ＦＡＤＩＮＧ ＩＮＴＯ ＡＳＨ ＡＮＤ ＤＵＳＴ

[norm]

⌜ xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo ⌝

ＢＥＩＮＥＴＨＩＥＬ
ｃａｐｔａｉｎ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｇｕａｒｄ

______________________________________
age: twenty two
gender: female
kingdom: istoth
rank: captain
mood: tired
action: keeping to her self
somewhat leonidas
________________________________________

“ＴＨＥ ＴＲＵＥ ＳＯＬＤＩＥＲ
ＦＩＧＨＴＳ ＮＯＴ
ＢＥＣＡＵＳＥ ＳＨＥ ＨＡＴＥＳ
ＷＨＡＴ ＩＳ ＩＮ ＦＲＯＮＴ ＯＦ
ＨＥＲ， ＢＵＴ ＢＥＣＡＵＳＥ
ＳＨＥ ＬＯＶＥＳ ＷＨＡＴ
ＩＳ ＢＥＨＩＮＤ ＨＥＲ．”

― Ｇ．Ｋ． ＣＨＥＳＴＥＲＴＯＮ

⌞ xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo ⌟

Beinethiel let the guards bind her hands and feet because she was just to tired to try and fight back. A heavy sigh came from her lips as she leaned over and rested her head upon her bloody knees. The murmuring of voices was drowned out inside her thoughts as he rolled her head back and forth between her legs. Ignoring the talking surrounding her she bit her lower lip in thought. We lost. We lost. We lost. Ran over and over again in her head like a broken record. It sounded harsh and bone-chilling. Those words were the ones she didn't even want to think of someone saying. The she-elf soon snapped back into reality and lifted her head. Surprised by the blinding light, Bay squinted in time to see the Prince walk by, tear stained. She was caught off guard when he started talking to Evan. Shrugging heavily, she glanced at the commotion coming towards them. Ryder. And here we go again the little voice in side her head talking. We lost. We lost. We lost. Beinethiel frowned her brow when the shape-shifter was awed that the elf was still alive. Almost making a snide comment she held her tongue since it wouldn't make the matter any better. She shook her head downwards after watching everyone engaged in their own conversation and little old Bay here was content by herself. After a few welcomed moments of solitary thinking, Beinethiel swallowed hard and glanced to Leonidas. He wasn't that bad looking actually. I can't like him. Stop. He was a warrior for the other kingdom. Seulghem. A dirty little kids kingdom. The only reason they won because that had more men. Istoth always had more heart. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the mere foot-soldier whom had almost killed her but, then again he also saved her life afterwards. A gust of wind sent a enjoyable chill down her sweaty neck and cool her heated body and wounds down somewhat. The elf curtly sighed again and finally spoke up with a stern voice. "Can I at least have some water?" The question was more directed at Leonidas more than anyone else because she knew he was kind enough to get her some.

[sparky246]

Min Rowanaway
Female|20 | Shapeshifter
Trade Emissary | Currently staying in Seulghem

Min Rowanway was a lithe figure, prowling the outskirts of the bloodstained field. The sleek-furred panther waltzed with a grace possessed only by felines. Ignored by the foot soldiers, and respected by the cavalry, Min approached the fallen king with slow steps. To fall in battle has always been considered a waste by Min's people, but not a shame. He had fallen protecting his country, and perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing, Min reflected. The Seulghem King had been kind and friendly to Min, despite her unconventional attire and attitude. Min rubbed her cheek against the King's face once as a gesture of affection and respect, but didn't dare to linger. Healers were coming, no doubt ordered by the Prince. In fact, a cart could be seen in the distance, picking its way through the carnage. Min walked away from the fallen ruler, smoothly changing to her humanoid form.
Her skirt was made from many layers of orange and brown fabrics, and all but the top layer had stayed that way. The outermost layer of her skirt, previously a burnt orange, was now the black pelt of a panther. Sighing, Min removed the cumbersome fur and folded it until the pelt could fit inside her bag. The bag was made of a dark brown, coarse fabric and its long strap was slung across her body, hanging from her shoulder. The slim redhead received many looks, ranging from boredom to shock. Those who knew Min were aware of her shapeshifter status, but most soldiers had never met one. Well, they probably had, but didn't know it. It wasn't often you found a shifter who used their abilities whenever they felt like it. Most felt as if they would be discriminated due to their power, with good reason.
Of course, growing up on an island where at least a third of your people had some sort of magic ability tended to lower one's ability to care about what others thought of you. As Min walked through the battlefield and towards the Seulghem side of the field -after all, she couldn't travel to Istoth until negotiations were finished- her barefeet dodging fallen weapons, she looked around for anyone she knew.

(Sorry for the awkward sentences, most of this post was done in a hurry. All of today I've been really busy, and I had no access to CS over the weekend.
Anyone want to RP with Min?)

[Greenleaf]

Ｔ ｕｉｌｉｎｎｏｒ Ｓ ｗａｌｌｏｗｆｌｉｇｈｔ

ａｎ ➵ ｅｌｆ ｏｆ Ｓｅｕｌｇｈｅｍ

Tuilinnor Swallowflight
257 years old
Dressed in blue shirt, dark green hunter's
tunic, brown leggings and boots as well as
a gray cloak
Armed with a bow, a dagger and a long knife
Confused and slightly wounded

T uilinnor was quite shocked, but nonetheless relieved when the other elf hesitated and finally lowered their bow, before removing their helmet to expose a full female identity. So evidently Seughem does accept female warriors, now, a rather detached part of Tuilinnor noted as he looked over the female elf, scrutinizing her; she definitely was a solider, what with her finely made weapons to her evidently combat-made armor. He was further surprised when she responded to his retort with a jab of her own.

"Aye, but I do not believe that I am quite willing to make myself bait for your army; why not use yourself if you are so desperate in luring over Istoth?" he responded with a relatively straight face, though he made his words in laughing jest. "I am Tuilinnor, by the way," he added as an afterthought.

The conversation was abruptly cut off, however, when a very unexpected heat wave suddenly rolled over them so violently that Tuilinnor staggered a bit. When he found his footing, there was suddenly smoke everywhere, and distant shouts and screams of terror were erupting from the battlefield.
He immediately rubbed at his stinging eyes, clearing them slightly from his obscured vision, and when he peered through the thick black air, he noticed the cause of the smoke; there was a dragon, a huge dragon right there in the middle of the battlefield, spewing fire from its mouth and snarling in a harsh, furious voice while Seulghem's soldiers fled before it. Tuilinnor knew that there were such things as dragons, but in all of his 257 years he had never seen one before. Wild ones were already extremely difficult to find and impossible to tame, so how on earth did Istoth get a fire drake to fight for them?!

This is evidently some sort of shapeshifter, though never before have I heard of any skin-changer with the ability to transform into such a dangerous creature, the elf conceded.

But he could afford to let himself get distracted, now; the grass around them, already so dry and brittled from the sun, was flaring up as easily as tinder; the smoke was getting so thick that his lungs were beginning to burn up, making him cough. And the forest... the very place he had lived for his entire life, the place where he had earned his living and lifestyle, was already going up into flames.
Flee this place! his mind seemed to scream, and every instinct was poised on the edge of escaping, but suddenly he remembered the female elf he had been talking to. Where was she?

As if on cue, a voice screamed, "Follow me!" and then suddenly he was running from the battlefield, following that female elf of all things. It seemed as if the feminine solider had gone mad with some sort of desperation, as she was sprinting through the burning forest's undergrowth and dodging flying debris as easily as a fleet-footed deer. Tuilinnor felt completely clumsy, on the other hand; every single one of his senses was disoriented and he felt as though he was choking on his own breath. He had experienced numerous wildfires in the woodland before, of course, but those had been caused by careless human hunters and were all very small. But this, this was dragon-fire, and it ate up the trees and the rest if the flora with a frightening ease, until it seemed that the whole world was burning. It was all he could do but blindly follow the woman.

Without warning, it seemed as if he had been punched in the back, and suddenly his quiver was on fire; he had been hit by a burning branch. He immediately dived to a patch of ground that wasn't burning and quickly rolled over, hearing the unmistakable sizzle of flames being abruptly put out, but it was too late; a shot of agony pierced through his right shoulder and he couldn't help but give a low hiss of pain as he struggled to his feet, gripping the throbbing injury.
To his surprise, when he looked up there was a small village lying right there in the burning forest, though it was in ruins; all the houses had crumbled in on themselves and the elf he had been following had darted into one of them, already sobbing with grief. Bewildered and very confused, Tuilinnor followed her, albeit more warily. When he found the warrior, she was inside the house cradling a small, broken body covered in ash, an elderly human woman crouched with her. One look at the child in the soldier's arms confirmed Tuilinnor's thoughts; the young one had already died. The female elf didn't seem to notice anything else, though, even after Tuilinnor entered the wrecked room.

But the fire was still burning on with no signs of stopping; a few more minutes and the entire house would crash upon them. Hesitantly Tuilinnor nudged the female's shoulder, unsure of what to do in this situation.

"My lady?... We need to go. This building will be collapsing soon. There's no saving the child, she's already given up her spirit to the heavens," he tried, fumbling in his efforts at comfort.

tags: Merideth

(This is so weirdly long and all ramble-y and ugh. Sorry...)

[duckworth]

♛

♛

ＥＶＡＮＧＥＬＩＮＥ
Princess Evangeline "Evan" Blythe
female | eighteen | Isoth
tagged: (mostly) Aeron, Alvere
being held hostage
feeling very helpless right now
no crush & single
❝ If we don't end war, war will end us. ❞
- H.G. Wells
format © vita.anima

Evangeline was feeling unhappily desperate. Her ramblings hadn't convinced the prince of anything. That much was clear, and Evangeline was hoping she wasn't imagining Aeron looking at her maybe a little bit gentler than before. His anger didn't show as prominently on her face anymore, but still, Evangeline knew that there was fury bubbling his heart at the death of his father. Feeling the irresistible urge to cry, Evangeline bit the inside of her cheek so hard it began to bleed, all to try and keep her emotions bottled up and to stop the tears from flooding out. She wasn't sure why she was crying. She was oddly at peace with dying; it didn't really bother her, for some odd reason. So Evangeline had absolutely no idea why she was about to crack, the waterfall threatening to plunge from her eyes. Evangeline felt sick, so absolutely nauseated and lightheaded when she looked at Prince Aeron. Part of it was guilt, part of it was something she couldn't put her finger on, and part of it was just overall concern, for nobody and nothing in particular. Evangeline would die quite willingly, not that she wanted to, but she had thought long enough that she accepted her predictable fate of being potentially tortured and executed out of hate and anger. But she didn't want the other hostages to die. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel this entire thing was her fault.
Feeling horribly dizzy, Evangeline clutched her head, nearly pulling her hair out of her scalp. Wincing, she stopped gripping at her head to prevent herself from damaging her lovely locks, instead gripping her nails into her cheeks, using so much pressure that she ended up drawing blood. Evangeline was surprised when she accidentally hurt herself. She had never done anything like it before, but she supposed stress made people do crazy things, and she was certainly in a stressful position right now.
Hurriedly attempting to wipe the blood away from her face before anyone saw the light, shallow scratches, Evangeline covered her face, taking a deep, shaky breath. Finally recovering enough to breathe slowly and calmly again, Evangeline risked uncovering her face for a split second, her eyes glazing over as she stared at Prince Aeron. Feeling an unhealthy amount of hatred bubbling up in her, Evangeline forced herself to look away before she exploded. And yet, somehow, she didn't think it was Aeron she was directing her hate towards.

Glancing around her, Evangeline met eyes with the member of the Royal Guard, a man she had spotted countless times near the prince and talking to him. "Sir, please, when are we going to the Seulghem prisons?" Evangeline carried herself well, finally calming down enough to speak properly and politely. She had no love for her captors, but didn't exactly hate them either, finding herself surprisingly indifferent. Her emotions were bouncing all over the place today, and Evangeline blamed it on her injury making her woozy from pain. Sighing, with a bite of impatient sarcasm in her voice, Evangeline added to the Royal Guard soldier, "And what sorts of torture do you have in mind for the enemy princess of Istoth?"

♛

♛

♚

♚

ＬＥＯＮＩＤＡＳ
Leonidas "Leo" Gorgon
male | twenty | Seulghem
tagged: lost track and too lazy to check
with the hostages
watching over the prisoners
no crush & single
❝ When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die. ❞
Jean-Paul Sartre
format © vita.anima

Leonidas rolled his shoulders, feeling soreness and bruises already spreading into his body. His leg was still bleeding, but he didn't bother worrying about it. It was a long and bloody cut, but just a cut, nothing more. The bleeding had already slowed, and though it was still dripping, it didn't hurt nearly as much as it did before, unless Leonidas put an irregular amount of weight on it. That wouldn't happen unless he happened to balance on one foot with his injured leg, but that was unlikely.
Glancing around, Leonidas shifted closer to the hostages. Unlike many of the other men, he didn't hate the prisoners. He didn't want to see them dead. Prince Aeron hated the elf because she killed many of Seulghem's soldiers, but the same could be said for Prince Aeron himself. He had slayed many Istoth warriors in battle, which gave the Istoth army plenty of reasons to hate the Seulghems as well. Leonidas took to reasoning and logic where others took to passion, but that didn't mean Leonidas didn't have strong emotions. He just tried to keep them held back and bottled up so they didn't affect his decisions in a negative manner.
Probably the only man in the general vicinity not looking at the prisoners of war with a hot-blooded, furious, accusatory glare, Leonidas leaned against his sword, feeling exhausted and drained from today's events. Barely hearing one of the prisoners speak, he turned his head at the last second, realizing the female elf he had nearly killed, then saved, speaking to him. Blinking, he realized she was asking for water. Obediently unclipping a leather flask from his belt, he handed it to her, offering her a tiny nod. "You can keep that, by the way, in case you're ever thirsty again."
Stretching, Leonidas left the flask full of water with the prisoner, not bothering to try and help her by opening it. He was sure she wouldn't want help—she seemed very proud—and besides, it couldn't be that hard to open a flask, even with bound hands.

♚

♚

[Keriae]

◤--------------------◥
ＡＬＶＥＲＥ.
male :: royal guard :: twenty :: seulghem
tagged - leonidas, ryder
◣--------------------◢

Now that the dragon shifter had been sorted out, it was time to pack all of the hostages into one cart and get on their way. Aeron seemed preoccupied by his thoughts and when that happened it was always Alvere that got things done for him: he was the one who always remained calm (well, calmish) and he was a captain of the Royal Guard. It was practically his duty to prepare the Army to leave after the battle, with the help of the other Royal Guards. He could see them organising the troops into straight lines, making sure that the carts were in the middle for their protection. They would be travelling slow - with all the wounded they couldn't afford to travel fast and potentially injure them further. The march after the battle was always a slow one.

"Leonidas, come move this hostage into a cart." He ordered, and briefly looked down to see her rolling now that he had soaked her in cold water. She couldn't complain. Soon it would be getting warm and she would dry off. Not to mention he had also washed away dirt from the gaping wound. He could see it now, still leaking blood. She should have been dying from the wound like that, but he could only assume that because she was a shapeshifter that she was hardier.

Moving away, the voice of one of the hostages caught his attention and he looked over. "We are heading out now," he told her, in a neutral, bored tone, "as for torture.... Well, we can't be sure yet. Wouldn't want to ruin that pretty face, would we?" Oh Gods, what was he doing? He was practically flirting with her, on the battlefield! Alvere glanced at Aeron before crouching down. The movement jolted his leg and he knew he shouldn't be lifting, but all the servants were busy. At least the cart was nearby, drawn by the most ragged looking mules. "Now, let me pick you up. The sooner you're all in the cart the better."

[Dark.]

(hopefully this is okay everyone ^^)

Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ Aᴇʀᴏɴ ᴏғ Sᴇᴜʟɢʜᴇᴍ
Currently;; Organising things| Tagged;; Alvere

The bells rang out, echoing around the city in one unified toll. As soon as the procession passed beneath the city gates they were overcome by people. It seemed the entire population of Seulghem had taken to the cobbles to see their fallen leader home. Beggers stood barefoot with wide eyes whilst women wailed and comforted one another - mourning their King just as much as their fallen husbands and lovers. Aeron even spied a few of the less respectable members of society, concealed amongst the shadows as they removed their hats in respect.

Aeron led the procession, keeping his head held high. The streets were full, and he kept his chestnut horse at a slow walk as people hurriedly moved aside. Some reached out as they passed, fingers brushing his horse or his feet and Aeron let them; it was a little consolation he could offer. Alvere rode next to him, with the King's body following in a cart behind. The King's Guard rode at either side of the cart; keeping the commoners away. They would get their chance to say their farewells, but not here, in the middle of the filthy street. Behind that followed a row of footsoldiers and the concealed cart containing the hostages. It was essentially a dark wooden box on wheels, with only a few cracks to let in the light. It was of paramount importance that the hostages were kept out of the prying eyes of the commoners. The lower class always had struck Aeron as fickle creatures; a crowd of mourning supporters could easily transform into an angry mob.

It had been a long walk from the battle field, though they had made good time. After they had loaded the hostages the army had fallen in pretty quickly. Admittedly, Aeron had kept them pressing on at a marching speed; allowing no rest. After all, they had a dead body amongst their midst and the dead do not rest. He had to get the corpse into the hands of the holy brothers before it began to ripen; Aeron was determined to allow his father his dignity.

The procession crawled through the streets, still an impressive number amongst their ranks. Aeron could hear whisperings amongst the crowd, angry threats towards Istoth; however they were hushed and none dare raise their voices. He was glad. Now was not the time for threats and anger. It wasn't long before they were passing beneath the great portcullis, into the Outer Courtyard of the castle. There were no commoners past this point, only castle staff. Aeron felt himself exhale slightly, the mob had kept their calm. The barracks were housed here, and as the army passed beneath it they began to disband.

Aeron carried on, leading the head of the procession through yet another gate and into the Keep. Finally, once everyone was situated in the inner courtyard he turned his mount. Two carts drew to a halt; one containing his father, the other containing the hostages. A handful of footsoldiers stood, ready to help with the hostages. He turned to Alvere, "Get some of the footsoldiers to help you unload the hostages. Put them in the nice dungeons - for now." It sounded strange, but the nice dungeons were just normal cells, one floor below ground level. They were well-lit by torches and candle-lamps. The other dungeons he was referring to were the Black Cells - little more than isolation pits dug in a tunnel deep below the lake. People who went down there never saw daylight again, "And get the master healers to them. We wouldn't want anyone dying before we got the chance to 'talk' to them now would we?" he grinned, "I'll join you shortly." Aeron dismounted, and a servant quickly ran forward to take his horse. As it was led away he turned to Alvere, a grateful smile on his face, "I think I more than owe you a drink after all this!" Aeron had just started to laugh when he heard his mother's voice. Aeron.

Aeron gave a sigh before turning and walking across the courtyard to where the Queen stood. It was fairly evident she had been crying, however now she stood, stoic as ever. His mother's strength never ceased to amaze him. Aeron reached out and embraced her. He took as step back and watched as she made her way over to the King's cart; hand maidens flanking her sides. The brothers were already at work, preparing to move his father's body.

Aeron beckoned some servants forward. He held his arms out and they set to work removing all his heavy plate armour and chainmail. As they worked his chief advisor came forward. It seemed the council urgently wanted to talk to him about something. Aeron dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. It could wait. Finally, all of his armour had been removed; leaving a leather doublet over a white undershirt and brown breeches. His attire was dirty, bloody and sweaty from the battle, but it woud still be better than walking around in full armour. Aeron stepped into some black longboots that were offered to him and refastened Widowmakers swordbelt to his hip.

[Keriae]

◤--------------------◥
ＡＬＶＥＲＥ.
male :: royal guard :: twenty :: seulghem
tagged - aeron, the hostages, the queen
◣--------------------◢

The march had been quick and unrelenting as they followed their previous trail back to their kingdom. This time, however, there was no Royal Guards racing along the column; there was no chattering of foot soldiers, telling of their single victories as was to be expected. The only sound was the steady beating of the marching drum, and even this was drowned out upon reaching the city. The bells were ringing and the streets were full of mourners, the richer wearing their best clothes as they watched the procession and even the filthy lower classes had turned up. No matter their class, all the women were crying and hugging each other. Men were sweeping their hats from their heads and bowing, or standing with their arms around their wives or lovers, dipping their heads as the army passed. The children of the kingdom were unusually quiet, standing with staring eyes and sensing the grief that had taken hold of the entire kingdom with it's cold, squeezing hand.

Alvere ignored them.

Next to him rode Prince Aeron, looking determined. He had pushed the army at a rapid pace and Alvere could only guess that he wanted to return and get his father's funeral sorted before the body began to bloat and rot. In any other battle the dead were left on the battlefield, for they could not be taken back, but this was the King and he could not be left to be picked at by the crows. The whole kingdom had lost not just a leader, but a father figure, their protector, their advisor and their ruler. His strong son would now take his place and Aeron had massive boots to fill.

He too caught sight of the known criminals as they hid out in the shadows, trying to stay out of sight but still wanting to pay their respects. At any other time Alvere would have ordered some men forwards to grab them and arrest them, but this was not the time and so he could only give them brief stares of warning. This would be a prime time to create chaos amidst the despair. But they took notice of his silent warnings and slipped away once they had passed.

Before long they reached the castle and he knew it would not be long before they could rest and get their wounds treated. His own had finally stopped bleeding and had been hastily bandaged with rags, but they would need re-cleaning and redressing soon. However, they still had plenty of work to do and upon reaching the barracks most of the footsoldiers broke away, except those around the hostages cart. The other Royal Guards returned to their posts. The cart was more of a prison of wheels but it had performed it's purpose.

Alvere gave a nod to Aeron and slipped from his steed. Jet had survived the battle and now he would be taken to the Royal Stables, where he could rest and feast upon fresh hay and oats. "I'll look forwards to a soothing drink of ale." He turned and began to order the foot soldiers. There were seven of them, two for each hostage, one to walk behind with a ready sword to urge them onwards and himself to lead the way. He also had the key to the cart and he quickly unlocked the wooden doors. Light flooded into the cart and he looked at all of the hostages before waving his hand. The footsoldiers rushed into the cart.

While they collected the hostages and forced them from the cart - with nothing to cushion the journey, of course - Alvere turned around and saw the Queen. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were red as she wrapped her arms around her son but her posture remained that of a true queen and the Royal Guard could do nothing but respect her. When she released her son she turned to look at him and he touched his finger tips to his head and gave her a quick bow. Then he turned back to the hostages: he didn't dare watch as the brothers began to move the King's body, and he was aware of Aeron behind him being removed of his armour. "Come now, get out of this and you can soon rest, eat and be treated by the master healers." He made no mention of what would be in store for them afterwards. A servant came to remove his own armour but Alvere sent them away: he would do it himself later.

[Dragonette_11]

Ｅｌｉｚａｂｅｔｈ Ａｎｎｅ Ａｒａｂｅｌｌａ

╔═════════════════════════════════════════╗
Ｔｈｉｅｆ | Ｓｅｖｅｎｔｅｅｎ | Ｉｓｔｏｔｈ
╚═════════════════════════════════════════╝

╔══════════╗

In Suelghem's
Dungeons
↽₋⇁
Alone
↽₋⇁
Single &
No Crush

╚══════════╝

Dread. Fear. Anxiety.

The cart of hostages neared Seulghem's boarders with ever thud of a hoof. The once feisty, young girl had simmered down, curled up into a corner of the covered cart. She stilled chewed at her bonds, but now it was out of anxiety, not to free herself. The sound that came to her ears was like the crashing of waves upon the beach during a storm. These were the cheers, cries, and hollers of Seulghem. Moistening her lips, Elizabeth awaited for the journey to stop. Once bright eyes were dulled, lifeless, without emotion like the expression upon her face. Her cheeks seemed to of grown hollow with dread. A blinding light was followed after the cart had come to a halt, and she felt herself being roughly grabbed and led down into the dungeons of Seulghem.

There it was; a cell. An imprisonment of one's heart and soul. Locked behind bars. Locked away from humanity. A man tried to put her in a cell, and didn't succeed until he had received a broken nose. Falling to the ground, Elizabeth gasped for breath as she felt the wind knocked out of her. She made some noise that sounded almost like a snarl, and got up to attack the man again, but was stopped by iron bars.

A whimper escaped her. A whimper from the girl who had just been out there in the heat of the battle, bravely fighting? Oh, yes, even the bravest of people have their fears, though. Elizabeth's was claustrophobia: the fear of having no escape. The blonde headed girl swallowed down a hard lump in her throat, and grabbed the bars with trembling hands that had turned red and splotchy from nerves. A violent rage swept over her and she screamed, shaking the bars with what strength she had left. It, of course, was no use, and she ended up loosing her balance and falling to the ground. Tears streamed down her face, leaving streaks of salty liquid. Sobbing, she held her wound and scooted back into a corner of the cell, curling up into a ball, and tried desperately to convince herself that this wasn't real.

[sparky246]

Min Rowanaway
Female|20 | Shapeshifter
Trade Emissary | Currently staying in Seulghem

Min approached the castle with soft footsteps and a tense aura around her. She wished to grieve as much as the Seulghem civilians, but business was business, and weapon negotiations needed to carry on. Min sighed, a lean figure in the mob of citizens. Weaving through the crowd proved to be no challenge for the slim shapeshifter. Within minutes, Min was decending the stairs into the lower levels of the castle. Most people had been too preoccupied with the funeral cart, but the small prisoner carts hadn't escaped Min's watchful eye. And when there were prisoner carts, there were always prisoners. Which meant someone to talk to.
Most of the castles' inhabitants shunned Min. She supposed she could understand their reasoning; If someone came to Tarrawan wearing the clothes of Seulghem, they would probably be treated like a strange animal as well.
But Min wasn't one to care of others opinions of her. As she wandered into the first level of the dungeons, a muffled sound caught her attention. Sobbing. With a frown, Min marched over to the nearest cell. In the torchlight, Min could just make out the form of a young girl curled in the corner of her cell, crying.
"Hello?" Min called.

(Tagged: Elizabeth)

[Keriae]

◤--------------------◥
ＡＬＶＥＲＥ.
male :: royal guard :: twenty :: seulghem
tagged - elizabeth, min
◣--------------------◢

He had lead the prisoners and their captors down into the dungeons in silence. There was no need to talk. They knew where they were going and no words were going to get them out. He brought a torch with him, and their steps echoed off of the cold stone. It was growing colder and colder the further they went down, but Alvere did not want to risk having them near the entrance, where they could see the way out, or spies from Istoth could find them easier. They needed to be safe and secure until Seulghem was done with them.

They reached the first cell. It was just bars and stone, a simple cell to do the job. The many bars were thick and placed closed together, in order to leave a gap the width of two of his fingers - no one could possibly slip out of that, although hands could hold the freezing bars in desperation. The jingling noise of keys from his belt and Alvere quickly found the right one, slotting it into the lock and opening the cell. A jerk of the head and the first prisoner was brought forwards: the thief who had fought for a kingdom who hated her. She put up a fight, breaking on of her restrainer's nose, but alvere strode over and set it the best he could before they continued. Now the harsh reek of fresh blood followed them.

Soon, every hostage was placed in a cell. There was at least one cell between each one of them, and they were all in a line so that they could not see each other's faces. With them all finally settled in one place, Alvere sent one of the fastest foot soldiers to go and get the master healers. As he waited, he stood nearby the cells, closer to the doors and in a small alcove, one foot resting flat against the wall. It wasn't a big alcove, and he could easily be seen, so when a stranger slipped past the guards at the entrance and continued without even seeing him (bearing in mind he also had a torch) Alvere shook his head and followed, drawing out a long, slim knife from his belt.

He held it out so the point brushed the woman's hair. "Who are you and what is your business with Seulghem hostages?" He'd never seen her before and she didn't look like she belonged to either Istoth or Seulghem, but she was not staying here. She could be gathering information on the hostages, or on the layout of the Palace. She could be a spy in their city, or she could be a murderer, come to kill the King before seeing he was dead and got sidetracked. She could literally be anything and the Royal Guard would not allow her here.