a hand-and-a-half sword, is rather unusual. The hilt is worn and weathered with battle, and seems to be ancient, and yet the blade gleams and shimmers in the slightest of light as though it emerged from the flames of a forge only yesterday. The blade's edge is razor sharp, and appears to have never needed sharpening. His armour and sword both possess a degree of enchantment, but the extent of which is unknown, even to him.
Registered: Apr 30, 2016 16:46:48 GMT -8
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Post by Ryden Greyiron on Jul 3, 2016 20:36:11 GMT -8
Ryden Greyiron waited in the Council chambers for the new king of Alban to come forward. Though he knew very little about Alban, or her history, the little he had had a chance to read on the sail to the island informed him that this was verily a monumental occasion, which would explain why a delegation from Isra had been sent. That said, the party was not unusually large, consisting only of the chancellor, in his finest armour, and armed with his ancestral blade, his trusted guardian, and a handful of diplomats and knights.
As well as coming to respect the new king, Ryden had a second motive to mind - he intended to discuss a few trade deals with the good king, as well as invite him to the rapidly approaching international summit.
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King Averin Arach
Dedicated
Working on the whole king thing
Roleplay posts: 284
Age: 21
Physical Description: Averin is a tall man, standing at six foot two. He has a build equal parts lithe and powerful. Broad shouldered, well muscled, but possessed of an undeniable grace. He reminds many of a tiger. He moves with a slow, languid, precision, that gives him undeniable aura of deadly skill.
Averin is a handsome man. With a square cut jaw, straight nose, and prominent cheek bones. His brown eyes are dark and alluring. Sometimes they sparkle with kindness, other times gleaming with baleful intent. His habitual expression is a half smile.
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Clothes and Equipment: Averin prefers to wear his silver steel half plate. One pauldron stylize to look like a hawks head. Combined with his large red cloak, he has a very distinctive look. His preferred weapon is a bastard sword. His blade is an oddity. The hilt is worn and weathered, and seems to be ancient. The blade though looks freshly forged. The shining metal gleams brightly in light, and it's edge razor sharp. Both his armor and sword posses some degree of magic, though exactly how much is known only to him.
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Registered: Mar 21, 2016 6:59:05 GMT -8
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Post by King Averin Arach on Jul 3, 2016 21:42:29 GMT -8
Averin rested a hand against the carriage door. As the king someone else should really be opening it for him. That however seemed too silly, so he'd waved off that suggestion. He was, or rather had been a mercenary. He could open a damn door for himself. Thinking of the door, he notes that he can actually feel it vibrating from the crowds cheers. Cheers that grow to a roar as he pushes it open. Well this was it, show time. He steps out of the carriage and onto the stones leading to the council chambers. Averin feels intensely uncomfortable as he walks towards the open doors. Part of it is of course the crowd. He can feel the weight of their expectation upon him. To them he was something more than human. A hero, a symbol of hope, the person who had freed them from oppression and war. That was a lot of pressure for any person. Even to someone who had been raised to bear it, which he hadn't. He had only been raised to reclaim the throne, he didn't know how to sit on it. He had only what he'd gleaned from his own initiative. So now he was going from the leader of a handful of mercenaries to an entire country. With only the beginning of an idea of what he was doing. So yes, that made him a little uncomfortable. Surprisingly though, it wasn't the main source of his discomfort. The main source was his clothing. Their had been a lot of internal debate for Averin over what to wear to the coronation. His first thought had been his armor. The armor looked kingly and he was used to wearing it, he was comfortable in it. To be fair not comfortable in the sense that is was pleasant to wear. It was armor it was heavy, cumbersome, and occasionally stiflingly hot. It was just the comfort of familiarity. He had decided though that the armor sent the wrong message. He had worn the armor nearly constantly since arriving on Alban. He had worn it because they were at war and he needed to win. He had won the war though so wearing the armor seemed too aggressive. People might think he didn't feel secure in his victory. For his coronation Averin had a new suit of clothing tailored. The style he went for was on the boarder between kings regalia and soldiers uniform. A crimson button up shirt, with a high collar, matching trousers, knee high black boots, and a white and gold belt round his waist. Over top he wore a blue coat, similar to that of the city guard. Though this coat was trimmed with gold around the cuffs and seams. With this choice of attire he hoped to convey a balance. The militaristic cut of the ensemble hopefully showed his strength and discipline. That he was still the man who fought a dragon. While the regality of it showed he was confident in his rule. That he didn't think he needed armor for he was the king. Whether or not that message would be conveyed though was anyone's guess. The clothing was stiff new and made of sturdy wool, so it was uncomfortable to wear. Which was more immediately distressing to Averin than the fact that he may be in over his head. Left hand resting on the pommel of An Dlí, right hand raised to wave at the crowd, Averin begins to walk toward the council halls. They certainly were loud. The roar of the crowd wasn't dimming as he walked. Indeed if anything it seemed to be getting louder. He'd never been cheered before and he honestly wasn't sure he liked it. Still he managed to keep an almost natural smile on his face. He'd kept his cool in front of Ailionóra, Madadh, and Ei. He wasn't about to crumble from open praise. As Averin reaches the doors they are flung open revealing the council chambers. These were almost as packed as the street outside. A mix of Albish nobles, affluent merchants, foreign diplomats, and even royalty. Averin spots his former master and he flashes Renaux a quick apologetic grin. He probably should have mentioned his heritage the last time they talked. The soon to be king finishes surveying the crowd and then continues his walk. Up towards the dais were the man who'd be giving him the crown stood. Once on the dais he drops to one knee. It was time to get this over with. (Picture of Averin's clothing.)  |
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Duchess Caridwyn An Sí
Committed
Roleplay posts: 94
Age: 19
Physical Description: A tall and slender woman, Caridwyn is 5'8" and shapely, with a woman's curves. Her skin is fair and her facial features are finely formed, nearly aristocratic, with high cheekbones, a smooth brow, and a delicate nose above full lips that rarely smile. Her hair is long, falling to her lower back, and a pale shade of blonde that verges on silvery. Her eyes are wide, luminous, and expressive, and are a pale blue color that often appears violet in certain lights.
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Clothes and Equipment: Most often, Caridwyn is seen wearing simple robes composed of soft, silky white fabric that lay draped across her body in an elegant fashion. Always found upon her person are two intricate silvers rings that cover the entirety of her index fingers, formed into intricate whorls and heavily enchanted with magics that allow her to disguise herself and move around unnoticed. Around her right wrist is a hammered iron cuff bracelet that is enchanted with protective magics. And around her neck is a necklace which bears a shining white moonstone that enables her to more easily use her divine magics. On ceremonial occasions, she wears an elaborate silver circlet set in the front with a large moonstone.
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Player's online availability : Variable; usually afternoons and evenings. (PST)
Registered: Jun 19, 2016 14:52:41 GMT -8
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Post by Duchess Caridwyn An Sí on Jul 3, 2016 22:26:24 GMT -8
It wasn't just a man standing on the dais - there was also a woman there, which would likely surprise Averin. She wore resplendent robes of silk so white it was nearly luminous, the light of the chambers reflecting off of it, as well as the silver circlet upon her brow, set with a white moonstone. Her pale blue eyes watched the King as he approached, and Caridwyn gave him a small smile as he knelt. In her hands sat a pillow of the plushest crimson velvet, which held the second greatest treasure in all the land, aside from An Dli itself - the crown that was soon to grace Averin's head. It gleamed brightly, and anyone with any magical sense could tell that it had recently been imbued with very powerful protective magics.. an oversight of generations past that had now been corrected.
With the king kneeling, Caridwyn turned to Owein and presented the leader of the Talveron wizards with the crown. Once it had been lifted from its pillow, she handed the cushion off to a nearby attendant and then sank into a deep curtsy, bowing her head and sending the unhindered torrent of her silvery-blonde hair spilling down around her. This was a momentous occasion, and she was honored to have been given the opportunity to participate.
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Owein Raic'Leach
Established
Roleplay posts: 37
Age: 48
Physical Description: An even six feet tall, Owein is a sturdily-built man with weathered features that make him appear older than his years. He has a strong jaw that descends to a firm chin, which is covered by a mustache-goatee that comes to a point, composed of brown hair threaded with silver hair - much like the hair atop his head, which he keeps trimmed to just about shoulder-length. His eyes are a deep steely grey, filled with a wisdom beyond his age. He usually wears a perpetual scowl.
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Clothes and Equipment: For the most part, Owein wears a set of intricate clothing in browns and reds. Red breeches are tucked into brown boots that fall just short of his knees. Into these breeches is tucked a brown tunic, with a red long-sleeved shirt beneath. At his waist he wears a red sash which serves as a belt, onto which are attached a number of pouches, that hold various alchemical and spell items. And over top it all he wears a long-sleeved red robe with hardened shoulders and intricate golden scrollwork at the shoulders, hem, and cuffs. The shoulders are actually made of red dragon hide, to ward against magical attacks, and the golden scrollwork carries enchantments. Around his neck is a long red scarf, that hides a nasty scar on his throat. He always carries with him a tall staff made of an odd opalescent white wood, that is carved at the top into an intricate, twisting shape reminiscent of dragons.
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Player's online availability : Variable; usually afternoons and evenings. (PST)
Registered: Apr 14, 2016 14:36:28 GMT -8
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Post by Owein Raic'Leach on Jul 3, 2016 22:38:12 GMT -8
Owein watched the approach of Averin with the same stoic expression that he did everything else. But anyone who knew the man even remotely could see the odd blend of emotion in his eyes - pride, sadness, hope, worry, and happiness. The wizard in crimson robes stood silent and unmoving while he watched the approach of the soon-to-be-King, and only stirred to any real resemblance of life when the former mercenary knelt before him. Then he stepped forward, and raised his voice, the booming bass tones rolling throughout the packed hall - and thanks to the applied spells of a few of his companions from Talveron, the words were carried outside to be heard by the entire city.
"Today is a momentous occasion for the Kingdom of Alban and all its people. Long thought lost to us, the proper heir to the throne has returned - more than that, he has restored the great treasure of our land, the birthright of his House, An Dli, to its proper place.. not just within the hands of an Arach, but fully imbued with the powers of the three peoples of this land: The strength and determination of the Dwarves. The speed and vitality of the Wild People. And the great earth magics of the Fae. He has given us all hope again. He has given us reason to stand and fight, to build ourselves back up to what we were, to thrive once more rather than simply surviving. And I do not speak only of the humans of this land.. I speak of all races, for we are truly one, united once again under the banner of our rightful King."
His words trailed off, and then he looked down at Averin. After a few beats of silence, he turned and plucked the crown off of the pillow Caridwyn held, then turned back to face the kneeling man and continued.
"Averin Arach, son of Derim Arach, true King of Alban and all its peoples, on behalf of the Wizards of Talveron, the Council of Thirteen, and all the peoples of Alban, I restore to you the crown of your forefathers, and with it, I proclaim you King Averin Arach, First of His Name, Leader of the Free Peoples of Alban, Wielder of An Dli and Protector of the Realm."
Leaning down, he placed the crown atop Averin's head. The man would immediately feel the protective magics washing over him, powerful spells designed to protect him from attacks both magical and physical, alert him to the presence of venom and poison, and warn him of treachery. With the crown settled atop Averin's skull, Owein stepped back and boomed out one final phrase.
"LONG MAY HE REIGN!"
With those last words uttered, he sank into a deep kneel.
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King Averin Arach
Dedicated
Working on the whole king thing
Roleplay posts: 284
Age: 21
Physical Description: Averin is a tall man, standing at six foot two. He has a build equal parts lithe and powerful. Broad shouldered, well muscled, but possessed of an undeniable grace. He reminds many of a tiger. He moves with a slow, languid, precision, that gives him undeniable aura of deadly skill.
Averin is a handsome man. With a square cut jaw, straight nose, and prominent cheek bones. His brown eyes are dark and alluring. Sometimes they sparkle with kindness, other times gleaming with baleful intent. His habitual expression is a half smile.
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Clothes and Equipment: Averin prefers to wear his silver steel half plate. One pauldron stylize to look like a hawks head. Combined with his large red cloak, he has a very distinctive look. His preferred weapon is a bastard sword. His blade is an oddity. The hilt is worn and weathered, and seems to be ancient. The blade though looks freshly forged. The shining metal gleams brightly in light, and it's edge razor sharp. Both his armor and sword posses some degree of magic, though exactly how much is known only to him.
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Registered: Mar 21, 2016 6:59:05 GMT -8
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Post by King Averin Arach on Jul 4, 2016 16:36:30 GMT -8
Averin from his kneeling position exams the two people on the dais. Owein he know by reputation. The most powerful wizard in the city, leader of the mages of Talveron. He didn't know what to make of the man. He certainly seemed like the powerful wizardly sort and his attire certainly screamed red wizard. Averin's eyes then drift to the girl... No after a moment he amends that. He didn't know who she was, but she was most certainly a woman. Pretty one at that. He wonders why she was chosen to hold the crown. He supposed it didn't really matter.
Owein starts speaking and Averin lowers his head. Well all those words certainly made him sound impressive didn't they? Averin itches to stand up and move. This whole ceremony was making him more and more uncomfortable. It takes all his considerable discipline to remain still until Owein approaches the last words of his speech. Averin tilts his head up so the crown can be placed upon his brow. As Owein drops to his knee, Averin rises and turns to face the crowd. Every citizen of Avelius that he can see is kneeling.
Despite their positions many of the people are still staring up on them. Their eyes are wide and hopeful. This is the part he was least looking forward to. It was time for him to make a speech. One had been written for him with the councils help. He had practiced it over and over until he had it memorized. Now though, he'd be damned before he could recall a single word. He sucks in a long deep breath, steadies his shaking nerves, and opens his mouth. Then he closes it. The people look confused, what was their new king doing? Letting out a sigh he opens his mouth again and this time words come out. His voice is strong and firm. Thanks to the magic it carries out across the city.
"People of Avelius, I had a long speech prepared for you. It held many flowery words and many high promises. It sounded very regal and made me seem very kingly. I am not going to give you that speech."
He pauses takes another breath and lets those words sink in. The crowd begins to murmur and the council is looking at him aghast.
"A kingship is just a title. My father was a king and he died, killed by a greedy man who wanted power. Killed because he may have been a king, but he was no leader. Alban does not need a king, it needs leaders. Leaders are people who know that words only go so far. They are people that understand that it isn't enough to just say something. Leaders understand that you have to act, that it isn't to say you are in charge, you have to show people that you are in charge. That you are worthy of being in charge."
Averin snaps An Dlí out it's scabbard and holds it aloft. The power radiating from the blade is a palpable force. So strong that everyone in the city can feel it.
"This is proof that I am no mere king. I am not a man that will bandy fancy words and make empty promises. This is An Dlí! The sacred blade that brings stability to our lands. I lead men and met with the three nations and when I approached them I did not bargain. I did not cajole. I asked them what I needed to do to earn their trust. Then my men and I did it. Whatever was asked of me, we did. I took action and my men followed me because they believed in me."
Averin snaps An Dlí back into it's scabbard. His voice is still firm, still in command.
"Today you have made me your king. It is a title I accept because I understand the symbolism behind it. I will not however make promises. I will not give you pretty words about how things are going to change. I do not know the future, I do not know what will come. The only thing I know is that I will not just be a king. I will be a leader."
With that Averin marches down the path through the crowd. He makes his way out of the doors and back to the carriage. After a few moments it takes off toward An'Arach'Ri.
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Post by The Kingdom of Alban on Jul 4, 2016 16:42:44 GMT -8
The crowd remains silent as their king departs. At first they are unsure of what to make of that speech. It was hardly normal and it seemed to be part of an argument most of the crowd hadn't been privy to. Still as the words sink in many find they like what they heard. It had a certain pragmatism that appealed to the crowd. Somewhere, someone begins to clap and soon it catches like wild fire. The entire city is on it's feet clapping and cheering and roaring. They had a king again and the king seemed to have a spine. He seemed to have the drive to make their lives good again. What more could they ask for?
In front of A'Tigh Lagh carriage pulls up. These have been prepared for the council members and foreign delegates. Those who wish to have words with the king will be taken to An'Arach'Ri. Tonight there is to be a grand feast within the castle walls. There informal audience can be sought with the new king and formal meetings prepared for a later date.
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