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| Funeral For A Friend; As you sit by my side, confess to me your fears, drink deep in the wreck of me. | |
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| Topic Started: Jul 19 2011, 09:31 AM (662 Views) | |
| Hemlock | Jul 19 2011, 09:31 AM Post #1 |
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The weather was appropriate for the occasion as the mourners gathered on the grounds of Castle Evermore, which up until recently, had been inhabited by its namesake, before his untimely end. The sky was grey, overcast, but yet it did not really look or feel like rain. Even the birds and woodland creatures who inhabited the castle's gardens were silent today. It was as if they knew. Knew that today was a day of mourning for entire nation, and understood to join them. The funeral was to take place behind the castle, where a hole had already been dug, the chasm extending six feet below the surface, sides perfectly straight to suit the casket. Hiding the hole for the moment was a raised platform, on which sat the coffin. The body lay in the ornate box, the deep red cherry oak wood accented by golden fixtures on every part of the pall. Atop this alter, beside the coffin, stood a priest of the Angkarian religion which worshiped the ten spirits of nature. He was clad in a fully black robe of loose, light material, skin heavily tanned and wrinkled from age, long grey hair tied back in a long braid behind his head, the tip spreading out and becoming quite frizzy at the end, and long grey beard braided before him and tied at the end with a simple twine. He wore a black cloth over his eyes as well, a blindfold to cover up his eyes which had lost their function long ago. But he was not blind to the world, for he moved with a conviction and awareness that those of perfect sight and senses would possess. In his left arm he cradled a small instrument, it looked like a large chunk of wood, with a couple octaves worth of keys placed in it, as if it were a miniature organ. His long, decrepit fingers deftly played out a song, a slow-paced dirge ringing out of the instrument, sounding like a choir some sort of incredibly low-pitched flutes, the windy bass notes' slow funeral march being the only sound heard in the air. In front of them were stood the mourners in formation, Hemlock among the first row. He was dressed in all black today, save for the pure clean white of his frilled and ruffled shirt, and the silver of his buttons. The only green on him today was his hair and nails, which never changed. He stood with his hands folded at his waist, back straight, as if at attention, as a sign of respect. Of course, no one knew the truth: He was the one responsible for this. It had already been decided that he would be the one to ascend to the throne in the few days since Razarod Evermore's passing, and he had been the one who had hired Sophia to kill him. But with the exception of very few, no one knew that Sophia had been the assassin, no one knew that Hemlock had ordered the hit, and no one knew that Orion had been the one to make it all possible. And no one was going to find out by looking at Hemlock, his expression perfectly blank, a morose brooding disguised absolutely by a layer of stoicism. Alongside of all the mourners stood several dozen of Angkar's Guard, as did the entourages of the dignitaries come to attend from Soto, Morrim, and Ashoka. The priest raised his right hand, silencing his instrument and signifying all of those present to silence themselves, which was not necessary, as they already were quiet, but was custom. "Good afternoon. We have gathered here today to celebrate and mourn the passing of Razarod Evermore, King and founder of Angkar. Although I rarely had the pleasure of meeting him personally, I have heard the many tales of his name. I have heard the stories saying that he was a good man, who deeply loved his country and family until the very end. So as he prepares to go the way of all flesh, let us reflect on his impact in our lives, upon how we knew him, and how he knew us, and our time spent together on this earth. I now give you Hemlock LeFleur, who will eulogize our King, and afterwards, the rest of you may come to gaze upon our fallen friend in turn. You will be free to speak your parting words to him, or share a story of your time together with the rest of us, or simply pass in silence, however it is you prefer to grieve. Afterwards there will be a reception held in the castle hall for anyone who wishes to attend." Hemlock made his way to the alter to take the priest's position, who stepped aside and to the rear, making room for Hemlock, and others in the future, to pass through. He stood for a moment, surveying the crowd of mourners, before speaking. "There is no way I could possibly detail everything that Razarod Evermore meant to us. He truly was a larger than life figure, and touched so many of our lives. At the young age of 23, he founded this great nation of Angkar, and we enjoyed five good, peaceful, prosperous years under his rule. It is clear that I have some very large shoes to fill." Hemlock sighed heavily and smiled grimly before continuing on. "We spent a lot of time together on the job, and I have to say I feel like I was one of the few people truly close to him, possibly even the only one after Kenna departed from the castle. We shared many great times, I just may have even been his best friend. And I know for a fact that he was a great man, always giving, even in the face of adversity. He cared foremost for Angkar, and for Elina, until the very end, these two passions dominating him beyond personal gain or his own power. He was a special breed of person, one who made his own life better by always looking for new ways to make the lives of those he cared about better. I will deeply miss him, and will never stop doing so until the day I pass from the earth myself. If there's anything I could say in conclusion about him, it's that if more people were like him: So courageous, so giving, so friendly, that the world really would be a much better place." Hemlock turned, a single tear struggling to stream from his eye, and he gazed upon the body of Razarod Evermore. He had not lied during his speech... much. His feelings about Razarod's policies aside, he really was a great man, who many would agree did not deserve this fate. But it was a necessary evil. He would save Angkar from stagnation, grow it to strengths Razarod had never even imagined. The time was finally here. He was to be King. |
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| Sophia | Jul 30 2011, 04:51 PM Post #2 |
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High Inquisitor of Ashoka
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Sophia sat near the back, silent for now as she watched without her face betraying any trace of guilt over the fact it was her fault this was happening, or the even bigger secret that Razarod was not actually dead. She had pulled one over on, more or less if not, everyone here and it felt amazing. She usually felt inferior to others, so this chance to wallow in her own superiority was incredibly welcome. But none of that showed, she presented herself as... Well, it wasn't clear, she did not carry herself like a foreign dignitary, quite. She did however stick strictly to the dress code demanded of her for such an occasion. A black veil covered her expressionless face, the hat attached had the brim folded on the left side and a blue rose was attached to it. A long black dress covered the rest of her, going down the whole way to her shoes, also in plain black. The fabric seemed to move faintly in the sunlight, but beyond that did not really stand out much in any way. When Hemlock spoke she made sure to lock eyes with him, and in the corner of her mouth there was an ever so faint curl. Oh, how she could make him squirm if she so desired. But now was not the place. She had her reasons for being here. A she saw it, four main reasons. In reverse order of importance she was here to: Protect Orion. It was an official ceremony and all very formal, but Angkar was some distance from Ashoka, if anyone wanted to try and pull something it would be a good time to try and do so. She doubted anything would happen, but if somebody did try something against the King of Ashoka then she would be ready. Especially at sea, which was probably the most vulnerable leg of the journey. She had always been curious to see how her control of the wind and telekinetic forces would play out against ships. Still, in the end it was easier for her to be here to ensure his safety. She didn't run it past him like this, she just went. But it was good to know that nothing was going to happen, but, as she had realized, this was a very slim chance. Pay her respects. Sure, he was not dead but she needed to present the appearance that she thought she was, anyway, the Razarod she wanted to pay her respects to was dead. She held King Razarod in high regard, because of his taking over Angkar she was saved. If it had not happened like that then the Assassins Guild, Deadly Silence (or rather the section of it she came from) would have been able to hunt her down and kill her. Angkar had formed a haven for her, because of him. Even though it was not the country of her birth, she would always consider herself part Angkarian. Then again, her nationality was a mystery, she knew it but had the paperwork to prove she was from Soto, Morrim or Ashoka. But in her heart, Angkar was very important. Still, she thought Razaord had not done a perfect job, obviously he had been a fair bit off on a few issues, he had someone plot to take over and that did not happen over nothing, no matter how much the new King praised the previous one. Meet the other rulers. So far she had done little on the international stage in her official capacity, this was a chance to show herself to the rest of the world leaders, and examine them, take their measure. This included Hemlock, although the idea that she might make him a little uneasy by her presence was also fun. Most importantly she wanted to keep an eye on Kenna and Elina, she was sure they would be here and there was an issue Elina, as the legitimate heir, might be in some danger. She did not know Hemlock well enough to know for sure, but she was a danger to him, surely? If issues arose, she wanted to be there for them. She felt... Oddly attached to the little princess since their meeting. And a kid needed her mother. She guessed this took precedence, Orion could take of himself, the other rulers didn't matter much and her debt to Angkar was of the past. She did not feel like she had too much to add though, she waited at the back, her eyes watching. It would not be right for her to say anything, she did not really deserve to. Not because of who it was, but because of who she was. The one who 'killed' him? A assassin, a low down killer who had forced and bullied her way up the system? She had no right to speak. |
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| Orion de Lacey | Jul 30 2011, 09:40 PM Post #3 |
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Moghul of Ashoka
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It was extremely difficult for the psychopath to keep the grin from his visage, but he managed, if only just. Staring out at those assembled, he could feel the purr in his throat at the thought that he had orchestrated much of this, from finding a candidate from the throne that he found tolerable to finding the assassin who would be perfect for the job. While Hemlock had technically hired Sophia, he had suggested her, had pushed her on him, even, so that he knew the job would get done. Had he known that she'd managed to pull the wool over his eyes, she would have died at the funeral that very afternoon. But he didn't and chaos was, for the most part, contained. He was dressed in black, naturally, from head-to-toe, but that was how he dressed on most occasions, so it wasn't really a step up. He had, however, donned a tunic and breeches instead of his customary jerkin with the black high-necked, short-sleeved shirt that he generally wore beneath it and the dark loose pants, along with a pair of breeches. No weapons were to be found on Orion's person today, though his scythen wasn't far and, if he needed to, could be called to his side. His hair, as always, fell long and messy, his bangs often fallen against his mismatched eyes. Unfortunately, he was stationed near the front due to his kingship, and though he wouldn't have had it any other way, he would have much rather been near the back, with Sophia. Why she had even come to this event he didn't know - she knew that he could easily protect himself, though it was certainly a possibility that she wanted to be extra cautious - but he hadn't asked, either, and didn't intend to. As High Inquisitor of Ashoka it was entirely plausible for her to be there, as much as it would be for Morrim's advisers to be there for Nero and Isra. Speaking of, the Moghul glanced in their direction, smirking slightly before his eyes returned to Hemlock. He didn't stifle the yawn that nearly snapped his jaw. Yes yes, how unfortunate, Orion thought, looking to the sky as he took comfort in the wind that circumnavigated his body. But how about we move on from this boring little charade? All of this decadence is needless. ~_-_-_~ Unlike the rest of the people surrounding her, Shadow had taken a colourful approach to the mourning ceremonies, mostly because she didn't own any black clothing and wasn't about to shell out money to buy some, either. Besides, funerals were dictated by culture and she didn't consider herself a member of any particular cultures. As such, she had taken to wearing rich colours and thus stood out. But even if anyone said anything she could easily play the "Razarod would not have wanted me to look like the rest of you" card and Drium didn't seem to mind, either. Obviously he had come with her, even if the late king and her thief lover hadn't been on the best of terms for the duration of their pseudo friendship. She was dressed in something that appeared to be half-tunic, half-corset. The garment was long like a tunic with long sleeves, but they puffed out at her wrists and were somewhat baggy at her shoulders, the material, rather than covering them and across, spanning around them and her upper arms, almost like a dress. It inhibited movement to some degree, but she wasn't here to start conflicts like an arsonist starts fires. The sides and back of the garment laced up much like a corset, the turquoise of the garment offset by deep brown ribbon that was also to be found around her wrists, adding to the puffed look of the sleeves. To complete her ensemble she was dressed in chocolate brown leggings and black boots - without all of the finery that she was accustomed to on the footwear. It was a strange feeling to be lacking all of her belts but she didn't complain - after all, this was a time of mourning and some sacrifices had to be made. Shadow wasn't necessarily torn up about Razarod's death - she had yet to cry despite the sadness that had lodged itself in her chest - but, then again, she hadn't been torn up for long about Alex's death, either, and she had been married to him. Still, it was difficult to lose a friend of any kind and, as she sat seated, listening first to the blind man and then to Angkar's future king, she found that her expression was largely blank, her mind focused on other things besides the funeral, likely a reaction to Razarod's death. As her green eyes focused on the sarcophagus, she felt a real wave of melancholy hit her, though she still did not cry. It was truly hard to cry when you had lost so many people in your life. Breathing out a heavy sigh, she settled back into her seat, awaiting the end of Hemlock's speech. She had no definitive opinions about the man but she hoped - sincerely - that he wouldn't run Angkar into the ground. When he finally finished speaking, she glanced towards Drium. When she spoke the words were directed at him though it was clear that she was really just talking to herself. She realized, as she spoke, that the emotion she was feeling was numbness. "I guess I ought to pay respects to his body... You know. 'Cause he's dead." |
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| Xavi | Aug 2 2011, 09:55 PM Post #4 |
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Xavi sat, eyes half-lidded as he listened to the words of remembrance being uttered by Hemlock at the front. He would have liked to close them all the way but being towards the front as he was, he couldn't imagine that his signal of sheer boredom wouldn't have been construed as something utterly rude. Unfortunately for him, the front had been reserved precisely for him and his peers, those with the influence and power to control the majority of Elenlond. For some reason unbeknownst to him, he hadn't counted on being forced to sit at the front as being part of the myriad duties assigned to him upon acquiring his position. He should have known and anticipated; he had, after all, worked in a business where death had quite literally lurked around the corner. But somehow, he hadn't anticipated that it would happen quite so soon, and to someone quite so influential. Idly, he wondered who'd managed to pull off such an impressive feat. He would have liked to meet the perpetrator, so long as it didn't interfere with his other duties. Even he had never tried to assassinate a king before. It sounded like quite a challenge, one he might have even been willing to take up had he not already been bound elsewhere. The Council would kick him off in a heartbeat were he to involve himself in such folly, and he'd worked far too long and too hard to see the careful foundation he'd built crumble into ashes due to one stupid move. As it were, he couldn't say he would haven't minded all too much had he been given an assignment such as that. It would have made this funeral business all the more exciting, at the very least. He could have kept himself entertained during the lengthy speech delivered by Hemlock, soon-to-be King of Angkar, by devising plans, making note of the surroundings. Instead, he was seated here, eyes fixed on the coffin that held the body of the deceased King of Angkar. There wasn't much going through his mind right now concerning this most untimely of deaths. While he couldn't say he was all too pleased -- at least with Razarod, he knew what he'd been dealing with in terms of foreign affairs - he couldn't say that his heart was breaking from sorrow either. Xavi hadn't known the man, not really. He knew his policies, how he would judge any one topic, but he hadn't known the bits and pieces that made up Razarod Evermore outside of the council room. His favorite color, or favorite food? Xavi didn't know in the slightest. Somehow he doubted it was black though, the current color of his attire. He mourned the passing of a fair ruler, it was true, but he didn't mourn the man himself. As for this Hemlock figure....he supposed he ought to begin treating the man with more respect. This was the man with whom he would be dealing with in the future. He would have to play nice and be respectful in front of him, for Soto's sake. Lips thinned a bit at the thought of his country, the white scar over his lips pulled tight at the action. Even though Soto hadn't been part of the war, it had suffered enough already, and he was loath to engage in any action that might potentially spark conflict. They had enough to deal with in the form of Ashokan refugees. So if it meant he had to smile widely and prattle about meaninglessly with this man, he would do it. Beside him, there was a loud yawn. Somewhat surprised, Xavi turned his head to eyeball the brunet next to him, currently making no move whatsoever to hide his boredom. He's got balls. A ghost of a smile touched his lips and he turned back to the face the front, settling further back into his chair, but not before he murmured quietly: "On the bright side, just imagine all the Angkarian ladies you can bang now that he's dead." |
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| Sphynx | Aug 4 2011, 11:02 AM Post #5 |
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Oil on Fire
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A cool blue gaze glared up at the sky, as if perhaps, if they stared hard and angry enough, it would keep away the rain. Sphynx was not fond of rain, or water of any type; droplets falling from the sky seemed unnatural to her. She sat with both her arms and her legs crossed, one foot twitching up and down almost impatiently as the scene progressed. She found funerals to be frightfully dull and of little importance, but she had a very different opinion of death compared with most people. To her it was not to be a sad event, full of mourning like funerals tended to be. But rather, it was the beginning of the next stage of a soul’s existence; the next great adventure, and when considered that way, why should it be a sad event? Still, she was here in part as a representative of her nation’s council, so she thought it best to keep her eye rolling to a minimum, even though the music was ridiculous and she believed the priest to be a fool. At least there had been chairs for them to relax while they were mourning, and she was seated in the same row as the other council representatives who had been able to attend, though she had arrived early enough to choose a seat at the end, almost apart from the rest of them. Her clothing was her typical black, but instead of the usual mage robes she wore a more formal, fitted dress with a high collar and a short veil that angled down over roughly half of her face. Her mind began to wander, as did her gaze, and it wasn’t until Hemlock took center stage and began his speech that her attention returned to the present and she eyed him from her position towards the front row. He was the man who had been chosen to succeed Razarod. She couldn’t recall ever hearing his name before the announcement had been made, and in her opinion, he didn’t look like much. Still, it wasn’t her decision, and she didn’t care much who was chosen as next leader of Angkar. She had never dealt with the leader of the country until that dreadful business with destroying the Eye of Zanna, and even then, he had come to her; it was not her choice to deal with him. Her heart belonged to Soto, at least for the time being, and as long as this Hemlock didn’t interfere with Soto’s wellbeing, then she didn’t have a care to spare for him. She felt no sadness as Hemlock began wrapping up his speech. With the open invitation by the priest for other’s to speak, she felt a headache brewing in her mind. Sphynx was beginning to get the impression that this could very well be a long day. The crowd for the funeral of a King was rather large, and if many of them wished to speak, they could be here for a week. Again her eyes began to wander, and she found them landing on the coffin. More out of growing boredom than anything else, she sent out an invisible magical feeler and began prodding at the dead king. She did not expect to find anything of interest at all, but it wasn’t more than a few seconds before something began to feel…wrong about the body in the coffin. She couldn’t tell what exactly, but something about him was off. At this distance she was only getting fragmented signals off the body, but them seemed warped, as if they shouldn’t be there. Perhaps it was simply that he had been poisoned, and she could feel the remnants of that; she couldn’t recall actually hearing how the King had died. If it had been that he was murdered by poison, then the strangeness would make sense, but if the cause had been something else… Instantly her curiosity was piqued higher than any words spoken at the funeral would have done. She had to get closer; her magic was good, but direct contact made it easier. It would probably look very out of place if she simply walked over to the body and began prodding it, though did she care much about that? Perhaps it would be too odd to explain, and if she did find anything interesting, would she really want to be forced to tell the entire audience right away? No, subtly was going to be key here, and the easiest way to get up close to the corpse would be to volunteer to tell an anecdote about Razarod’s life. But what did she have to say about the King? He still owed her big time? She was sure that would go over really well in this crowd. |
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| Mirix | Aug 7 2011, 01:07 PM Post #6 |
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The Insatiable
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Black. That was color most mortal races attributed to death, right? And that was the color that most of them then decided to wear to funerals and things of nature, yes? But why? The entire concept of a funeral was fairly unknown to the demon. Where he came from there was no such occasion. If one died, they were dead, the end. There was no paying of respects or well wished send offs. Why pay respect to someone who was dead? If they were worth any respect, such a fate would not have befallen them in the first place. Of course, coming from a violent species that had no finite life expectancy, one could assume that such an outlook was understandable. At first, Mirix wasn't even going to attend the mock funeral for the supposedly fallen King, why would he? They barely knew each other, having only met at the end of the conquest started by the demon's former employer. In fact, if things had gone quite a bit more according to plan, this funeral would've been held a lot sooner, and Mirix himself would've been the cause of it. However, fate seemed to call for a different ending now, and it seemed rather ironic that it had been him to convince Razarod's assassin to not go through with her assignment. The demon stood out at the funeral like a sore thumb, though his appearance was remarkably well polished for one who usually appeared so casual and uncaring. Mirix's hair was intentionally slicked back this day, the crimson tips ending in the slightest bit of an upward curl at his nape, not a strand out of place. His boots were replaced with nicely shined black dress shoes, the soles of which left amusing x-eyed smilie faced impressions on soft earth. His suit was an immaculate white with striking silver pinstripes running the length of the coat and pants. Masterfully tailored, it fit his form superbly, the dimensions accenting his body perfectly while allowing fluid movement and appearing neither tight and stuffy nor loose and unfit. The jacket had a low neckline, under which was the only recognizable piece of clothing that would signify this human concept of mourning. A high-necked, deep black, silver buttoned dress shirt that contrasted quite nicely with the rest of his outfit was his kind of tongue in cheek attempt at showing respect. A white bowtie was tied perfectly at his throat and a matching, ornately designed, medium-brimmed hat sat upon his head, tilted ever so slightly to shadow over his right eye. While his initial appearance had garnered some double takes and hushed whispers of discontent, the ecru-eyed creature paid them no mind. No one ventured to actually approach him on the matter, and even if they did, it was unlikely there would be anything that could be done about it without causing a violent scene on a day supposed to be dedicated to mourning. And no one would want to disrespect the fallen king in such a fashion. For the entirety of the event, the demon was quiet and unassuming, though there was a constant closed-lip devious smirk on his face that he couldn't get rid of. He was seated towards the front of the middle section, next to the center asile of the funeral and his light eyes constantly trailed over the crowd. There were many people of interest here; Hemlock for one, along with various leaders from Soto, and acquaintances too. He spotted Orion towards the front with the other important people and his senses detected that there were others he was familiar with behind him as well. This was a very good chance for him to put faces to names and mentally lock them away. While he had no intention of pulling anything off right this second, it would be good for him to know of those who would be of use to him later when the rest of his schemes came together. Once Hemlock's speech was over and two others had spoken, Mirix decided that he too would take a chance at speaking to the crowd. Why? Because he could, that's why. Also, it would present a chance to both see and be seen by all in attendance. His reasons for desiring this were securely locked away in his mind however, so to any who were already familiar with him, his speech would likely be seen with surprised confusion. The demon walked casually to the alter and stood behind it silently. His eyes roved slowly and intentionally over the crowd, the devious grin on his face never lifting. There were a lot more faces to be memorized than he thought; good. He even caught a glimpse of his twin and the shapeshifter he was shacked up with, but his facial façade never faltered. There would be time to confront them afterwards. After he was satisfied with giving the crowd the once over, the demon closed his eyes lifted a closed fist to clear his throat into before beginning to speak, his voice carrying through the air with ease "King Razarod was a magnificent specimen of a man, one with many admirers and friends. Strong, kind, just, brave… These are only a few words to describe him. He was a truly remarkable natural leader, his strategic planning leading the growth of this island nation both financially and militaristically. He was a leader who cared for his troops and was not afraid to take up arms and head to the front lines when the land was besieged by an evil that the normal soldier could not handle. While he created and led this great nation for the better in a short amount of time, his accomplishments and bravery also extended abroad to the rest of the world. He's managed to create and maintain good relation with the other nations, most of which are being represented here in one form or another. Perhaps in one of his most recent expeditions, he spearheaded the task and was instrumental in the destruction of the Eye of Zanna. This ruinous artifact, housed in the Black Tower, was responsible for the continued destruction the lands of Morrim following the vile Andromalius' departure; a huge task to say the least. In the end, it is clear that Razarod's actions and dedication to justice has touched and inspired the lives of many, many people, both here and elsewhere. He will be greatly missed, and the world can only hope that just how he has fostered the benevolent growth of Angkar, Angkar will in turn foster the growth of another such inspirational leader." With a widening grin that seemed way too sinister following such a speech, Mirix slowly excused himself from the alter and began to make his way back to his seat. |
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| Kenna | Aug 11 2011, 11:26 AM Post #7 |
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Former Queen of Angkar
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The words from the stage rolled over Kenna in an indistinct collection of sounds. The words held no meaning for her. Inside she was only grief. Grief and regret. Had she been there - had she not done the things she had done - had she not betrayed him... perhaps he would still be here. Perhaps Elina would still have a father. Perhaps... She couldn't allow the "what if's" to hold her back. As much as she could blame herself for what happened, she still had a very important reason to keep living. That reason was bundled in her arms asking every few minutes "Where daddy?" It was enough to break her heart. Elina knew where they were. They were home - or rather, what had once been their home. Elina knew that her daddy should be here, ready to sweep her up and dance with her across the courtyard with no thought for who was watching or who might think that the mighty warrior king was too soft if he had so much affection for his daughter. For all his faults (the only one -coming to mind at the moment, anyway- being that he had succumbed to a temptress and had betrayed her in a time when she had needed him the most), he had been an excellent father. He was even better for not having had a father to model himself after. Kenna remembered how he had looked at little Elina as a newborn. He had been so convinced he would have a son. But when he set eyes on her perfect little face and tiny little fingers and toes, he was smitten. There could be no one else in this world who would be loved more by the King of Angkar. Not even Kenna would compete with the kind of love he had for Elina. Kenna didn't begrudge him of that. Elina Fey had stolen her heart as well. The speeches seemed endless. Kenna sat hidden in the back of the gathering, and took in the multitude of mourners. "Daddy isn't here anymore, my little princess." It was all she could do to keep the watery film of tears from falling down her cheeks. She had to be strong. Kenna had not been officially invited. Of course she hadn't - she had left he king and kidnapped his heir. Nevermind that Kenna had been the one to carry her for nine months and then birth her... all while Razarod had been away. "Daddy gone?" Elina's voice was full of confusion. "Daddy back?" Kenna shook her head. "No, my love. Daddy isn't coming back." Her tears fell down her cheeks. Tears of anger, grief, and guilt. "We're here to say goodbye, sweet princess." Edited by Kenna, Aug 11 2011, 11:28 AM.
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| Rhia | Aug 11 2011, 02:19 PM Post #8 |
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Sotoan Councillor
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She was up front with the rest of the council and monarchs. Anyone with a position of power. Despite the position she held, she felt small. The Moghul of Ashoka, The new King of Angkar. Her fellow council members, but even in their presence she felt…out of place yet. She was still new and this experience would likely stick out in her mind. Among her first duties as a Councilor was to go to the funeral of Razarod Evermore. Additionally it was her first visit to Angkar, to go to such a beautiful land for the first time on such a sad occasion felt wrong but she had a duty and had her own respects to pay. She thought of sticking to the expected dress code but decided against it. Black. It was a foul color, it tied to death and grief. Nothing good came of the pitchest of black, not even the night was entirely black. Rather than dress head to toe in black, she dressed in a very formal maroon colored dressed that stretched down to her heels. She wore no veil. She was sad he was gone, but mourned the passing of a great leader and not the man himself. Razarod had lived, she was happy for that and was happy about the things he had done. It was a damn shame he had been struck dead by some low life assassin. Hemlock had made his speech, it was appropriate and stated what was probably on most people’s mind. That Razarod was going to be missed. She could only ponder why someone would have it out for him, her guess was it political. Then again it could have been anyone, someone with a personal grudge even. She thought on it, before getting distracted by the sinister looking man whom now approached the front. As he gave his speech, her eyes were glued to him the entire time. From what she could access he wasn’t human. Then that grin, it made her blood run a little cold. This man was frightening and made her wonder if the king of Angkar really associated with a person like this? He seemed to respect the late king well enough, perhaps she was judging too early. As he finished his speech and moved back, her eyes could not help but follow him though she did not turn her head. She hoped she would not make eye contact. Once he had passed, she broke contact. She was unsure of who was going to approach the stand next. For now, she remained quiet keeping to herself. |
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| Orion de Lacey | Sep 3 2011, 12:03 PM Post #9 |
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Moghul of Ashoka
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The widest smirk to ever grace Orion's face came at the point at which the man nearby spoke, one of the ones who had come from Soto. One of the councillors. What the man did Orion had no idea—he didn't even know what Sphynx did and he'd at least had contact with her once before, during Eldahar's conquest—but he had been in power for some time. A couple of years, maybe? And speaking of Sphynx... You're so far away lovely, he thought, leaning back in his chair so that he could see her properly, ignorant of the people behind him who were probably now irritated that he was deliberately blocking their view of the procession in front. Why would you sit so far away from us? Must be a loner. "Eldaharian women are better," Orion responded easily, leaning forward again so that he could speak to the councillor, again ignorant of others around him as speeches were being made up front. Like he actually cared that Razarod was dead. One less thing he needed to worry about at the moment. "I've had my fair share of the women here in Angkar—I grew up here, you know—and they're really not all that fantastic. Well, I shouldn't say all of them aren't. Some of the indigenous tribes out in the forests have some nice ladies. But I've only spent a night with a few of them. If I didn't have to be in Ashoka, I'd probably be here with them." His eyes had nearly rolled into the back of his head when he'd mentioned the forest women, a delighted smile playing across his lips. Obviously he was remembering one evening in particular and it was pushing little shivers through his spine. No, that wasn't an experience he'd ever find in Eldahar, but so far he'd been close. "I have a harem anyhow. I think our new king might have a problem if I scooped up all of his good women and brought them home with me. You, on the other hand... Why don't you take a stab at a few of them?" No pun intended, though Orion did chuckle quietly to himself. Their conversation was prematurely ended, however, as Mirix took to the altar and Orion's interest was diverted elsewhere. He arched an eyebrow, surprised not so much by the demon's attire—which was no doubt irritating the rest of the attendees—but by what he actually had to say. Orion found one of his eyebrows arching in mild surprise as the other spoke so highly of the dead king, as if they'd been the best of friends at one point. Blasphemy. Mirix had been on the same side as Orion had been during the conquest, the only difference being that Orion had achieved more than lackey status. A ruse, perhaps. The grin at the end seemed to suggest as much and the Moghul breathed easier, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest. He wasn't sure what game Mirix was playing at the moment, but he found himself feeling more cautious than usual. And then, of course, there was that contract he had with him that required her murder a certain somebody. And that certain somebody, ironically, was sitting somewhere behind him. It was almost a shame that he couldn't kill him today. Pick your battles and pick your fights people always seemed to say. It wouldn't do to attract the eyes of the world today—especially not when this assassination had been his doing in the first place. |
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| Sphynx | Oct 16 2011, 08:56 PM Post #10 |
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Oil on Fire
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A large part of her attention was still focused on the still form of the king inside the coffin. It wasn’t until something flashed out of the corner of her eye that she turned and noticed Orion leaning back in his chair and making eyes at her from across the seating area. She gave him a clearly disgusted look and turned back to focusing on Razarod’s body. A dead body held far more interest to her than Orion’s affections. More than anything she wanted someone to tell her how he had died, or to walk right up there and figure it out for herself. At least if she had a hint that would be something. But for the moment all she could decipher that something was off with the body; soon enough she’d have to figure out what. She did have an image to uphold, so she wasn’t sure that walking right up there and feeling the king’s flesh for direct contact to enhance her magic wouldn’t give the best impression. Then again, that priest guy had said something about passing by in silence to pay their respects; perhaps there was a more covert way to do this. Sphynx sat up a little straighter in her chair, actually paying attention now that she had some semblance of a plan. As Hemlock left the stage, no clue what he’d just talked about, one of the most unlikely people stepped up next; Mirix. A smile curled her mouth as she saw the demon take center stage. He looked immaculate in his silver suit, and she silently applauded his choice of clothing for the event. She listened to his words with far more interest than whatever that Hemlock guy had said. Mirix’s speech made her want to laugh out loud, though she tried very hard to keep it in. That couldn’t be what Mirix honestly thought of Razarod, but she wasn’t going to stand up and call him out on it. Of course there were many present who were nodding in agreement to the demon’s words, and she certainly wouldn’t deny to truth of some parts, but the drama with which the words were spoken and the flourish of adjectives that were added that made it so humorous to her. She was glad that Mirix ended when he did, lest she actually bust out in giggle fits, and she gave him a wink as he left the alter and returned to his chair. As he sat down, Sphynx dropped her smile and put her best impression of sadness and despair on her face. She couldn’t manage a tear, even a fake one, so she didn’t even try; crying wasn’t her thing. She stood from her chair and slowly, almost as if she was forcing her steps, made her way towards the coffin. She had remembered that Razarod had had a fondness for a certain phoenix, and as she walked towards the casket, she snapped flames from her fingers and formed them into the shape of a phoenix. As the creature took shape, it gained a life of its own. It was only about the size of her fist, and perfectly harmless, and as she reached the coffin, Sphynx laid the phoenix down on Razarod’s shoulder, her fingertips brushing the skin on his neck as she withdrew her hand. Only the briefest of contact, and yet full of information. Her eyes widened the slightest bit as she withdrew her hand, and she had plenty to think about as she made her way back to her seat. |
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| Hemlock | Oct 29 2011, 02:05 PM Post #11 |
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Hemlock could not help but raise an eyebrow at Mirix's speech himself. Not because of the words, but because of the figure speaking them. He certainly did not seem like someone the late King would have associated with, nor did he recognize him himself in the least. He also could not help but notice the attire he had chosen, which seemed not to carry an air of sadness at all, but more one of celebration. Shortly after he finished speaking, Sphynx, the Councilwoman from Soto, came up to the altar. Hemlock could not help but watch curiously as she created a miniature phoenix replica and placed it with Razarod's body in the coffin. He had never believed the two of them to be particularly close, but perhaps they had bonded while fighting together in Morrim? Seemed doubtful, but here she was. He watched her take her seat after she was finished, and noticed Kenna in the back. She had not been invited, but he would not make any move against her presence. How tacky would that be? She had been the late King's husband for many years. Let her come and say goodbye. As the speeches went on, and others went by to pay silent tribute, finally it was over. Everyone who planned to move had done so. The blind priest came up again, standing in front of the altar, blindfolded eyes passing out over the crown, if that was even possible for him. "And now, a moment of silence, as King Razarod Evermore is eternally laid to rest." He raised a hand, and the lid of the coffin snapped shut, the locks doing themselves into place in unison with a loud click. Four men, also clad in black robes, hoods up and heads held low, walked to the altar and picked up the coffin, slowly carrying it off. Gently, they carried the coffin down into the hole and began silently replacing the dirt over top of it. The priest spoke up once again to the crowd of mourners: "And so our great King, Razarod Evermore, is laid to his final rest, to go the way of all flesh. Go now, giving thanks to Terria for your own lives, and the world in which you spend them... And pray to her that Razarod's soul finds it way safely to her own." Hemlock stepped up once more to speak as well. "Thank you all for coming on this solemn occasion. There will be a reception held in the castle hall for those who wish to attend. If you do not wish to do so, you are free to be on your way. The rest may simply follow me." Keeping it short but sweet, he stepped down, leading the way to the castle's grand hall alongside several of Angkar's best Guards. The funeral had passed now. It was as done as it could be. Razarod was laid to rest, and no one was left to contest him. |
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