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* Plot Information for Askavi Terreille

For nearly two centuries Askavi floundered, brought low in the wake of the Red Queen’s war. The institution of one court with its Two Queens and the end of restitution payments promises a brighter future. Still, War knocks on the Eyrien’s door from all sides and the people fight against the need to meet it.
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Author Topic: The Second Climb  (Read 571 times)

Description: CONTENT: Endevar returns to his old Keep. WARNING: Gay stuff happens eventually.

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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The Second Climb
« on: May 17, 17, 11:21:29 AM »
He remembered the first time he climbed the mountain. It seemed a lifetime ago, but was in truth nearer a decade. Having walked it alone the first time, he hoped he would find family and blood again, and answers as to who he really was: and at the end of that path, he had found an uncle who had decided to see Endevar's life forfeited. Killing him had put him in an awkward position and he had claimed the Keep at Askavi as his own, and made bold decisions to see the Jhinka pushed back and trade routes opened to neighbors once considered enemies by the insular and traditional Eyriens who he ruled. A rule that was not without its concerns or complaints, both for his youth and his lack of wings. These memories burned through him as he strode up, sure and confident hands taking him one stride at a time, pushed on by his Craft that he dug as lightly as he could, so that his Jewel did not burn so brightly that the entire Territory would stand in alarm.

The Black Jewel climbed for the Keep. Muscle tightened and strained, then sprung back as it relaxed, with every pull and shift that led him leaping his way up the stone from one grip to the next. This world did not grant allowances for those without flight, and he did not ask it to, as he bounded from hold to hold with a strength that was profound and pushed only further by the allowance of Craft, digging no deeper than Opal to push himself upward, letting only the slightest whispers of his Jewel be channeled to enhance his physical capacity, but it was more than enough to drive him forward. Fingers curled tight on the craggy surfaces, stopped from being ripped open by the shields he used to protect his flesh. It was a far more grueling process than it would be for anyone with the gift of wings not ripped from their backs, as his had been.

Even now, knowing what he knew now, he could feel the bones shift beneath scar tissue, yearning to burst forth wings he did not have so as to take to the winds that beat across his back. It was a painful, difficult experience, and he relished every moment of it. It gave him a deep sense of satisfaction, a way of purging so much of the pain and helplessness he once knew. It was a pure release, a way to focus on nothing but this one precise moment, and then the next, given nothing but the ability to try for the next grip. It was innocent, and cathartic, as his body and his Jewel forced their way together to make the impossible true, as the wingless Warlord Prince of Askavi returned to his home.

It took nearly two hours; he fell twice, barely catching himself anew, and knew he could have made it up there almost instantly should he have dug deep into his Jewel and used the Winds to drag himself along its power there, bounding like a God from one grip to another, scaling a mountain in four leaped holds. But he did not wish to terrify those who would feel the presence of that power, and nor did he wish to tax his Craft when he knew he might very well need it in the coming moments, should the Keep prove to have fallen to some further corruption in his absence.

It was with a final pull that he leaped skyward, bounding perfectly just over the crest of the summit where the Keep was built, and landed in a perfected three-point crouch, before standing slowly and carefully. Dusting his hands clean, and then his pants, he summoned forth the coat he had vanished, but left the shoes he had merely thrown away when he approached the first grip. Barefoot, barechested, he slipped into the long coat he had brought with him, and strode forward confidently for moments, eyes skating across the grounds, when he came to a rather sudden stop. Extending his senses, he pulled for feelings, for heartbeats, for presences, to only discover... that those present were, unless he was mistaken, at least almost entirely men, if not exclusively. His first suspicion was a trap, but then... as his eyes took in the grounds, with new buildings and yards with new contraptions, he took a second guess: this was a Hunting Camp. This Keep was dedicated to the training of Eyrien males for war, battle and hunting. He senses eyes upon him, and knew he had not come here without being noticed.

Pushing forth deeper from his Jewel, he summoned forth a shield of Red as he strode forward, using the first hint of any of his true potential, and called to the first face he saw. "My name is Endevar Ranosi. You can tell who rules here that I am waiting in this yard," he gestured, before looking about and then reached down and dug into his Red a second time, and stone burst forth to answer him, ripped up from the smoothed surface of this summit, and carved itself into a simple stool. Turning, he sat.








Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #1 on: May 19, 17, 12:54:42 AM »
Two hours at dawn’s break is a long time for a man to process. Two hours took the Warlord Prince of Askavi’s sacred keep turned elite war camp from surprise, through cold fury, and on straight through an uncomfortable (while less dangerous for all involved) righteous indignation warmed by fury. Perhaps A few years earlier the Hayllian raised Black Jewelled beast could’ve made his arduous journey unnoticed or even welcome. Much had changed. Askavi was on high alert, and one of her Queen’s, her Dark Jeweled beacon, was lost.  Gravesend was notified immediately.

The men were readied.

All they could do was watch him make the fool's climb as if to prove his strength beyond his jewels; all it did was remind them he'd never soar.

What fucking right did Prince Endevar Flightless Fuck Can’t Even Make a Child’s Run of the Wins Ranosi have to come back now? Renvar fought on more than one moment through those hundred and twenty teeth-gritting minutes the urge to fly past the Warlord Prince and tell him to go back to Hayll where he belonged. The wisdom of his age prevented Renvar’s acting on what was ultimately a childish urge but he found comfort in imagining the satisfaction its hateful uttering might bring.

Perhaps if Gillian hadn’t been lost, the grieving Master of the Guard would’ve been happy to see the man he’d served and called friend. Ranosi once helped him have faith in the Askavi that had wounded them both beyond measure; his vanishing had been a blow that only the now lost Gilly had known.  She pulled him up and held Askavi together while finding them both a Queen they could use as the face for the loft goals and long road ahead in the Territory’s restoration.

Now that coward on a redemption arc was the only Queen they had and here came the defunct Warlord Prince of Askavi climbing up the Landen way in some dramatic show of...of what? Reticence? Guilt? Pride? He hoped for bits of everything but shame most of all.

Forgiveness was a Hayllian weakness for which Eyrien values held minimal patience and one he was unlikely to grant Askavi’s great hope what little he spared. Renvar felt the pressure of his clenched jaw through his temples and down the back of his neck. A pot and then another of hot, dark coffee went between him and his second. Prince Yatskaya kept in constant communication with his eyes on Endevar’s route. Drills weren’t cancelled but the duties of their leadership transferred and the plan included keeping them on the ready. No training weapons were used that day, not even for the welps.  A man gone almost a decade wasn’t necessarily, or even usually, the man you knew. When that same man was a vessel for the closest thing to Darknesses’ grip the Blood knew? You didn’t take move to raise his guard but you kept yours the Hell up.

The one man who had been at Askavi’s heart since freed from the corrupt grip of a man Endevar once called Uncle was wrapped beneath shields made of his Tiger Eye as well as his Summer Sky and concealed by a sight shield of the latter. He watched with clenched fists at the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince’s vulgar display. Renvar was proud of the men who didn’t flinch and he didn’t blame the one’s that did. Their every instinct said threat, and for a camp holding most of the Territory’s most skilled warriors the atmosphere grew thick with edged tempers within seconds.

He rarely wished for a jewel more demanding than his own but in that moment Askavi’s most loyal, most tired,  heartworn son wished for the fist of the Mother herself to show Endevar punishment for his display. His men were not guilty. Though still poor the Territory’s people were freer in ways they hadn’t been since his mother’s fucking campaign of sin. What right had he to act as a ruler displeased? Fetid asshole, Renvar thought to himself as he stepped forward and free of his sight shield to greet the man he regretted calling friend.

What could keep a man of Darknesses' richest power, power that had nearly ruined the world once in his lifetime alone, be kept by if not his own laziness or fear? Final death was the only honorable reason for a man of Endevar's powers to be kept from his duties. It was clear he was very much alive. Somehow, after losing so much, after having moved past that deep and abiding grief, he was angry to have been wrong, to have suffered for a coward.

Prince Ranosi,” he offered in a form perfect to protocol save for the parts where Yatskaya should yield to the supremacy of Endevar’s rule. The young once Regent was powerful, but Renvar was a proud and angry genius whose respect would be earned. It was how he’d introduced himself when he brought himself back to Askavi to serve. It was a message. I'm listening. I'm not happy. I don't fucking trust you.  He delighted of informing Ranosi of the ways in whih

Lady Yatskaya has been indisposed for some time. Besides which,” he offered growing cold despite promising himself he’d remain at his center,  such control, ever for Warlord Prince’s that sat within light ranks, was tenuous at the best of times,“she and her sister Queen Lady Kriat hold court at the reborn city of Gravesend.” He left Drakkar out of it on purpose to see how much the prodigal Warlord Prince knew.  Ranosi was a man brought back from the dead, the only respectable conclusion to come to when a truant Territory Leader shows up like a man returned to a home that wanted him. It was also, except if you asked the daftest of Priestesses, completely impossible. Renvar's words remained pretty, his reason clear though there was a bit of frost to the air about him while his every muscle screamed a desire to punch the smug, untouchable confidence from Endevar's face.

Askavi had grieved. Askavi had moved on.  Endevar Ranosi’s presence meant something other than Death Itself had kept him and such, to a warrior of Renvar’s uncommon intellect and deficiency of empathy, was inexcusable. “Since you’ve come here to the Master of the Guard’s Keep, it’s me with whom you demand an audience.” 

His men stood at the ready in a stance that was neither at ease or ready to attack. The mood of the landing where they stood was thick, chillier than Ranosi would remember from his climb, and ready. It was lucky the pretty boy could talk. He could probably kill them all if he'd come for more bloody conquest. But against Renvar's whole encampment he wouldn't do it without paying a price. 

With so many lives, including his own at stake, Prince Yatskaya clung tight to his protocol and to the reminder that he couldn't die - he had a daughter to save.

"What brings you back in such an entrance?" The question was fair, but a man who knew Yatskaya like Ranosi would hear the opinion beneath the question.

Not enough to wave your jewel of power unparalleled about after climbing like a Landen just to make a point?

You have to bust out the party tricks? There's no panties but  Hearth Witches and Healers in the camp boyo, and they all have husbands who stick around.  We know you could kill us, but if you wanted to do that you would've already unless you're just that much of a bastard, so what the Fuck do you want, you're waisting my time?

There was a lot Renvar, the man who never smiled, could say with sharp one when protocol called for jabs to be wrapped in the courtly dance.

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #2 on: May 19, 17, 09:10:07 AM »
When Renvar approached his hated enemy who was once his friend and confidante, he was sitting on his stool - not a throne which he could have carved, wanting to avoid the impression of taking back his seat - and there was no sense of regalness in the man. Except, perhaps, in the presence of his absolutely dope overcoat. The rest of the man was the picture of exhaustion, and he leaned forward on his hands, propped up on his own knees. Sweat coalesced all over the fullness of his form, and he was still taking steady breaths, the climb having exerted quite a bit of effort that should have spoken well to the fact that regardless of his birth, he was Eyrien in blood. The mountain's surrender to his stubborn purpose was evidence enough of it.

The voice caught him, and he looked up, a mixture of anger and relief playing across his face at the presence of Renvar. "Prince Yatskaya. It has been some time," he offered, lips pursed uncertainly as his brow creased in consideration. Struggling, he stood, clearly worn out, but refusing to be bowed by his exertion. Standing to greet him, he then bowed with respect to the Summer Sky, a movement that spoke more of his Hayllian childhood than any Eyrien birth, but he showed his deference unhesitatingly to someone he was sure had dominion here while he knew very clearly he had none.

"I had wondered why there was only the scent of men here," he admitted. "I assumed the Court moved. Or... fell," he confessed, a look of pain clear on his features, looking about with new eyes; he was right, this was a training ground now. His eyes fell back on Renvar and he bowed his head again.

"I am relieved it was not lost. But you did not have to come out yourself; I would've entered with an emissary, I just ... do not want to presume I can walk back into that Keep without warning. My jewel demands caution, for I know a single step of mine can be an act of war."


Looking back up from his bowed head, he tried to search through his friend's eyes, uncertain of exactly what he was expecting to see. "I don't have wings, so my entrance is just the least offensive way I could enter. I could have forced the winds to lift me, or I could have taken grand bounds and been up here in minutes... but I wanted to give you time to see me, discuss what threat I might pose, and also to not flare with the Black jewel because, again... my existence could be an act of war. This entrance wasn't a grand one... this entrance was a polite one, born of the necessity of my wingless horror."

Sighing, he shook his head. It was clear he could sense that Renvar had rage for him, and he had his own, but he had become very adept in the intervening years at stifling his fury. Temperance was a skill he had learned while nearly killing himself with every outburst he ever tried to make. And now, standing before his old friend, defensively explaining his every action, he looked magniciently tired rather than magnificent. They both knew a little focus and he could energize himself, refill his muscle's strain with the potency of his Jewel, but he chose instead to remain tired, to let himself be seen as weakened. Everything was an effort now, but he wanted Renvar to see he was making an effort.

Unless of course one of them struck. It was doubtful Endevar would allow himself to remain weak, and his eyes did dance slightly, noting how his training men kept seeming to edge as close as they could to this spectacle while 'continuing to train'.

"The chair... I'm tired. I really want to sit. I still want to sit. And maybe bathe. This is a monumental climb," he explained, a  light grimace offered, the continued slings of subtly cast asperions placed at his feet growing intolerable. "But it doesn't have a back, so if you want to have it, it's all yours," he suggested, gesturing to it and stepping aside.

"Now I'm done defending against passive aggressive digs. If you're going to punch me, do it," he offered, and lowered his shields, inviting the offense. "And then, you can stop being smug, hiding barbs behind velvet-clad words. We're not in Hayll and I'm the one who was born after the Purge, old man, act like you have the brass to say what you mean when you bear that hate in your eyes. I thought our people were proud, defiant warriors. You have answers you need. Ask them. Scream them. But fuck this courtly dance bullshit."

He sighed, as his only break, shaking his head in frustration. "I get it. You hate me. So everything I do causes you rage. Look at him making that fucking sandwich, that sandwich-making son of a bitch. Does my very height offend you, or the way I blink too often? I have had a long day, and a longer week, and an absolutely eternal few years. I am beyond tired. Confront your rage. What are the questions you genuinely wish me to defend myself against?"








Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #3 on: May 20, 17, 01:16:57 AM »
Drakkar was reviewing documents, the most boring task in existence, when he felt Renvar’s annoyance and rage across a thread meant for him. Drakkar’s body tensed in anticipation, wondering if the Master of the Guard needed a sparring partner this evening. Renvar Yatskaya had a lot to pissed off about, more than Drakkar did at any rate. Drakkar was a new male bound to his Queen. His daughter was presently missing and only Mother Night herself knew the young Queen’s fate.

Now, someone new had come to Askavi and Renvar was clearly unhappy about the situation.

The thread was open, so Drakkar respond to Renvar without difficulty.

*I am on my way.*

Vannevar saw Drakkar rise, but the Warlrod Prince waved him off. “Wait here, but check in with me every few minutes. If I don’t answer or if you sense that I’m in pain, bring every available Bloodseeker to the base of the mountain. Do not do anything unless one of those two things come to pass, or I tell you otherwise.” Drakkar said.

Vannevar slammed his right fist to his left chest in salute. Drakkar didn’t wait.

He grabbed a spear and headed for the nearest exit. He leaped from it, wings unfurling as he sped toward the ground. Down, down, down the mountain he went, hoping that this was someone hostile to Askavi so that he could slake his bloodlust in the all-consuming fires of his rage. Drakkar was a simple man with simple pleasures. Fighting, food, and fucking took up the largess of his attention. The rest was spread out between the things that made him a functioning adult.

He managed to soldier on.

He arrived and landed at Renvar’s side, spear pointed toward the sky. He looked from the Master of the Guard to the newcomer. Drakkar swept the area for hidden assailants, making sure that Renvar had not walked into a trap. One year ago, such a concern wouldn’t have crossed his mind. Now, though, Renvar was almost closer to him than even his closest warriors in his War Camp. They were two sides of Illyrian’s Triangle, and both powerful in their own right.

But Drakkar could not sense the newcomer. He was looking at him, but he couldn’t sense him. He peered at the male for a long moment and stood at the ready. Renvar was handling the matter; Drakkar studied the other male.

Drakkar buried the butt of the spear in the ground, adjusting his black leather vest and brown breeches. His long hair hung straight from his head, reaching the center of his torso. His gaze upon the male was intense, though he did not meet Endevar’s eyes directly. He had not done anything worth taking issue with at this time. Drakkar realized that Protocol would keep this from becoming a fight that someone here would lose. Three Warlord Princes in one place was a recipe for disaster anywhere else in Terreille.

The other man was familiar. Very familiar.

My name is Drakkar Estaroth and I am the Warlord Prince of Askavi, First Escort to Lady Illyrian Kriat.” Drakkar said, offering the man an incline of the head. Drakkar breathed, focusing on keeping himself in calm.

I believe you are Prince Ranosi.” he said.

Well met. Have you waited long?” Drakkar asked the former ruler of Askavi. If the stories were true, this male was one of two from Askavi to be blessed with the Black Jewel. Kalvar Elbemov was long gone.

He waited for Renvar to ask and answer questions. He was agitated, more so than usual, and Drakkar didn’t want to sour this meeting at the Old Keep with more questions. Not yet. Perhaps there would be more to discuss later.

Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #4 on: May 24, 17, 01:36:44 AM »
Protocol existed for moments like those stretching between Prince Yatskaya and Prince Ranosi, the former ruler of Askavi, Terreille and most recent of its great disappointments. Every fiber of Renvar’s being and breath of Darkness born power in his Blood screamed to make his grievances with Endevar known in the language of tearing flesh and broken bone. It was not a fight he’d win.

Loathe to yield under even the best conditions Renvar stood still as a statue and listened. Wearing a scrutinizing but otherwise impassive expression he took in what the long gone man returned had to say.  When Endevar’s gaze rose to meet the elder warrior’s he’d find little to encourage his sharing. While no longer at the Killing Edge’s door Yatskaya was still cold. A piece of him churned in agonized grief and whispered in his mind that Endevar’s return in the wake of Gillian’s loss was too strange. He didn’t heed the paranoid hunch but he couldn’t silence it. All Renvar could do was listen and try to believe the former friend who was back, six years after saying he’d be gone but two weeks.

Prince Yatskaya’s frozen mask thawed but once and it was when Endevar called himself a wingless horror. Many men and children lost their wings because of Savian Ranosi. Even her son hadn’t been spared that cruel fate. It struck a nerve but quickly that old anger was buried and chilled by the many injustice present in the moments stretched between Black Jeweled Warlord Prince and a camp full of elite warriors hand picked by Prince Yatskaya. He hated knowing that he and his best would die if they had to fight Ranosi. The man could level Askavi in a breath and not even drain his Jewel of rank in the doing.

No softness entered Renvar’s countenance as Ranosi explained his exhaustion and the humble seat’s conjuring. He gave no answer to being offered its ‘comforts.’ His expression sparked in something besides calculating anger when Endevar suggested he used the courtly dance because of cowardice.

His body tensed in righteous fury at the amazing privilege of the suggestion that when invaded by the presence of a Fucking Warlord Prince who wore Witch’s Fucking Black, he should do anything less than everything to keep him and his people safe. More than the Keep’s men would suffer if Endevar lost control. Refugees from the countryside were coming to the city daily for the protection and assistance they imagined Lady Kriat and Lady Yatskaya’s best men had to offer. Unfortunately there was little the soldiers of a fiscally drained court could do to fill their bellies or see their crops bountiful. Both were Queen’s work and they were down their darkest asset. How would the Harvest suffer without Gillian’s Gift to the Land?

Something had to give and Renvar was too keenly aware of how rations would suffer with Endevar’s belly to feed. He considered, for a moment, the satisfaction he’d get in knocking the smug, if tired, look off the Hayllian raised fucker’s face. It was decided against because a blow like that, even a largely ceremonial one, could set off the temper’s of the camp’s younger men. Those with less experience holding their own leash in absence of a Queen to do it for them could’ve easily made the tense meeting a bloody affair. He hated Endevar then for making a show and joke of the restraint Renvar worked hard to maintain.

When he began speaking, Prince Yatskaya had every intention of remaining calm, and not being goaded by Ranosi’s obvious and foolhardy manipulation. Prince Yatskaya’s pride had other ideas.

You got one thing right, it’s my rage and I do with it what I like.” Renvar could’ve shut up there. Theoretically he could’ve given the job of questioning and vetting the Prodigal Warlord Prince to one of his men. Yatskaya trusted many. He didn’t trust any of them to hold their ground and their calm in a room alone with a killer wielding the Black. Everyone there knew how Endevar’d once come to power.

No one in the Keep wanted a repeat of that bloody conquest, least of all Renvar. That desire to keep what little peace Askavi knew in tact  kept his fist from marring Endevar’s smooth face. It wasn’t strong enough to keep Yatskaya’s mouth shut. “My questions are the common sense sort any one might expect to be asked after having vanished for nearly seven years when prior to their leave they’d run the Hell’s damned nation.” The words fell with a snarled edge to their tone.

He’d held Askavi together with luck and the determination of a wildly stubborn Queen he’d wrongly tried to keep apart from the land that sang to them both. Endevar Ranosi, spoiled prat and deserter, had no right to cast aspersions on the anger he felt. Gillian was gone, his light was gone, he could’ve suffered the loss of his Queen more easily than that of his daughter. 

“Every conclusion we came to that made your complete disappearance without word or trace make sense ended in your death.

Since you’re not dead and you do need the obvious curiosities lain bare for you, here’s what the court would have you answer;
” Though he’d been still for much of their encounter Renvar began to feel the kinetic fury of his caste begging for release so he began to move.

Where the fuck were you and why the fuck were you gone so long? What threat prevented your return to Askavi and did it follow you here? “Those questions would’ve been an excellent place to start but Renvar was on a role. He paced across the vast stage spread between them and moved nearer, but not within reach, of the Black Jeweled conqueror who’d vanished without trace. While Renvar wouldn’t physically strike the man he’d serve he did want to see the Black Jeweled bastard who had the gall to return while Gillian was lost broken or at least bruised in spirit. By the force with which he’d make the full sum of Endevar’s inadequacies and disappointments clear Renvar intended to win the battle of wills between them.

Just as the Master of the Guard seemed ready to launch a second rapid fire series of questions Drakkar Estaroth landed at his side. For the moment he ceased pacing. Rarely was Yatskaya the darkest or largest man on any battle field. However, more often than not, he was the smartest. It was that wit sharpened by Eyrien pride that tempered the Summer Sky man’s tongue when he found himself faced by disrespect from his old ally. Illyrian’s new hire, a rare decision of hers with which he didn’t disagree, managed to annoy him with his own introduction.

Have you waited long?, Drakkar’d asked. Last Renvar’d checked he was the figure of authority regarding Askavi’s security. His jaw tensed at the oversight; it was one on which Drakkar would need to be brought up to speed - later. Forced in a position at which he could reject deference or risk not seeming united before a powerful near stranger Renvar chose the wise man’s course. Before Endevar could answer the overly polite query, he interjected as to better grant Drakkar understanding of the moment he’d entered. “Prince Ranosi was just about to answer some questions held by myself and others who served beneath his rule. They are all matters in which I’m sure our Ladies hold interest.” He intentionally spoke as if Askavi still had two hearts and hoped Kriat’s new second would follow suit.

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #5 on: May 24, 17, 09:05:11 AM »
Renvar was furious, understandably, and Ranosi looked absolutely relieved to have Prince Yatskaya rave about the Black Prince's invalidity in telling Renvar how to utilize his rage, before furthering his rage into purpose. Untensing from his preparation to take a punch, he once more let the Red burn as a shield grew around him again, so that any attack he might not see coming be damned. He was not unaware he was a threat, and he was aware he was in a land of warriors at one of its likely premier training grounds for that manner of death. He did not need to provide ample sport to resolve a problem someone saw fit to solve for the older Warlord Prince.

"Thank the damned Darkness for common sense. I am over the fucking moon you want to ask me real questions instead of that courtly sniping at my sandwiches," he confessed, shaking his head, a look that seemed to sell even sharper the notion of his profound and intense exhaustion; an exhaustion that went well past the physical tire in his body that he had allowed to remain there. It was an exhaustion of the soul. Prince Ranosi seemed a far more weathered man, despite his body adding no more years to its toll. There was something in him that had been worn thinner, and that perhaps was not so clear to Renvar between his contempt and the fact that all of Askavi had run thin in Endevar's absence. So he settled in, as Renvar began to batter him with questions. The sharpened edge to his words did not seem to bother Endevar; if anything, it only set him at ease. This was what he had expected, and it let him hone his own rage at the feelings he had left within him from the same years distant, a little ember that had begun as hope, turned to rage and in the end only became despair.

"You know I went to Hayll because I had word some child I had no knowledge of was being held. But it was not what it seemed. I was overconfident, cocky, certain in my jewel and they--" he was stopped abruptly as he felt, on the edges of himself, the winds shift. Something held itself amongst them, and he turned his attention. The Red shield was sufficient, he decided, but as the man with a spear dropped into position, Endevar took a braced stance, and his eyes seemed to perhaps darken with a storm in them as witchfire began to burn at his fingers, a bolt of pure power prepared within his fist, readied to be loosed upon anyone who had the gall to try to attack him. The man spoke, and his eyes danced between Drakkar and Renvar for a moment, seeing that Renvar regarded the other man with familiarity and without alarm. Opting to assume Prince Yatskaya would, at the very least, owe Endevar the respect of not trying something sly at least until he had heard his answer, the wingless Eyrien let the craft dissolve formlessly. His eyes stopped brewing so very darkly, and he eased, standing again in a more steady posture.

The man's words confused him, however. He was the Warlord Prince of Askavi. It inferred the ruler. Yet he also listed himself in a triangle position. His brow knotted in confusion, but he still made the effort nonetheless, as both put him in a ranked position Endevar did not hold. He bowed without his eyes dropping at first, but then, with great effort, forced himself to lower his head as well. The position of deference was a profound one when one did not trust the man with the weapon in his hand: it offered one your neck, supplicating oneself in total vulnerability. Admittedly, he suspected the Warlord Prince could not pierce his most basic shield without great effort that would give him ample time, but his instincts still sang to not expose himself so to a stranger with a spear. Only when bid to rise, would he, and answer the question prompted of him.

"Well met, Prince Estaroth. In reply: I have been fighting seven years for the freedom to see Askavi again. But I didn't wait long before being greeted here at the Keep. So, the truth depends greatly on your point of view."

Then, with a pause. "Who is Lady Kriat? I was led to believe Gill-- Lady Yatskaya would rule in my absence..." he began, dread on his features, eyes shooting to Renvar in a look of absolute horror and fear, his entire face struck with a muted panic that spoke of a wellspring of concern that could not be faked except by the most adept. And Endevar was not, in fact, the most adept at that manner of manipulation, as was well known. Unless he had mastered it in his absence, which perhaps could be true, but it did not seem to align with the words that began to fall his lips.

Once more, the training yard seemed poised, going through motions while all trying (poorly) to make their attentiveness discrete, while the three Warlord Princes met, with such high tension in the air and a question that only seemed to likely brew more drama.








Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #6 on: May 24, 17, 10:01:16 AM »
No one ever accused Drakkar of subtlety.
 
The Warlord Prince, whether to his advantage or detriment, did not engage in hiding. Not his feelings, not his presence, not his intentions. Centuries on centuries of being a blunt weapon had built that into him and he did not apologize for it now. But Drakkar also prided himself on taking a quick read of a situation and drawing the proper action. He’d arrived here to back Renvar as both his bond-brother and as Master of the Guard. The defense of Askavi, and the protection of its people, was Renvar’s purview.
 
So it didn’t take long for Drakkar to realize that his words to the Prince Ranosi skirted the edge of, if not fully leaped into, disrespecting the Master of the Guard. But Drakkar sensed the cold anger boiling beneath the surface of the interaction between these two Warlord Princes. It scraped against the edges of his own nerves as well, but damn if he’d let himself get out of control. Like it or not, he’d been named the Warlord Prince of Askavi, and he represented the rulership of this place.
 
He could not, he was learning, punch or intimidate or kill his way out of every situation that faced him anymore.
 
It felt like using daggers while everyone else carried spears.
 
Forgive my intrusion, Prince Yatskaya. This is your arena of expertise, so I defer to your wisdom.” Drakkar said, taking a step back to keep Renvar at the forefront of the encounter. The words were foreign on his tongue, but Renvar had earned his place in Illyrian's Court and his reputation. Drakkar would honor that and shut his damned mouth before he made things worse. He vanished the spear and kept his attention on the Warlord Princes before him. He didn’t know the relationship between these men, but Drakkar inferred already a deep tension. That either stemmed from deep hatred or long-term friendship and hurts unaddressed. Drakkar admired that Renvar managed to retain his presence of mind and control of his temper in the wake of his personal burdens.
 
Then again, Drakkar shouldn’t have been surprised. Leaders and rulers often put themselves aside for the sake of their people.
 
The tension in this moment was a living thing, one that Drakkar wanted to reach out and strangle to death to keep the peace, which grated against his confrontational nature. The power at Prince Ranosi’s fingertips was nothing short of titanic and one wrong move would turn this from a tense meeting into a bloodbath that the men around them would pay for with their lives. Drakkar let his gaze lift for a moment to the warriors around them, taking in their presence and noting all of them in turn.
 
Drakkar, you no longer represent only the Blood Seekers. You no longer represent you own interests or vendettas. Lives depend on your decisions. Don’t spend them carelessly.
 
His uncle said that to him just days ago after this spat with Illyrian. It rankled him then, but he was understanding it now.
 
Drakkar fell silent for the moment, however, as Prince Ranosi noted his address. If the man had been gone for seven years (and Drakkar wondered just how a Black Jewel could vanish for that long), he wouldn’t know of the changes that had come to Askavi in the meantime. Renvar would have to bring him up to speed on Lady Yatskaya’s disappearance, the rise and fall of the Court with Two Hearts, and the untimely passing of Prince Errsa that lead to the current day’s power structure. There was every chance that Endevar Ranosi was here to reclaim what was his. He could wipe them all out before any of them had a chance to object. It was foolish not to recognize what a Black Jewel in Askavi meant in these days, not the least of which meant a resource burden they were already struggling to address.
 
He was smart enough to hold no small amount of fear regarding what Endevar’s presence meant for Askavi. But he couldn’t lose himself in what-ifs and maybes. The situation needed to be handled in the present. His gaze returned to Endevar.
 
Drakkar would let Renvar reveal as much, or as little, as he chose about the current state of affairs to present a unified front to the Black Jeweled titan before them.

Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #7 on: May 25, 17, 01:42:21 AM »
Keeping perspective for him there wasn't easy. Seven years without Endevar was little compared to weeks without his only child. He would’ve traded everyone on that field plus his bonded Queen to find Gillian. He realized that when Endevar’s Black Jeweled stomach made him mention food twice on a field thick with tension in as many minutes. It reminded him of the girl whose own Opal and then Sapphire jewels always tangled hunger and anger, the daughter he’d raised and lost. The memory came quick and sharp, a pointed blade from the shadows. Like all the Warlord Prince’s closest thoughts and emotions it remained private deep within his inner barriers. Missing Gilly was a constant current he was becoming adept at swimming against to best serve Askavi but the fight was ongoing and the waters dark.

Just as the long lost, newly found Prince Ranosi started getting to the fucking point focus returned to the man with a heart half torn apart. Then Drakkar arrived and insulted his authority at the Keep in the same thought he deferred to it. All that upset and Endevar hadn’t even gotten through a single answer.

Renvar wanted to punch them both then find solace in strong drink and a bendy woman. He did neither. Instead focused on the grounding sensation of his diaphragm expanding and releasing with every breath. It helped keep the hungry, wounded parts of him at bay. The moment was too important for anything but its passing intricacies. Prince Yatskaya didn't fail to make note of the fact Drakkar's political acumen, and subsequently the Eyrien reviled court face, would need work. If he wanted to do Queen's work he'd need Queen's skills and Renvar was educated in many ways one wouldn't think typical of a career military man and mind.

Prince Yatskaya found his centre within the cold that, lately, was never far from reach. Such forced dissociation was far from the healthiest of exercises but it was effective. The Territory couldn’t afford for him to miss an important detail because of his family or feelings so with will and a bit of craft the Master of the Guard forced them aside. He was a commander, security officer, and soldier before he was anything – even a man. Men were singular, selfish things. A member of Askavi’s guard was part of something greater and with Shalador at the border fucking exploding. Renvar had to admit that something good could come from Endevar Ranosi’s return from the dead.

What he’d never admit outloud was how he hated the sound of his Queen’s name on the Black Jeweled, largely untrained on the field, boy’s lips. “You were gone a long time,” was all he’d say in answer to Ranosi’s understandable concerns.  Even far removed as he was in that moment from his troubles, there was a pain that spoke of trouble in his cadence.

It was quickly replaced by a voice with which Renvar was more comfortable and skilled, an authoritative one.“Get back to the part where you explain this shit. What kept you? And what was so great as to take you seven fucking years to escape?” The message was clear, first my questions then we can see about yours.

A man in his position should’ve been under the care of a Black Widow not commanding the direction of their visions for aid placing troops. Unfortunately Askavi, Terreille didn’t have time for the Warlord Prince to heal. No one could stop without paying a nasty toll, there was too little to go around and too much at stake. They would just have to march wounded together.

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #8 on: May 25, 17, 08:54:24 AM »
"I--" he was completely taken aback and disoriented. The Black Prince was rather struck, his plans and expectations all rather scuttled in the face of this change of events. He was clearly worried beyond sense that his failures had caught up with him in even darker ways, that something had happened to Gillian. The only response he got to his worry over her was You were gone a long time and he looked gutted by the news.

"I hope she's okay," he whispered, his voice low and his eyes as serious and true as he could offer them. There was a field of men ready to kill, and he needed to keep this vulnerability that might rest in Renvar's heart as subtle as he could, for fear of compromising Prince Yatskaya's perceived authority through that weakness that might appear. It was clear from the comment's reception, however, that Renvar was resolute on getting his answer. An answer Endevar had wanted to give, eagerly, before having to defend everything from why it took him so long to climb the mountain, to why he made a chair. But suddenly it seemed so unimportant to him, weighed against what might have occurred to his best friend's child.

But he collected himself, at the rebuked care he offered, and pressed forward to answer the questions that seemed so unimportant now, somehow, when other questions like 'what do you need me to do' seemed so much more crucial. "I never escaped. The Hayllian family who had taken me in had been unhappy at my departure. I'd had a daughter at some point, and they groomed her separately, as a weapon against me. When I arrived to help her, it was a trap. Which I assumed it might be, but I... also had assumed I could just beat it, with brutish force, like an absolute fool. They used the only Craft they could to stop me from rescuing her, and I triggered the warded trap. I was suddenly bound in a web, where any Craft I attempted was turned back on me. The stronger I fought, the worse the pain, the more I tore apart my own body. In time, I had to stop fighting, or I'd kill myself... there was no way I could get myself out of it alone. I was tortured, deprived of sleep, deprived of all but food and water, and assailed with mind Craft seeking to try to overwhelm me. They wanted to turn me back to their side, to play on what love I still might hold for the Hayllians who kidnapped me after Savian's assassination and called me son. My daughter, she saw this cruelty and realized how well they'd lied about who the villain truly was, but it took her a long time to gain the skill to unweave this ward, as she is not blessed with potent jewels, compared to my captors. I helped walk her through it. And that was four days ago when she finally shattered the bonds, and I used the last of my capacity to slay all but her and get us away from that nest of vipers, before I had to rest. My first rest in seven years. And then I came here, to the Keep. I only learned how much time had even passed when I finally asked my daughter, while traveling here."

He only paused a moment, grimacing. "She's in a village nearby, but I promise she is no threat to us. And she has wings, so is far less likely to be hated on sight," he offered freely, a bitter smile showing on his handsome but agonized features. The memories were intimately fresh, and clearly burdened him.

"I really wish I was rescued," he said, pain haunted in his voice, his youth he still was and the frailty he had felt shining starkly in those six words. "I dreamed of you saving me for years," he whispered, tears suddenly rushing to his eyes, slipping down his cheeks. His face twisted in pain, and he sobbed twice, turning his head into his arm, as the emotion all ran over him so quickly. While he didn't specify who 'you' was, his lack of familiarity with Drakkar likely clarified it. The dam broke and he fought it back, with every piece of what strength still lay within him. He was beyond the anger, for now, that he had felt at being 'abandoned', even if the men opposite him resented Endevar for having abandoned them and Askavi. He had passed long ago only into the pain of that abandonment, and the confidence he was going to die there.

"I am really sorry I left. I had no idea what would happen to me. I promise I did not mean to hurt Askavi. I want Askavi strong. And I want to see Hayll purged from the map."








Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #9 on: May 25, 17, 04:39:50 PM »
Sympathy, concern and grief over Gillian’s disappearance from someone not himself was more than Renvar could handle. In the place of his psyche where he existed aware of his emotions but separate from their burden Askavi’s Master of the Guard instead focused on the details he’d asked for instead of the empathy he resented.

The story Endevar shared was horrifying as it was uncomfortably convenient at places to the old commander’s suspicious mind. Ultimately a twang of disappointment bloomed in place of distrust. While complicated and oft forgotten by those less studious in the many gifts of Craft, Yatskaya found it hardest of all to believe that in all those years Prince Ranosi hadn’t been able to free himself from the spells that held him.

With the Black or even just the Red of his Birthright the Hayllian raised spawn of Askavi’s Bitch Queen should’ve been able to unweave, with time, any spell. Disenchantment was a whole field studied at length by those whom made the art of Craft their life’s work. Renvar always knew arrogance and a penchant for shows of force brute and dramatic were faults of Endevar’s.  He hadn’t realized they were such favored tools of the younger Warlord Prince because he lacked so many of the ones a man with his well of power, by Yatskaya’s esteem, should’ve had before coming to his jewel of Rank.

He wasn’t surprised that in the end it was Endevar’s courtly words and knack for winning hearts that saw his once friend freed. What ultimately made the commander believe the former Territory leader’s story was how embarrassing it was. No man would make up a tale about being saved only by the grace of a child on a field full of Eyrien warriors. No one would admit to being that kind of powerless and helpless if it wasn’t true. Therefore it was either the best or worst lie Prince Ranosi ever told. Proud as he knew the young man to be Renvar suspected that a lie would’ve been less embarrassing or at least contained more redemption than, eventually my light jeweled bastard saved me.

What he didn’t like or take any comfort in at all was news that the same whelp responsible for his vanishing was somewhere near by in his Askavi. All factors in consideration the Warlord Prince opened his mouth to tear a strip from Ranosi for bringing his trouble so near their army’s capital. Then Endevar’s voice broke and Renvar felt a distant discomfort at the emotional display. His own grief made him sick with need for drink, he didn’t know what to do about another’s sorrow making them soft in front of strangers. He was embarrassed for Prince Ranosi and everyone else standing there forced to pay attention, all a single wrong step from the Killing Edge.

A thought that perhaps he should dismiss the men at training from the field entered and quickly passed Renvar’s mind. If Endevar wanted privacy he should have sent word and asked for a goddamn appointment. It’d take all day and then a bit to recover from the upset of the Black Jeweled man’s return from the dead with stories of further Hayllian treachery.  He found himself on more comfortable ground when Endevar’s feelings turned to fury and what sounded to Renvar a hell of a lot like a call for war.

Which was not Endevar’s place and which Askavi couldn’t afford. They couldn’t shoulder the cost of an attack when Hayll sent them back their men’s wings in boxes and the same was true years later with internal threats and strife on the rise. “We looked for years and had to eventually assume you were dead or didn’t want to be found,” was the only acknowledgement of his grief that Endevar would get on that very public stage.

“As to the matter of Hayll? Short answer, no, but as Lord Estaroth here is as voice of the Territory Court I’ll let him explain. The reminder of why we stay our hands is an important one for all to hear.” At that Renvar barked a command and attentive stillness fell across the men who’d so poorly played at just training. 

The floor was Drakkar’s. For his part the Master of the Guard hoped that after Endevar and the men who seethed in light of Hayll’s most recent treachery were refreshed about why war was not an option that they could retire to a venue less public.

Endevar needed to rest and eat, someone would need to look into his daughter’s loyalties, Renvar just wanted strong coffee with a shot of something extra and Prince Estaroth needed to get acquainted with the man whose power could help save or strangle their struggling nation.

Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #10 on: May 25, 17, 10:23:20 PM »
Prince Endevar’s story was strange to Drakkar, for he couldn’t imagine anyone that would go to Hayll willingly. The entire tale was so humiliating for one of his standing in the Abyss that Drakkar, like Renvar, found it hard to believe that he’d not only make it up, but repeat it as well. But the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince had done so and expressed deep remorse at leaving his homeland and his people for so long. Despite his misgivings, Drakkar respected Endevar’s desire to return and make amends. After all, there were thousands upon thousands of Eyrien warriors who’d left Askavi and never returned, carving out new lives in Shalador or elsewhere in Terreille and the other side of the Dark Gate.

A Black Jeweled Warlord Prince could have taken rulership anywhere in Terreille, or gone somewhere private secure in the knowledge that no one would ever force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.
 
Standing here with a man who held a Red Jewel as his Birthright, Drakkar missed his own Red Jewel terribly. The ache, the desire to reach out to that deeper well of power, just to touch it for even a moment, was nearly unbearable on a daily basis. His Blood Opal was still a deep font of power, but nothing like Prince Endevar’s.
 
This man had returned to Askavi to his people despite his lack of wings and being held prisoner by their enemies for seven years. An eyeblink of time to Drakkar, but a long time to someone being tortured.
 
When Endevar began to cry, to sob, Drakkar looked away, visibly uncomfortable with the display of emotion. In his mind, those emotions were for close friends and private times without others around. He understood the sorrow of loss and the will to rescue family; Drakkar would have done anything to save his own daughter from the horrors endured by their people.
 
This, however, wasn’t something everyone wanted, or needed to see.
 
Renvar, thank the Darkness, took command of the situation. Then he ceded the floor to Drakkar to explain Askavi’s official stance regarding war with the other Territories.
 
Prince Yatskaya has the right of it. Askavi is currently focused only upon defense and renewal in the wake of all that we’ve lost since the Purge. We’ve also sent diplomats to Haylla to negotiate cessation of the restitution payments. It’s our hope that Hayll will agree and that the rest of the Territories will follow their lead.” Drakkar said, forcing himself to say the words with all of the conciliatory tone that he possessed.
 
It felt like swallowing glass and washing it down with piss.
 
Your ill-treatment in Hayll is worrisome, but your return is a welcome event. If you seek to vent the anger at your treatment at some point in the near future, I assure you that there’s no shortage of Jhinka to war against.” Drakkar told Prince Endevar.
 
He fell silent and let Renvar take the floor once more, wondering if the two friends needed a chance to speak alone. Renvar would make that decision and Drakkar would honor it because that was necessary and the respectful thing to do. Seeing the saddened and beaten down man before him, however, made Drakkar long for Illyrain’s touch and presence, even though she had no desire to see him currently.
 
Tonight would be another night of sparring and drills until sleep found him.

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #11 on: May 26, 17, 08:47:08 AM »
Endevar, like them, was deeply uncomfortable with Endevar crying. Perhaps more than anyone. Stating aloud that he wished they had saved him somehow had broken down those walls; he was a raw nerve, clearly, and was held together by shoe-strings, spit and optimism at this very moment, his Jewel and pure determination to return to Askavi and fix what his absence had broken was all that had tethered his sanity together in the nonstop blur of abuse he had known. He pulled himself together, harnessing every ounce of his will, and sniffed once more as he forced his tears to run dry. It was shameful to Eyriens in general, he knew, but also to him. The man had broken many times in the last half-decade or so, and this was only one more, but it hurt him to be seen as weak before Renvar.

"I did not mean to ask for help, or to order our troops. I want to go to Hayll, and burn through every ounce of my power, and wipe it from the map," he spoke quietly, his entire body almost shaking - but not with sorrow, now, but rage. "...but I'm sure that's a poor idea. It is just had to describe the level of anger I harbor upon my escape. It's all I wanted to do when I was freed. But I asked myself: what happened to Askavi? I could not burn myself out before I set right my absence. I promise you both, First Escort and Master of the Guard: I will do what is in Askavi's interest."

Nodding to Drakkar and Renvar's peace entreaties that they proposed, he looked as if he had eaten something intensely sour, but he bit it back. He knew all about his mother: and he wished not to be the Savian from before the Purge. He reminded himself to aspire for the Savian who survived it. Reluctantly, bitterly, he amended it, to verify his obedience to their mission. He knew damned well that with his Jewel, they wanted assurances he would not drag them into a war he could start - and perhaps even mostly win - all on his own, because they all knew the cost for Askavi even in victory. So he gave them that concession, even if it felt at odds with his very self, his anger and revenge itself betrayed. "Even if that means swallowing Hayll's perfumed cock and thanking them for the honor."

Nodding his head, slowly, he looked to Renvar, and then back to Drakkar, before settling his gaze on his old friend. "Can we go somewhere private, so I can ask at more of my future, here? Perhaps to... where the court is now. Gravesend, you said?" That also sparked confusion for him, as he let the words leave his tongue. The look on his face covered all the words he might need to say, in truth; Gravesend was a ruin. Just as this Keep was not. And yet this Keep had been abandoned and Gravesend had been ... remade? Elevated? It confused him deeply, but perhaps there was some tactical reason.

He had many other questions that took priority, and did not see cause to raise that one yet. The history, he expected, would come out soon enough, or he could ask literally anyone that question. These men were the ones who would give him far more than a simple history lesson, and even near immortals could not fuck around in a courtyard forever. In truth, he was beyond pleased to even know Askavi still stood: it did not seem like it would survive seven winters when he left it. He did not wish to test its longevity with pointless inquiry.

"Or at least inside the Keep."








Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #12 on: May 28, 17, 12:31:24 AM »
The things Renvar needed to do in order to function were effective but took a toll. They made it easy for him to slip away from the moments that weren’t vital. He tuned out as Drakkar explained, again, why they couldn’t raze Hayll in spite of its likely involvement in Gillian’s disappearance. His senses were alert as ever but his thoughts focused on the feel of the air, the sound of the wind, and anything else that let him not hear again why what felt so right was so impossible. Not being able to fix that which needed fixing, when part of that was the loss of his child and Askavi’s dark Queen, was placing unprecedented pressure on his chalice.
 
There was only so much Yatskaya could do and the agony of fighting his bond against the woman, his Queen, and the energy he was spending not losing himself in her touch and scent was taking a toll. A Warlord Prince needed that stability, that touch during times of unrelenting crisis to feel some semblance of safety.
 
Worn thin by the shock brought on by Endevar’s return from the dead Renvar was at a precipice perilous and unfamiliar. Through the fog he caught on to the shifts in the tones of the other men and realized it was time to take part in the world as more than a distant observer. Upon his return more emotion hung in the air and he wasn’t pleased with how much of it was his. It took him a moment to catch himself up but he passed off the time spent as thoughtful consideration.
 
That can be arranged. Though nothing can be decided until Lady Kriat has heard Prince Estaroth’s report.” Was what Renvar said. The day was far from noon and he was already tired of talking. No matter how long his conversation with Endevar turned out to be, he knew the night would turn into a new morning before her could find still silence. On a private thread between himself and Drakkar, Master of the Guard spoke to Askavi’s newest reigning Warlord Prince. *It’s your call but I think you should head back to Gravesend and catch Kriat up as soon as possible. With his history we have to have a visible plan enacted as soon as possible.
 
Half the Territory probably already knows he’s back and we all need to get the fuck ahead of this and someone's really gotta look into that girl. Someone who won't do anything stupid.*

 
Perhaps in time it wouldn’t cut him up to see an old friend from the war in the spot Gillian served. He hoped before that day came she’d be back and Estaroth would be in a place more suited to his demeanor. Prince Yatskaya breathed deeply and tried not to also feel the creeping resentment that somehow Drakkar and Illyrian had a better relationship than Renvar and the Queen they shared. Some days it was all easier but that morning he’d awoken with a heavy weight in his chest. There were stretches of time where everything was harder and Renvar couldn’t remember how he’d felt before losing his friend and his daughter in the span of a decade only to have the wrong one return home. But Endevar was something.
 
He hoped with the Hayllian raised, painfully young man’s power they could save Askavi and find Gillian. It was going to have to be enough and they were going to have to figure out a way to feed him. Nast’s Grey already put quite the dent in their ever dwindling supplies. More and more money was buying less and less food. He wouldn’t tell Ranosi that until after the boy ate his fill. No one needed the man starving himself because of some nobility bullshit only to be useless when the Jhinka came in crushing waves.
 
My office,” which Endevar would soon discover was his re-purposed to serve as his own base of operations, “should suffice. Lets get you caught up, get you fed. ” Prince Yatskaya left it up to Drakkar to decide whether or not he’d leave to report back at Askavi’s “new capital” before or after Renvar finished briefing the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince about what he’d missed his years a captive.

Offline Drakkar Estaroth

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #13 on: May 31, 17, 12:42:06 AM »
Drakkar Estaroth wanted many, many things in that moment.
 
Yes, Endevar Ranosi was wingless. But he also wore the Black, the most powerful jewel in existence. They could rebuild the war machine, in time, and eventually return Askavi to the prominence it enjoyed when it had taken Terreille by storm, conquering every territory through sheer ferocity, iron will, and power overwhelming. Drakkar wanted nothing more than to rape Hayll’s women, kill their Praetorian Guard, and build a throne made of the bones of Hayll’s warriors high enough that he could look down upon their Coliseum from outside of the city. He wanted his brother and their diplomats to return home and explain that Hayll would not be swayed in their depravity.
 
He wanted to kill every last one of those weepy poets and sexual deviants because it was what they deserved for failing Mother Night and the Darkness with their weakness of spirit.
 
But all he ever heard from anyone were all the reasons why they couldn’t go to war.
 
Our people are starving.
 
We have no money.
 
The Jhinka press us harder than ever before.
 
We have too few Queens to heal the land.
 
Over and over, Drakkar’s soul was smothered by a pillow made of peace. Peace, because war was simply too costly.
 
He missed his Red so terribly that his bones ached and his soul cried out for release.
 
His Queen despised him for taking her Consort from her.
 
He hated everything.
 
Renvar reached out to him on a spear thread and suggested that he inform Illyrian of the day’s developments. She’d want to know about this meeting. She’d especially want to know that the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince had returned after all this time. Would this shake her from her mourning and force her to act for the betterment of her people? Act the way that he wanted her to act? Probably not.
 
And Renvar was right about looking into that little girl. Her well-being directly affected Prince Ranosi’s own mental stability. He’d already left once, for seven years, to go after her. Drakkar knew that if his own daughter still lived and was in the hands of the enemy, he’d stop at nothing to bring her home and kill those who had taken her. How much more terrible would be the wrath of a Black spurred to action by loss?
 
*I will inform Lady Kriat now. I hope he’s still the man you remember, Prince Yatskaya.*
 
Prince Ranosi, I must advise Lady Kriat of your return, but I hope to speak to you again soon. Prince Yatskaya, please alert me if either of you need anything.” Drakkar said to both men.
 
With that, he would spread his wings and head toward Gravesend at top speed. Vannevar had been trying to connect a thread with him and only now did Drakkar respond.
 
*What happened? Should we be worried?*
 
*No. But perhaps we have a chance to finally set some things right around here.*
 
Drakkar headed for Illyrian, refusing to be denied this time. Her mourning period was over.
 
It was time to move forward.
 

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #14 on: May 31, 17, 09:20:07 AM »
“I’m sure we will, Prince Estaroth,” he nodded to him before the man took to the skies. The sight of it usually wore thin enough that he got past the feeling, but not the first day back. Not the first time he saw someone he spoke to just leap back and take to the winds. A deep pang wore in his gut as he witnessed the man’s flight, and it crushed him inside, his back aching where bones still hid within shoulders where not even a scar remained, too perfectly healed. But the bones were not all stripped free and he felt them twist and ache, wanting to span the wings he lacked, and feel the wind lift him aloft. It ached in his soul, and he pushed it away, burying it under a thousand resentments more painful than mere envy. It would only take a few days of it to forget the pain of the thing he lost without ever knowing it, and then there’d be no bittersweetness to the sight of such impossible flight.

Turning to follow Renvar into the Keep, he nodded to a few of the youths in the training field or heading to it along the way. He wore the black jewel on a chain taut around his neck, reinforced by its own black threads which bound it unbreakably. And with his chest bare, it was obvious to those who witnessed it to the threat he bore. Some weren’t outside, and as he passed them, he could see their golden skin turn ashy in shock. Endevar deeply considered in that moment purchasing another shirt to replace the one he shed before making the ascent. There was a reason the Red was what he wore on the ring on his hand, as it let him seem modestly less intimidating at first glance to those he did not wish to give a fright. Shirts helped with that mild deceit.

They were barely inside the office, which was once Endevar’s, and he felt a strange sense of mental dissonance being there. It was a surreal moment, and he looked stunned, his eyes casting about. This was home to Endevar for so long, and his eyes traced the room, finding so many details which used to mean something else entirely to him. Ghosts walked through the room, replaying events that were once held here; Everian’s prophecies and yearning, Lydiian’s helpful treachery, Renvar’s frustrations… but he snapped himself free of the nostalgia, and accepted that the world has changed. It made him face a question he had to ask of the only man he’d trust to not lie, though apparently he couldn’t trust the man not to gild the lily. A hand raised, and his eyes closed, as a red sight and sound shield raised to seal the room to be theirs.

And then he asked the most direct question he could ask. “Am I going to be a burden, here, or an aid? I can go hunt some Jhinka, seek Gillian, and give aid to Askavi in other ways. I … a lot has surely changed since I left. I want to help, Ren. I want to make up for time lost. But if I stay, I will need your help. And friendship.”

It was a heavy thing to ask a man who felt so betrayed, but he needed it asked, very badly. He needed to know, and he prayed that Renvar could take down his facades and be Renvar again instead of Prince Yatskaya, a man who held out himself as a stranger to the Black Jeweled monster he faced off against, instead of a long lost friend to a man with too much power and a desperate need to learn how to properly apply it for the good of the land.

He was no Queen, and they wanted Gillian or another Queen ready to stand in his place one day, and then it all went to hell before he could protect the realm and smooth the transition of rule. And so now, doubtlessly, the land was further strained. It spoke to Gillian and Renvar nearly alone, he knew, that the realm still even stood. And he would not compromise it for pride and love, abusing the land by tasking it to bear him if it could not.








Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #15 on: Jun 03, 17, 06:38:38 AM »
Renvar retreated into silence on the not short walk back to his office. He briefly considered how awkward it would be as a place for them to sit. The Warlord Prince had been holding the title of Master of the Guard for longer than any other member of the Territory Court’s triangle. At times it felt as if he was Askavi’s only constant. Since Gillian vanished he’d been losing himself in the bottle to escape how painfully aware his mind was of how much the land needed he couldn’t provide.
 
There was a warmth to ruling well he’d never posses. Prince Yatskaya also lacked proper respect for the sanctity of life and his margin of acceptable losses worried cowardly souls. Most troublesome of all like all of his caste he couldn’t always prevent himself from losing control of the beast within and murdering every threat in sight. These were all excellent qualities in a military commander.
 
With some difficulty he pushed aside his feelings of guilt about how long Endevar  suffered because they wrongly assumed him dead. Wingless or not, a life without the sky is no kind of life for an Eyrien. Everyone knew about Shalador’s Black Jeweled Priestess Queen, the one who’d been collared and captive in Pruul for half a century, but no one thought that could happen twice. Not to a Warlord Prince in full control of his Jewel of Rank. Death had been the only sensible conclusion.
 
Exhausted but with leagues to go before he could sleep Renvar pulled on the power of his Jewels. They filled him with a fabricated fortitude in place of what he lacked and it made him less tired. When sleep came it was never enough. Exhaustion held him close and there was little to be done but persist in spite of its weight. More than two millennia of life and centuries of struggle behind him left the man dreading the life spanned before.

He was also fearful for Endevar, a man with so many more before him and a life marked for suffering. Fate’s cruelest twists had a taste for the younger Eyrien, they’d never give him peace. Prince Yatskaya knew the look, he saw it in the mirror every day.
 
By the time the pair arrived at his office, the Master of the Guard felt a bit more sure of himself and his mental state. He was used to gathering himself quickly when the moment required. All it took was forgetting everything but the problem and working it until exhaustion took him. Tenacity was a virtue he possessed in spades.  The large room seemed smaller than when it belonged to Endevar.
 
With its heavy door of wood and steel barely closed, Endevar released a torrent of questions. While he spoke, Renvar pulled a bottle from beneath his desk and poured two glasses of what smelled like cheap but strong whiskey. One he sipped, the other he gestured at for the other man who spoke like a man starved for conversation to take. Realizing that was exactly the case, Renvar drank again and intermittently nodded to convey focus to Prince Ranosi’s many queries. He took a seat, something sturdy and comfortable but different than the one used by Endevar during his reign. His was built for a man with wings. All the room’s furniture was.
 
Massive book shelves lined the walls and covered half the room’s grand windows. The room was sparse but pristine. With how mad his life was Renvar took control where he could get it and exercised that in his environment, and on his men’s training.
 
Having spent so much time quiet, Renvar gave Endevar’s concerns the respect of some real consideration, and the last stipulation of the young man with unthinkable power left him puzzled. That wasn’t the sort of thing he talked about, not even with the men he’d served with whose wive’s he still checked in on or the men who’d come back to serve him when he took his position as Master of the Guard. There was a gap between their generations that, for all his brilliance, left Renvar a bit uncertain as to how to answer the traumatized man he’d once called friend without hesitation.
 
Aid, we’re under constant threat. Prince Nast does plenty but he’s only one man and our resources in terms of psychic strength are more numbers than firepower. Or,” he paused to eye Endevar’s Black Jewel, “we were.” At that, Renvar allowed himself a small grin and he set down his chipped, but serviceable, tumbler.  “Once you get healthy they’ll be plenty for you to do. You kind of look like shit though so let’s hold off on any grand fucking plans. Food’s on its way so lets start with you razing a meal.
 
Using his legs Prince Yatskya raised and lowered his seat making himself rock back and forth. Much had changed but the Summer Sky Warlord Prince’s inability to stay still wasn’t one of them. He sighed when it came time to speak to the matter of their bond, and whether or not the support Endevar received from Askavi would be as a Master of a Guard or as his friend. His nose wrinkled, uncomfortable and unaccustomed to spelling out the obvious “Yes, We’re friends. We’re fine. I’m sorry I thought you were dead but I can't talk about that right now. I can't because if I think,I think about her and I can't do anything about where she is right now.

Just like I couldn't do anything for you
." Though his voice didn't crack emotion crept into his tone and he drowned it in another deep drink. All the while they'd known one another Renvar hadn't so much touched wine at winsol. Endevar knew well the older Warlord Prince's struggle with the drink after the war as he fought demons that wouldn't stay put. Up and down he'd sworn never again, but that was in a world where he'd never imagined losing Gillian. Every man had his crutches.

"There’s more important things to think about. Just please take a seat, try and be comfortable.
 
Whatever happened it’s over now. You’re home. We can fix this.

 
Convincing though his liquor warmed tone was, Renvar felt doubt they set everything right. New problems were coming up faster than the Territory's courts could assess the old Everything had a Price and he dreaded Endevar’s return would, for some reason, mean Gillian was gone forever. She was the best thing he’d ever done and the sharpest mind he’d ever trained and she was in the wind. So he sipped his glass's last and watched Prince Ranosi hoping his friend would talk of anything but the decided past or their many wounds.

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #16 on: Jun 04, 17, 07:59:58 PM »
Renvar let him have his silence, and his time. Endevar appreciated the man's solemness in that time, and when he finally came out of his reverie Renvar spoke, guiding answers and providing conclusion to Endevar's hopes. Assuring him of their need for his might, and of their ability to purpose him.

And then he vowed they were friends, and it looked like he had just healed the Black Warlord Prince with a single set of three words. He stood taller, breath fell easier, a tension dissipating from the previously unbelievably tense man. The words of a mourning man who's world was darkened deeply. Drinks followed, and he frowned visibly at the sight of the drink suddenly entering his hands. Still, Endevar closed, coming closer so he could receive the drink. Ostensibly, at least.

"I proved myself that I am ... dependent on my Jewels. Even with how hard I've trained at unwinding Craft, I leaned too heavily, walked into a trap, and found myself lost. They wove back over it every time I got close to freeing myself. I did not appreciate feeling so helpless," he confessed, nodding his head. It was the absolute proof of weakness. At the very least, three with no Jewels lighter than Green had conspired to bind him, and it took all of their constant attention to outpace his own Craft. Eventually, after years, he gave up fighting it, knowing that unless they all died, they'd never be slower than he was fast when it came time to work his craft.

He also knew he'd need help. And eventually he got it, in the form of his treacherous daughter. The reason for his damnation; the reason for his salvation. Still he was conflicted with her, the feelings he bore for her complicated. This room reminded him of so much less complication: when he was here, there were a dozen assassination plots, but he knew his purpose and knew who he could trust implicitly. That was decidedly Renvar Yatskaya.

"And while I might have the stubbornness of our people, I fight on the instinct of a Warlord Prince alone, letting power and my nature push me through. I need to be a swift blade, not a zweihander, and decidedly not a warhammer." This was clearly the beginning of an ask. He telegraphed it, not believing much in the art of trying to trick someone into a favor only after you make them agree to give you one. He would know exactly what Endevar wanted from him, because he did not disguise himself with his brother in arms.

He conceded to the man's second reminder to not allow himself to macerate, smiling amusedly. "So, let's eat this meal that's coming. Sure. And until the Queen calls - and after, if I'm not asked to leave - I want to ask you - or people you trust here - to train me. I mean, we're at a training ground, aren't we? So train me, please. Like you would a child who's wings still struggle." A weakness he knew they'd have to work around, if he'd have any chance: he did not bear the mark of their people and it'd compromise much of his battle acumen that the Eyrien trained for, their style so endemic to their world of free motion. Still, they also learned to fight indoors, and in cramped quarters, and he'd have to learn to focus on the very same style, while making his every effort to learn how to beat those with wings when he bore none. And he already had a few ideas for the weapons he'd want.

Moving across their remaining distance, he ignored his drink as he came to sit on the desk within inches of Renvar, looking down at the older man, with a sadness touching his golden eyes. "In exchange, I'll do all I can to be the friend you need, and get you out of that fucking drink," he said, and twisted his wrist, eyes not even looking as the drink from his cup poured itself back into the bottle, before the bottle resealed itself, the fluid ignoring all concepts of gravity or logic, not a drop remaining in the glass. Endevar needed a drink desperately, but he would not allow them: he was dangerous enough to himself and others when he had his full faculties. The last thing he needed was to dull his decision making.

Even if he rather loved the idea of dulling the edge of rage boiling in him for so long. No, he nurtured that, still, knowing he had enemies ahead, but did not give into anger or indulge its brewing, focusing his mind on the love he held for this land, for this man, and the sadness at their shared losses.

"And... I missed you," he whispered, softly, and there was a depth to that forlornness that far exceeded the casualness of that statement. "I dreamed of seeing you above me, rescuing me. Thank you for looking for me. For trying. I wish there was something I could do to thank you beyond just fighting for you, for trying to save me, for ... accepting me again." His eyes caught Renvar's, or tried, the young man uncertain in the strangeness of the moment, as he rested in what was his office and now - rightfully - was his Master of the Guard's.

No, was the Master of the Guard's, as he was no longer the Warlord Prince of this place. "I'd do anything to show you my appreciation," he added, letting his psychic scent push forth, projecting it clearly, the slight lick of lust hanging in the air, golden eyes meeting Renvar's. He needed something to work through his angers and frustration now, and in truth, devouring something did sound rather good.

Both kinds.

He shrugged out of his coat, then, letting it pool behind him on Renvar's desk he had presumptively sat upon, rolling his neck gently as he looked down at the veteran warrior from his perch.








Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #17 on: Jun 06, 17, 01:01:53 AM »
CONTENT WARNING: NSFW. Sexual themes.

Renvar was struck by the vulnerability and need for purpose Endevar displayed.  He’d forgotten how often he’d been taken aback by Prince Ranosi’s youth in the years they’d worked together. Several centuries were born and put to bed since Prince Yatskaya cared that much about any man’s esteem. He was, in his own right, a man of dazzling possibility except his lay with his mind, not his Jewels. As a boy what quirks of his countenance marked his lineage as less than pristine hardened, and eventually for good or ill, inoculated him to the opinions of those without his respect. Of course, he’d never spent the better part of a decade alone save for the torment of clever enemies.

While the man he’d once served stood at the side of the desk once occupied by himself, Askavi’s Master of the Guard drank. Staying focused on the pains of a man who’d been a prisoner of war for years set his nerves raw and liquor’s burn distracted from the parts of Endevar’s grief that touched his own too near for comfort. Outside of his duty to Askavi with each passing season Renvar grew more distant from the men he lead ever forward towards a future worth fighting for.

Nearly broken by scarcity as their homeland was Renvar barely associated with his men and he rarely traveled to Gravesend unless asked for. There was too much to be done, and not enough to do it with. He’d built himself a tower of isolation from which he could watch, assess, and send his troops to do what needed doing even when he knew the math would mean more bodies than boys came home. Askavi’s soldiers didn’t need a friend, they needed men like him who would at every turn make sure they did what needed doing for their land of awe inspiring peaks and open skies and as many of them as possible came home.

 It was from over the rim of his tumbler that he took in the measure of Endevar’s stance as the young man’s toned changed from that of a tale to that of a question being lain with care. He sat down the emptied glass and abstained from pouring a second though his throat immediately felt parched in absence of the drink. When the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince’s question finally fell, there was a bemused look to his expression. “I wouldn’t have you here if you weren’t ready to work. Once you’re cleared by one of our Healer’s, I’ll assess you. We’ll go from there.”

As Renvar answered Endevar’s heartfelt plea the other man closed their distance and made himself comfortable not on a chair, but his desk. He disliked the angle at which it placed them and fought the urge to stand to compensate for the feeling. Instead he leaned back in the chair built for a man with wings to find rest, legs spread wide, hands folded in his lap and waited.  His impassive expression grew sharp at the display of craft tied to a promise to bring him from a drink. While many acerbic thoughts tried to slip his lips Renvar only snarled at the presumption before clenching his jaw. Hateful words were seconds away from spilling forth in a torrent of rage but were struck mute by the declaration that followed.

I missed you. The sentiment, so often trite when spoken between friends, fell with an undeniable gravity between them. Renvar didn’t know what to say, the only thing he missed anymore was Gillian and the peace of a bottle’s oblivion. Such tenderness was foreign to the man who worked in near isolation despite commanding many. The confession didn’t stop there and he shifted uncomfortable as Endevar went on to speak of dreams of rescue in which he starred. Jaw still clenched he didn’t turn away from the golden gaze that trapped his own, demanding Renvar give attention to the uncomfortable truths. He felt the heat of shame at his failure and the beast of his own grief rising and turning in chest suddenly desperate for release.  Something else stirred, too. A wilder, more primal yearning.

I’d do anything to show you my appreciation.

When the scent of Endevar’s lust filled the room they shared a hungry growl rumbled from Yatskaya’s throat. He was a wild, wounded thing and lived a life built around denying himself his needs because of pride and the very Eyrien belief that the harder one lived, the stronger one became. In many ways it was true but not for a man who denied himself the company and comfort of his Queen. Renvar was starved for release that his heart wouldn’t allow and before him, beautiful, strange, and longing was a soldier begging to be trained and to serve. 

“Shield the room,” was his only answer. Renvar rose and began unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact with the man so eager to show his gratitude. Prince Yatskaya was no stranger to the affections of the speared sex. While he preferred a woman’s shapes, a mouth was a mouth, and the savage thing of instinct and appetite that made him a Warlord Prince wouldn’t be denied a chance to be served by someone of such power. 

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #18 on: Jun 06, 17, 01:31:45 PM »
CONTENT WARNING: BLOWJOB, BRIEF MENTION OF THE TAINT

Endevar obeyed the Master of the Keep, the Master of the Guard, Prince Yatskaya. The Summer Sky commanded the young Black, and there was not even a perceptible flicker in the jewel that hung around his neck as it was drawn upon at its most simplest to form a barrier around this entire room, blocking sight, sound and entry. Inside this room would seem only a void to those who managed to pierce stone to peer within. The Black had been used to ensure that no one in this realm that he knew of could interrupt what came next.

Endevar breathed a shuddering hunger, biting his lip brutally as he watched Yatskaya stand and unbuckle his pants. It was this moment that demanded more. "I'm going to show you my appreciation. You are not going to tear my appreciation from me. I'm giving, you're not taking," Endevar explained, pride shining in his golden eyes. Hungered for the physical expression of his love for this man, he still would not so easily be bowed or broken again, not after the length of torment and capture he had known. No, any submission would be his own to choose. And to prove his point, his hands would rush out to push Renvar's from his own pants, eyes gleaming with the silent threat that Renvar should so much as consider trying to take this task from Endevar in any way.

Prince Ranosi knelt, then, one knee and then the other finding the hard stone of this Keep's floor. His eyes continued their dominant catch of the Warlord Prince above him, the fire in them burning as much with a demand for authority in this moment on his knees as they were with the ravenous appetite for what next he would take. Viciously, he ripped down those unbuckled pants, forcing them to the Prince's knees. before his hands both slid back up his thighs, nails dragging against his skin as he slid them back down again, tauntingly, his face poised right before the impressive shaft of his friend and once subordinate. Hands sliding back that path up once more, one hand slid down and under to caress gently the heavily weighted balls of his oldest friend. Rolling one and the other, his other hand slid around the slowly burgeoning shaft that was already making it clear that, no matter Renvar's desire to refute the desired command of the kneeling wingless Eyrien, his body would abide Endevar's demands.

A strong fist tightened then released to find a merely firm touch, guiding it over his brother in arms with slow, languid strokes. Never did his eyes leave Renvar's, even as he forced his thick shaft to the fullest life he could bring it. Turning his grip to no longer cover the bottom of his cock, the Hayllian-raised young man lifted him up so his hard length nearly pointed skyward, almost flush to his carved stomach. Endevar lowered, so he could reach the very stem of his shaft, and dragged his tongue slowly, maddeningly, up along the needful vein along the expanse of him. Adoringly, but tormentfully, he let one long drag of his slick tongue bring him to the engorged crown of the man before him who he sought to control from below.

In truth, he wanted to keep working him with a delicacy that would entice but never satisfy, until Renvar found himself begging for the warmth of his mouth, but Endevar's appetite was far, far too strong. Long before Renvar might break, Endevar's mouth truly opened, and his eyes rolled up to try to keep that gaze for just the first moment as his mouth turned to take in the head of his friend's aching cock. His hand returned to proper attention, dropping up and down in a rapid succession, fiercely pounding the base of Renvar's long shaft, while his mouth proved a skill that had been honed over the few years of his long life. He proved ravenous as he gulped and swallowed at his friend, timing his hand well against the ministrations of his lips, tongue and depths of his embrace. His short hair proved difficult to find a good grip in should it be sought, and if it were found, Endevar would push back with Craft alone to refuse Renvar any satisfaction except that which was brought directly by Endevar's choice.

Dragging a knuckle across the bridge between Renvar's cock and his ass, he sought to sharpen the sensations while he fiercely and wetly conquered the impressive gift he had gladly taken into his hungry lips. No longer was there any attempt to meet the eyes of his former servant, the once-ruler of Askavi devoured Renvar with a ruthless and wanton need, refusing to pause his hungered fever until he felt the other man begin to shudder under hand. In truth, Endevar was phenomenal with his tongue, his lips and so much more, and knew well how to drag this out, or how to finish this at a speed that shocked those who would barely realize what was happening before they spilled inside of his warm, gulping mouth. And Endevar had no interest in dragging this out.

He was, as had been mentioned with the need for a meal, so. very. hungry.

Pulling back from the cock for just a moment, spit and precum forming a thick, powerful bridge from mouth to crown, he let his eyes meet Renvar's again, and he growled in his need. "Cum in my mouth," he demanded, and then closed his eyes as if in utter bliss at the taste of a perfect meal, delving back down to redouble the speed and intensity with which he worked the man above him, who, if his legs grew weak, would find himself bolstered by the Red, forcing him to stand upright while he was all but eaten alive by the man below him.

When he felt the first rush of surrendered release from Renvar, the younger Eyrien sat back on his calves and opened his mouth, lips still covering entirely the thick crown. He instantly brought both hands up, furiously pumping the cock which had finally burst, urging forth thick ropes of his friend's seed, tasting that salty need that had been so unbound. After the first few shudders of release, Endevar launched back forward, sucking ruthlessly, forcing his head back and forth along the shaft to nurse out every drop of cum he could manage from his friend, leaving his dick cleaned but slick with spit. Gasping as he pulled himself off his friend, he let his tongue run over his lips to ensure he missed nothing, before standing again and releasing any of the Craft he'd had to use to ensure Renvar did not interrupt the task Endevar had set himself upon. Perhaps none, if Renvar obeyed the tenets of the gift he was given; perhaps more, if Renvar proved resistant and tried to get handsy or facefuck his young friend.

It would not be subtle, just how incredibly hard he had grown under the taut pants he wore, pants that had only become more taut in the doing. Endevar yearned for his own release, but said not a word; after-all, this was a gift he chose to give, and so sought nothing of repayment for it. Though he might by needs leave this mountain tonight to slake his lust on some unsuspecting woman. As with his friend, he did not prefer the speared sex, but he needed to feel Renvar in his mouth so badly his jaw nearly ached.

"Sorry if that seemed rude. Tell you what, if you stop drinking, I'll let you use your hands next time," he promised, trying to offer what little incentives he could.

Taking the rest of the Prince's drink, he would toss it back and wash out his mouth in the process, before gulping back the hard liquor. He didn't want to be drunk, but he needed something as a chaser, so a half-full glass would suffice. And it would deny his friend the drink he now seemed to need, if the growl he had almost offered earlier was any indication. Clearing his throat at the end, he eyed Renvar's dick, before looking back to his eyes. "A fine appetizer, but you're right, I could use an actual meal," he smirked a little, and waited for Renvar to right himself as he moved back around the furniture piece that had once been his own to find a chair and abandon the desk entirely to Renvar's command.

"But I meant my thanks. For welcoming me back, however reluctantly, and for trying to find and save me, no matter how fruitless." He meant it, as he had shown, very passionately.








Offline Renvar Yatskaya

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #19 on: Jul 23, 17, 02:27:30 AM »
NSFW: This thread contains sexual content

Renvar smiled as Endevar demanded the right to see his cock loosed from the trappings of leather pants and worn boxers. He watched with distant pleasure as the Black Jeweled man before him found his knees and busied his hands with the business of readying the cock he wished to swallow.

This was far from the first time one of Askavi’s heroes found comfort in the yielding of another warrior, but it was the sweetest for Renvar. Endevar was not the first man of deep standing in the abyss to be drawn to Prince Yatskaya’s unforgiving demeanor and sharply carved features. He was however, the most powerful creature to kneel before Renvar and that fact brought his need to full standing well before the younger man finished his teasing attentions.

A lustful smile framed by yearning lingered until hot, hungry lips found his stiffening shaft and worked it to full life with desperate appetite. “Fuck,” moaned Askavi’s Master of the Guard as it’s former Warlord Prince made his mouth home to Prince Yatskaya’s pleasure. He chuckled, but spoke not, as Endevar’s tongue explored the whole of his thick length and raised and lowered his hips against the teasing affections as he leaned back against his office’s wall.

The Summer Sky Jeweled man's traitorous hands were denied  grip on the back of the head he wished to hold tight and fuck without mercy. Renvar instead placed them behind his head so he might relax into the service so sweetly offered by Prince Ranosi. He was a drunk, not a fool. Endevar’s tongue knew well how to coax groans and thrusts of pleasure from the elder warrior and so he focused on the many gift's of the Black Jeweled man's lips instead of that which he was denied.

When the Hayllian raised Warlord Prince pulled away from what Renvar, a man who’d too long been denying his rut’s needs, the Master of the Guard loosed a low growl. “Fucking make me then,” he demanded with a grin as he looked down to Endevar’s face so sloppy with spit and precum. His taunt was one soon met as Prince Ranosi unleashed a wave of skill one might only ever acquired in Hayll’s most debaucherous halls. With wide eyes and howls of pleasure he watched as the  younger warrior greedily swallowed every drop of seed his long denied lust’s had to offer.

Still rapt in lust’s tides Renvar loosed a warm, almost intimate laugh when Endevar promised that abstinence from the bottle might let him fuck the other man’s full lips to his hunger’s exhaustion. As the other man washed the taste of Prince Yatskaya’s seed from his mouth with whiskey’s burn he grinned and, gingerly, placed his cock back within its trappings before going about the business of buckling his pants.

“Tempting,” he noted in regards to Endevar’s offer  while falling to the chair behind his desk with a satisfied sigh. For a few moments Askavi’s Master of the Guard was silent while he reaffirmed his office’s urgent need for a meal fit to serve a Queen’s entire first circle to the Keep’s head Hearth Wiitch. “But you didn’t have to thank me,” he clarified as his orgasm’s haze began to fade from the present into recent memory. Whatever need Endevar’s want stirred within his powerful form was ignored by the other Warlord Prince who’d tried but failed to save him from hell. “Steak's on its way. Coffee, eggs and more too.”

Renvar didn’t tell him yet of the famine or Hayll’s failed attempts to start a war. There’d be time a plenty to let Endevar known what strife claimed the land of his birth in his absence. Just then he wanted to see his friend, more fragile than any man of his power should ever have been, well fed and put to rest in a safe bed.

Offline Endevar Ranosi

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Re: The Second Climb
« Reply #20 on: Jul 23, 17, 04:37:59 AM »
The Eyrien bereft of wings looked upon Renvar with some doubt on his features. The Master of the Guard was pushing hard at this damnable banquet, and Endevar understood it some: he could feast on an unholy wealth of food. But he knew the hunger Askavi knew before he left, and his brief travel before finding the mountain here did not tell him that the production of foodstuff had radically improved in his absence, nor did he see much trade route use along his journey, the closer he came. The notion of this feast left him doubtful of it's sense, but he would not refuse the meal. Not after so long adrift, not knowing just how tense he had been growing bereft of the fuel he so dearly needed.

It was a rare surrender that he committed to himself not to make again; not when he knew the cost of life of every bite of his. The Warlord Prince swore to himself to make these sacrifices worth it. Ultimately, he relinquished any effort from himself, forgiving himself the sin, as he took the food ordered and soon provided.

Though he'd dissuade the notion of coffee, favoring actual hydration after that damnable climb that his wingless burden put upon him.

And the meal was taken with an animal appetite that spoke of the level of his appetite; in his prison, food was not something he was wanting for, at all, them willingly starving their own to feed the weapon they failed to convert properly before he rescued himself with great help at his daughter's capable hands. Several plates were wholly consumed by the former ruler who kept promising himself he'd had enough, just before he proved he hadn't.

After the meals, he was urged towards a good bed, and he stopped at the door to it, looking back at his oldest friend. Well fed, exhausted, ready for rest, he knew he had to fight through for further word. "Arrange--" he began, and stopped, frowning, before he reworded it. "Could you please arrange to have my daughter brought here, to me, from the village," he requested, instead of demanded.

"And know that I will seek out the actual Territory Seat with the morning light. Please help me. I know what feeding me costs you. I will be put to purpose, or sent away, before my appetite kills our men." A wan smile spoke of the sad acknowledgment of what this meant, having seen the eyes of those who served them shining with jealousy and desire and contempt during his meal. The meaning of it was not lost on the Prince, who nodded his head simply and closed the door behind him promptly, before the bed was pursued with a desperate need; but he would not rest easily until he saw his daughter again, safe, beside him.








 

 

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