(C1, Racksom) Rising in the Ranks (10th Board)

It's almost a week after the downfall of Racksom from DDC control, and into the hands of the powerful Surahnian Rebels.
A lot has been going on, new buildings and new laws established, customs to be made, messages to spread and ultimately; a new culture to grow on these people.
However the sovereign Lord Zartear Straten himself, as arrogant as he can be, knows the value of other minds. The position of tactician is one that he'd much sooner be filled than later. There are gaps in his ranks of Generals too, the men filling them before deemed unfit in the light of their performance. The taking of Racksom was just as effortless as they had all predicted, but not enough to mask the beginnings of foolery he had seen.

And that was the end of the previous Sword Master and General.

Setting: The Palace of Racksom, formerly belonging to their royalty, now decidedly un-Dragons Covely feeling.
The weather is pretty standard, it's all clear bar some clouds overhead.
There's no coldness or great warmth either way, and there's barely any wind.

The time is 6pm.

Zartear took another sip from the golden and gem encrusted goblet, water. After some days allowing himself to enjoy the spoils of war to the full he knew better than to dull his senses now that much of the construction was underway and the restlessness would be easing in the people. He had effectively deployed the labour he had to work with...but he needed to make more plans now, the strategy was clear but the tactics were undefined.
Securing Racksom had been as ridiculously easy as he had predicted; like everybody else.
For that day Racksom had become a killing ground for those that dared to defy the Surahnians.

Here he was, in their royal gardens, his royal gardens, looking out from them to the tower that dominated the view.
Even out here, he had an entourage of people he couldn't muster a care for, yet were quite essential. Guards, plenty of guards here at the gardens. The odd Surahnian captain that he'd invited to accompany him, a gaggle of native women.
But there were holes for sure, he needed a tactician now.
Zartear was plenty sure he could formulate his own plans, but he also valued the powers others were gifted with and how effectively they could be exploited. For the greater good, needless to say.

Besides a tactician, he required a Sword Master. For a race as proud as his own that placed a huge premium on sword fighting heroes, it had come as quite a shock to the ranks when General Kuras was executed for a reason nobody specifically knew, but dare not question. All they knew is that it was a "heinous crime and an embarassment to the names of good Surahnians"
This had left the captains squabbling for the position. But observing them, Zartear noted they all lacked a something that would make them worthy of becoming such a figurehead in the community.

He sat himself down on one of the gilded benches. Zartear was dressed in the splendour that befitted him completely; the velvets, furs and metals. Silvers, blacks and reds. Then, the lack thereof on his female companions.
His face was a picture of seriousness, waiting here in front of the fountain for Atoro was his name?
He'd never ranked him much before, yet words had glided about on the lips of his men. His cleverness, his apparent "dishonorability" for his underhanded methods. The stories that were spun caught his eye, this kind of a man would be very easy to assimilate into the position of tactician, and have no allusions about trying to take Dragons Cove "honorably"

Ah, that was what stopped him just choosing one of the captains. None of them had an ounce of realism in their bodies or their brains.

He'd been looking out to the wrong direction, else the King might have noticed the skirmish that had started right outside the castle walls. Several guards had been laid out, bleeding, unconscious or clutching offended body parts. A big blond savage in furs ringed by guards stood, glowering at them and daring them, in terrible Common to 'come at him'. He was effectively dog-piled, and it took even longer to restrain him. Several guards were incapacitated from the strain, joining the growing number of guards that would have to be seen by a healer. Some forward-thinking guard had called for shackles and some chains. In a longer time than was necessary (which may or may not have pissed the guards off) the giant blonde was shackled and chained, with at least two men to each chain.

The blond, who could have easily gave the guards hell, walked calmly with them as they 'dragged him inside'. They took him to their captain, who looked the least bit amused at the story he was being told.

The dark haired man sighed through and took off his pince nez to rub the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the blond savage. Gods but he was huge. He was easily taller than the other men by a whole head and shoulders. His blond hair was done up in some kind of horse mane style. And Gods, the stink. He wore so many furs, like a kilt around his waist, and for boots and bracers. He was bare chested, with the odd markings on his chest in a language that looked like runic gibberish. He was broad, and well muscled and frankly the Captain wanted nothing to do with him.

"So you mean to tell me, that this... blond savage made you and your men look like complete assholes in front of Gods knows how many natives and Surahnians?".

His men shuffled around, murmuring their assent embarrassed.

The savage wore a smirk on his face. He had what looked to be a day's worth of beard and although he stank, he didn't seem to be too grimy.

"Can you speak Common?" the Captain asked.

"Not well" Andyr answered. He had a deep bass voice, that seemingly rumbled from his chest. Gods be damned... his voice was like rolling thunder. The Captain felt a cold stone forming in the pit of his stomach.

"Tell me what you were doing outside".

"I came to be a Man of Army. Fight in War. Your jakthundar made jest about intelligence of mine. I gave them chance for asking apologies. They did not take chance, so I take honor. Yes?"

The Captain had a lot of questions, like where the hell this big bastard was from, what the jest was, what the hell a jakthundar was and just how badly did this man whoop his unit's ass. The Captain rubbed his scalp and gestured to the men holding him.

"Stop that, it's useless. Unbind him. He seems to have made his point with you all. He wants to join an Army? Well we'll take him to Zartear and see what he has to say about him."

The men dragged their feet as they unbound the savage. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck and knuckles. "My weapons."

The Captain shook his head. "You wouldn't be allowed weapons near our leader anyway."

This seemed to placate the barbarian and he simply shrugged. "Fine. Zartear. He is the Man of Army?"

The Captain rose his brows and tried puzzling the barbarian's meaning. "He's our leader." he finally ended up saying.

This seemed to pacify the barbarian. With everything seemingly taken care of, the Captain appointed a Quad of guards proven capable (by the simple fact that they were not directly under his command) of taking care of an unruly prisoner and ordered that this blond giant be taken to Zartear himself.

After a series of stop-points and checks, the Quad led the giant to the gardens and stood a ways away from their leader.

"My Lord, a Barbarian awaits your audience, with a written statement from a Captain of a Unit." one of the Quad said, his voice carrying far.

"Andyr."

The one who spoke looked at the giant. "What?"

"I am Andyr Hildr."

The guard nodded. "Anderhilde, Sir, is the barbarian's name."

Andyr made a face at the butchery of his name, but remained impassive.

It wasn’t like Atoro to be late, but sometimes caution won over politeness- and this was definitely a time for caution. The meeting he had scheduled with Zartear was supposed to put him up a few levels in the ranks of the Surahnian Rebels- it would, he wouldn’t let such an opportunity slip through his fingers- but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t exercise caution in the man’s presence. In fact, he would be more cautious, what with their new king’s reputation. Not that he didn’t have one in return, of course.

From the first he set foot in the royal gardens, he was assessing everything- how many people were around, places to hide, places other people could hide- everything was important, and hell, it might save his life if things suddenly turned nasty. He wasn’t surprised by the number of guards that Zartear had milling around; such a show of power hardly impressed him. And he wouldn’t object to the show of pretty girls walking around either. It looked like Zartear had managed to set himself up with quite the kingdom already, an impressive feat, considering how short a period he had had Racksom under his control.

As he approached Zartear, Atoro couldn’t help but be a little impressed by the man. He made quite the sight sitting by the fountain in all the splendour he had pillaged for himself- a true Surahnian. Yes, this was definitely someone Atoro could work under. He came to a sharp halt in front of Zartear, glancing coolly at the nearest guards before his eyes settled firmly on the Surahnian himself.
“So. You required a tactician?” he said, twisting his phrasing so it sounded less like a question and more like a statement. He was about to continue when some sort of commotion interrupted him, a guard hailing Zartear from a short distance away. How dare he interrupt this?

Barely containing his irritation, he folded his arms across his front, waiting for the guard to back off again. No doubt he would be able to quietly dispose of the man once he was tactician. Call it keeping his values practised- why, if he was moving up in the world, there would be even more reason to keep his skills honed sharp. There were just too many honourable people in the world to only let others do important work- no, he himself would have to do much to keep these rebels under control. It was all very well and good lording it over the rest, but when it came down to it, someone always needed to be there to do the dirty work.

And Atoro was completely fine with being that man.

Zartear was just about growing tired of waiting, when the man showed up.
His tone exuded cockiness, he hadn't even approached in the typical humble way one should when in the company of a King.
He barely minded though, insolence was one thing, but all he wanted to know is what the man could offer him.
"How good of you to come, Atoro. I am pleased to see you responded to my-" He stopped, hearing the clank of the armoured guards shuffling up toward him from the otherside of the gardens unceremoniously.
Good lord, had they found a lion for a pet?

This interruption was vexing, he'd waited long enough and now the incompetent guards had shown up with a single trouble maker. He noted this against them silently, apparently it was important enough for a referral from one of the captains though.
"Oh does he? And you believe every minor rebel is worth my attention?" He nodded with annoyance, hands suggesting his anger in the air. "Mind you, he's not a minor rebel is he." His voice lightened into a sharp but mirthless laugh.
"My oh my, where did you find this one?"
Zartear looked over to Atoro. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, Sir." His eyes rolled back to the "lion" the description seemed apt now, what with the mane and all the muscle. He understood why this one might have been an issue to the guards.
"This is quite a turn up. Who are you and what do you want?"

Zartear's men and the whores that had accompanied him seemed slightly on edge. It was rather unlike their Lord to waste his time on common criminals so they wondered how this might turn out for the man. Though, on a second look, the "prisoner" seemed plenty capable of holding his own in a fight. He seemed like he could easily break free at any moment.

"You'll have to make it quick though, a friend and I need to have words soon..." He added, pondering then on Atoro.
Acknowledging his entrance, it was clear to him why he was slightly different from the rest. There'd have to be more conversation for a conclusion, but the man seemed unafraid of his superiors and calmly confident in himself. Always one to watch for, the man was not a boot licker.

To look down on a King. Ah, only Andyr was afforded the private joke, and he smirked. It took him a little while to process what the King had said. He had a strange accent and spoke too fast. It made Common all the more difficult when people spoke it fast.

"I am Andyr Hildr" he said staring down the guard to his left, who'd originally screwed his name. "I am from Ice Plains. I hear of War. I come to fight, only Hunt I try to join, no Huntsmen" he said and looked over the King's shoulder. He had a lot of men and women around him. So, he had hounds and whores. That was good. It meant the man before him was indeed a Man. "I travel to find Army to join. I join yours. I fight in War. For you. Battle and Blood. Like Man" he said.

His accent was thick, and the only thing that made his common intelligible was the fact that he didn't speak fast and that he spoke in staccato sentences.

"What name is yours?" he asked the King.

The horror of the men around him was quietly amusing and he found himself smirking again. If faux pas like that garnered such reactions, then this man was indeed a Man worthy to fight for. And Andyr would fight. He wouldn't stop fighting until there were no more fights to be had.

"Too fuckin' dumb..." one of the guards whispered only to hit the ground. Andyr had simply clouted the man with an open hand. It was almost comical the way he fell over.

"No jakthundar talks dishonor to me" he said and looked to Zartear, not at all concerned that the men had drawn weapons on him. "This is why I fight before. Your jakthundar call me... stupid. Yes, that is right word. Stupid" he said.

From the very moment Zartear responded properly to the guard who had stepped forward, Atoro knew he was going to be dismissed as the less “interesting” one out of himself and this new man. Nevertheless, he controlled his ire for the benefits it gave- a look at how Zartear responded to things like this was most interesting for one with such a tactical mind. And especially if they would be discussing tactics a lot, it would give him an extra edge to know how to say things in order to get the most leverage. In the long run, if they were going after an unconquerable prize, he wasn’t going to neglect to leave himself a fast way out of any situation he found himself in. Not that he would let Zartear know that of course- if he wanted the man’s trust in his words, then it wasn’t wise to reveal that he would always be leaving escape routes in case of an emergency.

He watched the exchange between the two with indifferent interest, making mental notes on how Zartear reacted to the new man- what a tower, but Atoro was sure that it wasn’t matched by brains, what with him being caught by guards and all (but probably only by his own consent, his size showing obviously how he could be as free as he was captured in an instance’s change of heart). He was pleasantly surprised by the way he was referred to as “friend”- obviously Zartear was already highly consulting taking him on as his tactician. Well, why would he not?

He was taken aback by the thug’s sudden movement to some remark Atoro himself had missed, his eyes flicking from him to the floored man and back again. So, one for heavy artillery then, for sure. And definitely not one to cross, if Zartear didn’t have him thrown out for such an extreme response. Well well well, this was certainly turning into the most interesting meeting already, and he had hardly exchanged the required pleasantries with his leader yet!

The man was a very strange specimen. Never had he anticipated one would have come from so deep in the lands and then to Racksom and so soon. This satisfied him deeply. Evidently, if even this man from the Iceplains knew of his attack, then all of DDC knew; but refused to do anything. This further clarified their weakness.
The man had wasted no time in getting to the point, he was direct. He spoke simply, there wasn't an inch of deceit in how he acted and he was even clearer in making his point when one of the guards was hopelessly batted aside.
A stupid mistake for his own men to make, to assume because of his speech and origin that the man was "slow"

Zartear walked closer to him, inspected him like he would an animal. There were no doubts to be had on his strength or his reflexes.
That alone qualified him for the army well enough, the man also had a certain sense of honor; good.
Intelligence would reveal itself in time, though he never assumed for a second that he was a half-wit. The fact that he'd come this far for this cause spoke volumes.

Zartear spoke slower, making each word count.
"My name, Zartear Straten. King Zartear Straten. Your leader." If that wasn't a clear enough acceptance of him, then what would be?
"You will fight in...swords." It seemed best for this man, perhaps the specialist swords; a two handed sword would work beautifully under his strength, assuming he could control it too, rather than the simple broadswords. "I want your loyalty...You help me in war...You give me your life. I give you... what you want in it."
He turned to the guards; pathetically retreated from the man, the one that had offered his misgivings to Andyr in particular.
Zartear looked at him coldly and they both knew he didn't have long, but not a word was said. It was as if he'd been immediately replaced, except, Zartear reckoned Andyr beyond that man's ability. Quite easily.

"Ah, and what does the ever so wise Atoro think?" He beckoned him to his side, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. He hadn't forgotten the man's special way of greeting higher-ups.
"You're used to this aren't you? Word is you know how to set battle strategies into motion, where the likes of this warrior can be used to great effect. Look at him. He's clearly not your ordinary kind."
Zartear wondered what he'd found to eat up in the ice plains.

He took special care to pronounce the name right, of course, the accent came off wrong. "And Andyr Hildr, what do you think of this man, Atoro."
This was a good turn up for the books; a warrior with promise and a foreign one too that could spur the loyalty in the natives hearts. Seeing their own natives reach this level of strength would surely be inspiring.
As for the other, Atoro. Zartear had yet to collect any useful intel about him, he'd held back qatching quietly and would be a harder kind to get the feel of. For all his power, Zartear had to tread carefully, besides, he had an audience right here and now.

Whatever they could catch, in the Ice Plains, was eaten. Both carnivore and herbivore alike. There were many days that Andyr and his folk had dined on wolf, the odd bear and elk. The women gathered pine needles and the men chewed on that when there was no food to be had whilst hunting. Pine cones were ground up and mixed with snow and foraged nuts to make a paste that was not altogether tasty but was indeed advantageous to have when meat was scarce. The people of the ice plains fished, as well, and fish was considered their staple diet, meat being rarer. If only Zartear knew how much Andyr adored the Southlands and their abundance of meat.

Andyr was pleased that the man had spoken slower, for his benefit. It wasn't that he was slow, it was just that the language was new. That he picked it up so quickly from his travels to Racksom should have been a testament to his intelligence. "I am one with swords. I will fight with swords" he assured Zartear. "Give me war, women and food. I give you loyalty, life and blood of your enemy" he said and grinned widely. "Or what you want from enemy. Ears, noses... skins...". It was a joke, but it was better said in Andyr's language.

He didn't turn to look at the guard. It was not his jakthundar, so he didn't really have to care about the consequences of the man's actions toward him.

He did not wait for Atoro's summation of him. Andyr was a Man, men spoke first.

"He is varghundar, not Man. He is wolf. Sleep at your fires for warmth, eat of your food for sustenance... but untrustworthy. Bite hand that feeds if not tamed well. Can be made loyal, if trained well and harsh." And that was that. Andyr of course, was judging all of this by what he saw in the man's eyes. In the Ice Plains, one had to be a great judge of character, for often tribes coming to propose piece often turned around and made war. Leaders of Tribes who weren't astute often accepted the wrong men into their circle of Hunters and were betrayed, not that the betrayer lived long enough to reap the benefits of his decision. It was a hard life in the Ice Plains, but a very educational one.

Khonsu slips past the guard who were wrestling a rather large man. She steps over one prone form. Her silk cloths flutting behind her, as well as glinding across what skin is covered. Tucking a strand of raven hair behind her ear, she looked more like a dnacer with her thin and lithe body. She looked nothing like a fighter she was, let alone the other secret she hid. The only marks on her pale skin was that of the wings tattooed on her back and a small harp on the inside of her right wrist.

Trotting beside her was a jet black jackal, the only color was that of its golden eyes and the thick jewel encrusted collar around its neck. Anup had been with her since the day she left her past behind her. She was surprised that no guard had stopped her yet. But then again with the way she looks, who would? Anup pauses and sniffs the air and gives a soft yip of a sound. "Yes I smell it also." Even in this form her senses were heightened but not as much as in her other form.

Walking down the hallway she could smell the scent of flowers.

She had heard whisper that the new King was looking for a replacements for those who could not handle the now vacant jobs. She heard a contingent of guards behind her and saw they had the man from earlier in chains. Moving quicker down the hall she steps out into the gardens. She didn't want to be stopped from trying to gain a place in the higher rankings.

Curing softly she lets the group pass with the wold man. Seeing where they were headed she takes a different route towards the fountain. Sitting herself close enough to the group but just far enough away she sits there and listens to their conversation. She was very interested by the wild man with his broken common and the new king and well. Both were very pleasing on the eyes.

Anup lays down at her feet unseen from all who are on the opposite side of the fountain. With a touch to the harp on her wrist it appears. It was small enough that it could sit in her lap and she began to play in hopes of attention would draw to her. Khonsu bites back a smile at the way the wild man smacked the guard for insulting him.

'Snicker snack, whip and whack, see them cry and see them scream, the cowed before the chains and the delicate fingers that deliver the bite. Take it now or take it later, death comes to all in the end. But to give or to receive? Now that is the question.'

Over the past week Vann had begun to learn to ignore most of his inner voice's mumblings, for usually it was just an abstract vaguely poetic description of what was going on. Lately it had been going on about the condition of the fellow citizens that he'd been stuck with for the last few days. It was an uncomfortable experience, but it wasn't entirely miserable. The new self-declared king, Zartear, had spoken to them a few times, delivering his view of what the world should be like and how the current government had collapsed into a pathetic limping thing. Rumors among the others that had been captured echoed the same sentiments. Their protectors had never come, and there was no sight or whisper of a force inbound to try and save them. There was plenty of hopelessness to go around in those that had lost their homes and their system of belief in one fell swoop, but there was also an odd sense of awe that had begun to spring up. If what Zartear said was true, then he could save them from what squalor had plagued them before. Famine, sickness, poverty… Some seemed convinced that Zartear could cure them of all of it like a hero of old sweeping in on the wings of battle and glory.

Already the city was being rebuilt. Not just being rebuilt, being remade. Better than before, as the Surahnians would have them believe. A good number of the citizens had been put to work redesigning the city, and Vann was included in that number if unwillingly. They were constantly monitored by soldiers that paced nearby, watching silently as the commoners worked to drag away the debris of collapsed buildings, gather bodies found underneath the refuse, and more recently to start laying foundation for new buildings. The speedy progress of course came with a price. There was a group of Surahnians that wandered around with whips and bludgeoning weapons that would for the most part leave you alone if you looked like you were working a decent pace. However, anyone with the gall to attempt to take a break would feel the sting of their weapons. Vann had suffered a blow or two already from stopping to help another person that had fallen of injuries or else was just too tired to continue working, and he was not keen on being inflicted upon again.

'So easily you hide behind the guise of anonymity, but content with the turn of the tides? Never is a sailor a man without braving the seas.'

"That one didn't make a lick of sense." Vann muttered, digging his shovel underneath a pile of rocks that used to be a walls, smashed by a dragon or a catapult, no doubt. After hefting a large chunk of wall into a nearby cart placed for just such a reason, he leaned against his shovel and wiped the sweat from his brow, staring up at the sun. Nearly sunset. They would be let back to their sleeping quarters soon.

"Hey you!"

Vann's heart sank in his chest. "Oh no." Striding toward him with grim determination was one of the assigned watchers, club in hand and ready to deliver a beating to a perceived slacker.

'And so the animal is caught outside his den. But predator or prey, fight or flee? Even a turtle will bite if its shell is overturned.'

"Shut up." Vann muttered in what he thought was under his breath, but the soldier narrowed his eyes, tapping his club against his palm.

"What'd you say to me?" The man asked, bristling with the anger of a perceived offense, raising his club to strike and put down a mouthy prisoner before things could get out of hand.

'Cowardice hidden by armor thicker than the mask you proudly wear.' The voice hissed in response, and Vann couldn't help but to agree, a sudden anger welling up in him as the man struck. "You will not touch me!" Almost without thinking Vann swung his shovel in a parry, knocking the club clean aside, much to the soldier's great surprise. Before he could recover, Vann's elbow collided with the soldier's nose, the cartilage breaking with a very definite snap and a spray of blood that sent the man reeling backward, tripping over the cart and falling flat on his back with a clatter of armor. The commotion aroused the attention of everyone in the immediate area and soon enough a handful more of the soldiers with clubs and whips came over to put down the rebellion before it began.

"Riot! Riot! He's starting a riot!" Someone yelled, which caused an immediate stir amongst the citizens working with their shovels and hands, some going still, others standing straighter like rodents emerging from their dens.

Vann snorted, bitterly amused by the declaration. "I'm not starting a riot." He declared openly, walking to the soldier and planting the butt of his shovel directly in the center of the man's chest, holding him down while he bent to relive the man of his sword, palming the weapon and flicking it experimentally. "Half of you don't even want to leave. Take me to someone in charge or let me go. I'm done with this."

Atoro remained quietly beside the fountain as Zartear stepped towards Andyr, watching how the man dealt with this little event. He certainly had a way with words- he made a note of the fact that he would have to make sure he didn’t get too taken in by his honey-lathered speeches. There was a mark between being loyal and being a fanatic, and Atoro certainly knew which side he would rather be on.

As he was suddenly addressed, he raised one eyebrow and stepped forwards, but only to the same level as Zartear, looking up and down the huge man in front of him and refusing to be intimidated by his bulk.
“Used to this sort of talk indeed,” he said, arms still folded in front of him. He was hardly impressed by the big man’s joke, and didn’t even bother to show any disgusted reaction. Leave that to someone who actually cared. His eyebrows did dip in anger as Andyr produced his view of himself, restraining himself from indulging in the urge to strike out at the man. That, he knew for sure, would not end well. It wasn’t just the way the giant had phrased his words that made him angry though- he knew that somehow this man had been able to see exactly who he was- apart from that snide quip about “varghundar”. What nonsense barbarians talked.

He let out a sharp, mirthless laugh at the end of his speech. “Well, what assumptions you make, when you have nothing to go on other than what you see.” Gesturing to himself, he stepped around the man to walk slowly around his back, hands behind his back.
“In battle, he would probably be useful, both for intimidation of the enemy and raise the moral of an army as a whole. However, further to that, as a leader… less desirable. It is clear he any other than himself as a lower being, so I see any troops under his command being only useful for one battle, as I have high doubts on their returning.” He paused, standing in front of the man again. “I have little faith in barbarians and their guerrilla tactics. After all, we all saw how effective they are in the DDC’s defeat in this very city. And of course, a fanatic.”

Atoro could hardly keep the smirk off his face as he turned back to Zartear, his assessment finished. However… things seemed to have changed, the air even more charged than it had been a moment before- and not just because of Andyr. He turned his head slightly, figuring out what it was.
“Ah… there seems to be some unfortunate stirrings in your kingdom, Lord Zartear.” Best to address the man by some sort of title, no need to offend everyone present. “If I am not mistaken, problems in the close eastern quarter of the city. It may require some attention, lest you lose your reputation to the uprisings of some fool slaves.”

Zartear smirked a little at Andyr's remark, confident but not overly so. Perhaps that would make the perfect trial, to bring back the skins of some of his most hated enemies, or the skulls of the dragons that were the largest of thorns. He considered what he had to say carefully, the back and forth.
He couldn't pretend he wasn't being cautious, the rank of a tactician would be lofty to say the least, and well, he found himself agreeing between the two somewhat.
Atoro required training, working and kneading into something a little more malleable in his hands; though the potential was there. The barbarian of the north needed his own form of training too...perhaps a culture lesson or two. That and a scrub up, the animal smell rank of nostalgia for Zartear's own origins. Ergh.

"I see you will both have long and fulfilled lives within my ranks..." He then remembered the northerners dialect. "You are mine, but, I want proof. I want those skins...so to speak..." He smiled, about to continue then direct the newcomer to his place of training and command but he was shortly interrupted by Atoro and more apparently, the commotion. If the subject weren't quite so important and if Atoro hadn't taken the care to refer to him correctly he might have put him in his place. Or let the barbarian do it.
It was one thing to have trouble with a man that could snap spines with his toes, but as he looked on this one in the main Tower Square appeared normal. He focused more, seeing him struggling. A flash of recognition took him by surprise. Well well, it was the one whom had challenged him during the closing hours of domination in the battle of Racksom, if you could call it that.
There he was, creating his own one man rebellion and putting up something of a fight against the disciplinarian guards, surely he knew this couldn't end well for him.

Normally he might not bat an eyelid, but this particular one, being familiar, piqued his interest.
"You two. Come." He strode briskly toward the man, not looking back with his brief command. He expected them to follow him closely now until he dismissed them, on the job training of course. Out of the corner of his eye he noted an unfamiliar woman had shown up, not one of those he had had accompany him originally, yet for all intentions, she seemed as if she might have been for the same purpose.

The guards had seen him approaching, Zartear was known for his pro-activity within the subjugation and day to day ruling of Racksom (however short a time it had been so far) but surely, he couldn't be coming to them about this one man?
Had they found a snake in the basket?

"How disappointing, who is responsible for this joke? First you bring me a man you can barely manage between four of you, and now you're having trouble against this peasant?" He paused, seeing their gormless expression. "Well? Hand him over then!" he hissed.
The men obliged immediately. "Good soldiers of the Surahnian Rebels, this man is no riot starter...Though perhaps he is a criminal. It wouldn't be the first time he'd have spoken out of turn." Zartear was addressing half to his two newly enroled men, and half to the soldiers and people nearby, he kneed the "criminal" deftly in the back and gripped with a firm hand on his hair, so the man was now kneeling and head bent skyward.
"Indeed...I've seen you before, haven't I Vannelson?" He said, looking down on the man whose hands were still bound tightly behind him.

You could never be too high ranking to enjoy simple pleasures like making a demonstration of somebody beneath you, deserving of it. That's where most leaders failed, their presence became something of a myth restricted to palaces and castles...They never made themselves felt, something Zartear quite frequently commended himself on.

"Still. I do believe in fairness." He released his grip casually with a slight push forward, looking back to the other two. "He can't be the only man lacking a way with words...." And now was the perfect opportunity to press the point again. "Discipline, my men, discipline is how we rule. We are not petty tyrants and must not react so brashly by the smallest of stirrings. Now you," he drew his attention back to Vannelson, waving off the eyes of the soldiers and people to get back to their work, now speaking low key with serious intent. "As valuable as my time is, I am curious. What have you done to catch their eyes?"

All he wanted to do was leave. That was it. He didn't want to take anybody with him, didn't want to fight, and would have been more than happy to talk this whole thing over and avoid being punched in the mouth by an angry disciplinary sentinel. However, he now had a bleeding lip and somehow both his shovel and pilfered sword had been taken from him when ganged up on by several men in armored suits that had no qualms about subduing him in a rough manner. He put up a good struggle, but eventually someone kicked his legs out from under him and he was thrust in the dirt on his knees, rocks digging painfully into his shins.

'How the fish struggles so hard, but how did it get caught in the spider's web? Strength in its numbers, the web holds strong.'

"This is not the time!" Vann yelled in frustration and was given a sound blow to the belly for speaking out. The soldiers around him stilled, and through a haze of pain and need for air, he heard boots crunching on the dirt. He was brought to his feet and shoved forward, barely given time to see a dreadfully familiar face. Oh. He was in trouble now, wasn't he? That thought only lasted a second before he was on the ground again, head tilted back with Zartear speaking over him. He remained silent through the speech, surprised that the king remembered his name from the one time that they had spoken, however briefly, though almost laughed when he was called a criminal. Brave of him to accuse a man on his knees with hands bound, Vann thought darkly.

Suddenly, the conversation was turned over to him, and for a handful of dumbfounded seconds, Vann realized that he was supposed to reply. What had he done? His first thought was to say nothing at all, but that excuse fell silent before it could even make it to his throat. "I…"

'A tiny pebble is nothing remarkable on its own, but look wider and farther and see that even the greatest of mountains are nothing without the insignificant souls that reside within them.'

Clearing his throat and running his tongue over his split lip, Vann started again, this time his voice coming stronger than he could have ever suspected. "I refused to be struck." It was simple and truthful, and boldly he met Zartear's gaze, though took a second to access the two men standing behind him, one a huge bolder of a man and the other of a more manageable and normal size before looking at the king again. "So I defended myself."

'Spray upon the surf, but low beneath the waves lurks a deeper mystery. Artful and boorish, two sides of the same coin, forever at war yet one and whole. Lubberly and lovelorn of war, a childish heart masked by keen intellect and keening blade, follow the eyes for the body betrays what the mind would dare to cover. The second key a duplicitous span of savvy craft and twisting tongue, a creeping mite among the skirts that seeks to spread the wings of eminence. And where among the trough and crest will you fall, little fish? Hanging by the spider's web still, confront the weaver and strike your torch to carve a path beyond the forest.'

Khonsu stops playing as she hears the commotion. Thinking it an opportune time she lets the harp disappear back into her wrist. Placing her hand on Anup she lets the jackal to stay where he was. Rising she saunters closer to the group, she was interested on how Zartear would handle it.

She gives a small smile at the spectacle, of the king being followed by to unlikely of people. She snaps her finger to call Anup to her side, the sun glinting of the gold collar.

The snap cause some of the guards around the king to turn around and look her over. She stood there with her hands clasped in front of her looking much like a courtier then she truly was.

"You woman what are you doing?" One of the guards approach her. Anup bares his teeth, the hackles rise on his back making him look like a black sleek porcupine.

"I wouldn't draw closer he may lose a finger," she gives him a cocky smile. "Or maybe more." Her voice had a lilt of an accent, but also of no fear of those around her. She almost hoped that it would draw needed attention to her instead of those who also vie for the spot of tactiction. Though it is not the spot she really wanted she would continue to work up the ranks if she must, and she will. She looks past the guard to the three men beyond.

"Do you threaten me?"

"No, I give you sound advice to proceed cautiously."

Anup gives a vicious snarl, causing the guard to take a step back. The retreat only made Khonsu smile more.

Andyr had narrowed his eyes when Atoro spoke so brashly about 'barbarian' tactics. His people had not come down to defend the Southlands. What did Atoro know of his people and their style of fighting? He almost called the man out on his slander which, of course, would have ended violently were it not for the interruption of some problems with the slaves. He followed Zartear obediently, after all, he had given his life and loyalty to the man in exchange for that which he desired in life.

Once outside, he took pleasure in the expressions of some of the guards, many of whom he'd harmed. Disbelief was not quite it, disgust was close, but shock was what really registered. Here they thought their King would have done away with the stupid barbarian. Of course, Andyr didn't hate the men. Those that had come into the fight had just been doing their job, but he remembered the faces of those that slandered him, and he'd make sure he made it clear to those men that he was neither stupid, nor at all adverse to the idea of making their lives hell. That is, of course, if he didn't have better things to do.

All the anger was from Atoro's comment on his people and their tactics and the assumption that they had a hand in the terrible defeat that had happened just days ago.

Zartear's display of fairness distracted the barbarian, which was good, else he would have started a fight with Atoro. Curiosity replaced seething anger and he looked upon the man on the ground.

He was a slave that got tired of being disciplined, and so struck back? Andyr smirked. If all slaves followed after him, there would be another battle on the heels of the last, and an even bigger massacre, as these people were unarmed and weak. If the slaves revolted, the city would not be rebuilt. Had they given themselves to the Suhranians when they came marching in, maybe they would be contracted workers, under better conditions, rather than slaves. Of course, they weren't told that they were slaves, but they weren't trusted either. Such a tenuous thing that could easily collapse.

"I like him" Andyr said and looked to Zartear. "Criminal or not, he is strong. Maybe Man..." he said and gave Atoro a sidelong glance. "He wants stopping being hit? Make him hitter. Let him be Discipline. He fails? String up and beat with oars. Like for boats.".

Everything was so simple to Andyr. Jakthundar could be trained, Varghundar could be tamed. Becoming a Man was not easy. One had to go through a trial. Something difficult, mentally, physically and emotionally. It might have been true that Andyr was a bit sadistic, but only because that was how he was raised. The worse the punishment, the better the motivation. The worse the trial, the better the Man.

There was some commotion behind him, and he was about to turn when he heard the soft contralto of a female voice. Ah, a woman. He looked over his shoulder, down at her breasts and snorted. Not big enough for his tastes, which meant she wasn't worth his time or attention. He refocused his attention and looked at Zartear. "I can beat him with oars. I am good."

Atoro was quietly pleased that Zartear had taken his advice to see to the growing commotion nearby; already he knew he had been given a waver of power, and such a thing could only grow. Would only grow. That, and he hadn’t been immediately dismissed on the spot- even following Zartear like a dog was a step up from the ignored mercenary. It niggled at him that the great brute Andyr was also similarly commanded, but no matter. It was obvious the man was no threat to his position as tactician- which he was going to assume was now his, unless Zartear suddenly decided he was going to choose another- not that it would be of any benefit to him, of course. Atoro was confident of his skill, and so far he hadn’t come across any rivals worth even the first glance he had taken.

He could feel the anger emanated from the big barbarian next to him; what a pleasing result. He himself was hardly phased by the judgement that he had heard for himself. That indeed was more interesting to him than whatever rebellious whelp had been the cause of the commotion he had started. However, watching how Zartear would deal with him would be most interesting. One slave would hardly prove much trouble in the long run- he could be made an example of with a punishment, and any thoughts of rebellion would be quashed instantly. These natives were soft and had been coddled for hundreds of years- hardly the sort to be any more than a prick in the hide of the Surahnian Rebellion.

Mere pinpricks such as Andyr’s jibes. He caught the man’s glance and, this time, rewarded him with a disappointed look. Why, was that really how far he was going to sink, to refer to some pathetic tribal system that he was supposed to take offence to? No wonder it had been such a breeze conquering the west of the island.

As he had been doing all the time since in the garden, he was keeping tabs on the rest of what was occurring, and where people were. So when he heard the snap of someone’s fingers nearby, then a smooth voice he turned slightly, letting the others discuss whatever barbaric punishments Andyr had thought up. Oars, really? The woman looked to be little more than a courtier- another one of Zartear’s harem, no doubt. Nevertheless, she was too close. Although women obviously weren’t as skilled in the art of battle as men, they had the unpleasant habit of gossiping- and Atoro knew that what they had been speaking of would do no favours for them all in the common hands of the slaves and underlings working under Zartear and his generals. There was little need to know that there was such a rift between himself and a giant of a swordsman (who was bound to earn himself some sort of reputation sooner rather than later), which would only damage their reputations.

“The same advice to yourself, woman,” he said, looking her up and down. “That mongrel is of little interest to anyone other than yourself, and I’m sure we could find someone willing to rid you of it.” It was of no use for war- too thin to make a good dog for war; its bones would break under the first blow of a sword. “Now, if you want to keep your flea-bag, I would find somewhere else to stand.”

Zartear was having second thoughts now, he raised his brows in mild surprise, still looking down on Vann. As much a barbarian as he was, Andyr blended in well with the ethic of the Surahnians and the idea was mildly amusing. Stringing up this spirited one to beat him with, oars? Whatever did the trick. This kind of "spirit" may seem favourable but there was a fine line between that and...well, common slave disruption.

Though, that's not what they called them anymore. There were simply low ranking people and high ranking ones now, another thing Zartear had been pressing. While it was required for everybody to know their place without the scheme, every part was considered important within their work.
Zartear looked at him another way, maybe he was just a petty trouble maker...
"Then I will leave you in the hands of Andyr," he began, still struggling with the pronunciation, but he moved on swiftly "I suppose you'll learn the measure of what it is to be a subject in the Kingdom. Such is the fairness that I rule with..."
And in turn, I will find the measure of him.
Really, he was quite glad. This nobody-Vann had never quite sat well with him when they had met in the square, he openly challenged him yet kept just the slightest amount of modesty to make action against him seem irrational. Frustrating.
"So you, Andyr believe you can make this...hound...into someone more...respectable?"

The idea was interesting, turning the criminals to the enforcers with, well, force. It quite appealed to Zartear. Given the chance maybe the murmurs of resistance that remained in the few and far between people could be harnessed more effectively.
"Befitting. I see you will serve me well. Do what you need to do. Maybe then I will learn more of you." He then thought for a moment, "Maybe you ought learn...from him too. Nobody speaks common...so well as the common." He added with a twist of disdain toward Vannelson.

Yes, he now felt content he could keep this bizarre brigand of novices to the Surahnian way, occupied.
But do not be content.

Khonsu looks to Artoro, and agve no hint if his words effect her in any way. She did not take it lightly when someone threatens her, Anup. Let alone insulting him. "Though sound advice little boy, who would lick at the heels of his master. You think yourself independent but really your not. Beside I would stop waggling my tounge or I will rip it from your mouth myself." She looks back at the guard to see if he will do anything.

Advancing on her again, she grabs the guards arm starttling him. "I told you to back off." Squeezing she could feel the bone under her hand begin to give and break with a large snap. With a yank she pulls the guard to her and with a dancers grace she spins pullign the guard with her she flings him away from her and Anup. Dusting off her hands she looks back at the men.

"Do you still want to mouth off to me little boy or I can see how far I can throw you next... by your tounge." Anup gives a sound that sounded oddly like a laugh or close enough to it.

He had been sure that his refusal to be put down would result in immediate death. That was what happened to prisoners that fell out of line, right? Or at least that’s what he’d been lead to believe. He had a personal chuckle at Zartear’s insistence that he was common born. H could probably trace his lineage back father than this warrior king, a long line of nobility rooted in the history of Dragons Cove, but that would bring no comfort to him at the moment to bring up that particular fact. It wasn’t like he could access his family’s wealth or power if hey hadn’t all killed themselves already in a struggle for inheritance.

‘A structure split in half or twain will crumble no matter the foundation. A carpenter may say that he could patch the hole but forever will you look upon the cracks and remember the quake that brought the world to its knees.’

Surprise came when the huge barbarian spoke, though the momentary relief at hearing that the large man ‘liked’ him quickly turned to a mild sense of horror. Was he really suggesting hitting him with an oar as a punishment? He supposed it couldn’t be any worse than being whipped, but it was just so… outlandish. Vann waited a heartbeat to see if the voice in his head had anything to say about this development, but if it had any witty commentary on the use of oars for disciplinary action, then it was staying silent in that matter. Zartear didn’t make the situation any better, handing him over to the barbarian’s charge for safe keeping… as a teacher. He was educated enough of course and knew two languages himself, but still! All of a sudden imprisonment and beheading seemed better, if the barbarian claimed to like him.

‘Bewildered by a first glance, how shallow are your eyes? You who claim a pious soul, you who turns belief to lies? Toil and sweat, blood and breathe, dedicate your life to your creed. Yet when the test of morality looms on a darkened horizon, how laughably frail is the roof under which you shelter.’

Vann was now convinced that the voice in his head was his moral conscience, because he felt guilty after that latest bit of abstraction. He had let his first impression of the big barbarian color his judgment. Calming his fear, Vann licked his split lip again. “Thank you for the opportuni-” His words were interrupted by a sharp scream of pain, and he looked up to see a scantily clad woman that looked like she belonged in a pleasure house rather than breaking a man’s arm. Dumbfounded was the best description for his reaction to the scene. He’d never seen a woman wear so little clothing in all his life.

‘Lost in life and lost in form, a soul stuck in the shifting skies. Held back by mortal strife and tempered grace, a sad soul sings of simple pasts and childish dreams.

Vespira had been sitting calmly in her room. Her legs tucked under her. It wasn't really a room, more of a cell. However, they couldn't call it that. She had after all decided to join these rebels freely. From one prision to another. She'd been bound in chains, and had been held in one of the buildings in Quinsilla when Zartear had arrived. One of the men had freed her initially deciding to have her as a sex slave. However, when he'd 'discovered' her magic, his ideas for her had changed. Instead he'd decided to have her work for the rebels.

When the door opened, a rough voice broke the girl's concentration, however she remained floating in the air calmly. "You, girl. Come with me, we have a few injuries to be attended to," he spoke gruffly. Vespira didn't speak, instead she stood and 'walked' down the air to the floor delicately, like a ballerina. She kept her eyes down as she walked behind the man, passed the way to the gardens and towards the area outside of it. Of course, as they were walking past the enterance to the gardens, a sharp scream echoed through the air. The soldier jumped, however Vespira remained as calm as before.

The soldier growled to himself, and grabbing the girl's arm he shoved her down the way towards the garden. "Deal with that first," he snarled. With that said, the soldier left to walk away and Vespira did what was asked of her. Glidding down the way, she walked through the garden silently. When she saw still nothing, she kept going towards the slaves. It wouldn't be the first time she'd gone this way, though normally at night to heal the slaves without anyone knowing. Sighing silently to herself, she was shocked to see what she walked into.

There was Lord Zartear, and he was accompanied by a large beast of a man, and a much more normal one. There was also the man that her Lord was questioning, and of course another women who had broken the arm of the man who had screamed. So that was why she'd ended up having to come down here. There was a little trouble was there? She stood there quietly for a moment till she was sure no one was going to speak. That way she didn't interupt the men. She knew how to act infront of those higher up, and of the different gender.

"Excuse me my Lord Zartear," she said in her soft voice. She curtsied lowly and with her head down in complete submission. "I was pulled from my room to heal those that needed it. How would you ask of my services, noble king?"

Talk about 'knowing thy place'. The Man-to-be had started to thank him for Lord Zartear's generosity when the woman behind them broke a man's arm simply for a show of dominance. How funny, Andyr thought, that a woman would try and show dominance when it is clear that she will never have any. He turned now, irritated that the woman had both interrupted this Vann-son from talking and the natural flow of what was to be the men's conversation. What was even worse was that the woman had dared laid a hand on the guard to begin with. He was doing his job and she was following, a hanger on.

Like a tick, he thought darkly.

He reached for his swords, and had he had them on his person, would have killed either her or her mutt. Instead, he grasped empty air and more frustration boiled up. His face went tight and he turned, holding out a hand to a guard in front of him. The man goggled but under Andyr's heavy stare, eventually realized he wanted his sword. Of course, the guard hesitated, but in short order, the sword was in Andyr's hand. He gripped it tightly, minding not the weight, and turned to look at the scantily clad woman.

She cries out for attention with her sad body baring all and her sad attitude bearing not enough, he thought. And if he could have intimated that in Common, he would have. Andyr was not the kind of man to hold back what he thought of people, but he didn't know enough of the language and he was loathe to sound like more of a buffoon than he looked.

"Know. Your. Place." he growled and leveled the sword at her. That he was probably defending Atoro and siding with the man had not really occurred to him. But Atoro was male, and that made it unthinkable for this woman to go running off at the mouth at him, or breaking this man's arm for doing his job.

Andyr would love for her to try to break his bones, or to throw him. That sword would be halfway down her torso before she could blink. That mutt would meet a sadder fate. Andyr had kicked in the heads of dogs before.

His eyes barely skimmed over the figure of the new woman, but she was neither his type nor disrespectful, so he kept his focus on the other female, leaving Zartear to answer his subject.

Atoro was going to do anything but take Khonsu’s words without a reaction, and hardly before she was finished speaking he had ripped his sword from its sheath at his side and was levelling it at her throat. Her show of apparent strength was wasted on him, fury boiling up inside him. How dare a woman speak in such a way to him?
“Woman, if you have a wish to feel my sword through your throat and a slow death to follow, speak again.” He ignored the writhing guard nearby, all his anger tunnelling his vision to the one scantily-clad woman and her incessant dog. She had no place at a meeting here, apart from as eye candy, and eye candy was supposed to be only that- not a yapping menace.

He dully recognised another woman had come up to speak with Zartear- how many bloody females were suddenly growing their own opinions?- and his eyes transferred to her briefly, flicking up and down. Blonde hair- nice. He snapped his fingers together, calling her over to deal with the incapacitated guard that Khonsu had broken the arm of.
“Deal with him,” he said brusquely, scowling again at Khonsu, sword still levelled her direction. And then another was laid next to his, pointing downwards, which only meant… Andyr was backing him up? He shot the giant a questioning (but not standoffish, he wasn’t going to refuse the help of such a man) look, one eyebrow raised, then looked back to Khonsu, a smirk on his face.
“Care to disagree?”

((Short post is short :/))

The clicking and creaking of wood as the wheels turned of his cart was the only thing really making noise as Eythil made his way down the streets that once used to be glorious. Glancing from side to side he could only give a gentle sigh in defeat at how the place now looked. The were guards around almost every corner that gave him a glance but not much else. Luckily for Eythil he was of the upper class that had lived in Racksom, a merchant to the wealthy and for whatever reason that gave him at least a little more breathing room once the city had stopped being under attack. After the dust had begun to settle, Eythil wanted to leave his home to travel once more. He was a free trader, one who sold goods to both the DDC and SR. He needed to provide for his wife and newly born daughter and that wasn't cheap where they lived. They way he saw it, picking sides wouldn't be profitable. Both needed clothing and food, right?

His first plan of business was to speak to the new current leader about trading deals and a set up if he so wished it. He wasn't sure what kind of person this Zartear was but he was still a man in charge of a city which needed provisions. Sound enough logic for this merchant to try and speak with the man. Eythil figured he had a better chance than a peasant, being well dressed and groomed. He stood just over six foot and had a average build. His dark hair and eyes showed nothing out of the average minus a small scar he had obtained over the years on his right temple. Recalling the events of how he got it though were fuzzy at best.

As his cart came closer to the middle of the city he started to hear a lot more noise, it was here that the peasants were held and contained to work or be held for punishment for not listening. He saw Zartear and many others he did not recognize and waited until he saw a chance to talk to the new leader.

Vespira remained silent with her eyes on the ground. She wouldn’t look the higher ups in the eyes, that was disrespectful. She knew better than to do that, especially around her king. She didn’t look up when the man who was more of a normal size drew a sword on the women. She didn’t look up when the giant man backed him with her own. She didn’t look to the blond haired peasant who was kneeling on the ground, nor at her king himself. She watched her shoes and kept her mouth shut. She was a women, she knew her place, and knew not to stray from it. Else she may regret it, and she knew she would. Just by hearing the men. She’d been with Zartear’s group for long enough to know not even to steal a glance at the other woman.

Vespira did however cast a small glance to the blond haired man. She wasn’t sure what his name was, but he was rather handsome for just a peasant. She didn’t show the small smile, but her eyes flashed for a mere second with a longing. However, it was only a memory of her brother that brought that emotion to her eyes. It was gone as quick as it came however, and she only nodded when the man who she wasn’t sure his name was, the normal sized one, spoke to her and motioned to the wounded soldier on the floor. “Pardon me, sirs,” she said excusing herself and putting as much respect into her voice as possible. She didn’t want to cause any trouble.

Walking slowly with her head down, Vespira went to the soldier on his back and kneeled down and rested her palm over his forehead. “Sir,” she spoke in a soft voice, low enough to not bother the other members in the hall, “I’ll have you fixed up in a moment.” She would then begin to speak softly under her breath. Low enough to not interrupt anyone, and not let anyone hear the words she spoke. The young mage would finish and wave her free hand over the man’s arm, everything correcting itself. She shuttered slightly as her energy would began to drain, but it wouldn’t be as much as a more powerful spell. She would then smile at the soldier, her eyes still down and away from his face. He would have relaxed the moment she’d touched him, and once she would finish she’d be swift to remove her hand. From there, the girl would stand back up from kneeling and nod to the men again slowly before stepping back out of the way.

“Can I offer you anything else my king?”

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