”I’m fond of most animals, truthfully. I travel quite a bit, and they are all I have with me most of the time.”  He listened as she spoke, the faint smile lasting upon his lips as she wove the faces of her travel companions. ”I have a horse, Freya, who's a bit more dragon than equine,” his expression would form curiosity, never having heard of such a thing before. He wondered what such a horse would look like. Scales? Horns? Wings even? Talons in place of hooves? An endless menagerie of depictions swam within his cerebrum, and he would certainly tick the subject for further questioning. His apprehension shown slightly by the shift of his weight, placing himself more forward, further weight upon his hands as they gripped the tabletop tighter. ”Also a hawk, Sif, and a wolf, Ghost... It’s a bit of a crowd I guess,” she gave him names, imaginary faces to go with the scents that lingered upon her skin. Certainly an interesting group she maintained. It also gave him a better glimpse at the woman herself, at least giving life to an impression of her within his mind's eye. Many who claimed birds of prey were hunter's themselves, it stood to reason to him at least. Her regale was accompanied by a soft laugh here and there, a fondness that bled through the mere descriptions. "An animal person indeed," he hummed. "I would be lying if I said a dragon horse didn't interest me," he would tilt his head slightly. ”And your cat? What's his name?” Again, his mind warred within. A distressing war between obscurity or truth. While his primary course of action was normally to tell as many truths as possible, this was a knife's edge in the dark. A risk either way. "Osmanthus." Came his reply, though he would abandon his post upon the table, instead settling into the chair nearby, habit winning over as he adjusted his sleeves slightly, pulling them downwards. In the end, he supposed that he would indulge in his curiosities, to push the limits of his own secrecy. At the mention of his own home, she seemed to further settle, to relax in their sharing. Was she still trying to scratch the itch of familiarity that she seemed to sense from him? Was she hoping to be able to fix this faux mask to a name and memory within the back of her mind? Was it cruel of him to simply observe the way she tried to unravel this connection? He still sat facing her, cutting stare forcefully softened. ”It is, that. Oh? Where is home then?” A  thoughtful rumble softly reverberated within the confines of his throat. Further debate, and yet in spite of it, only more truth would drip like poison from his mouth. "I come from across the northern, angry sea." He began. "An island surrounded by mountains. A lot like this city is, though not quite so many people. You would have to go further south before you found anything quite like Odersten." He wished there was something more to distract him. A cup, something to drink to dull the faint smolder within his throat. How he longed to be getting deep into his cups by this point like he would have back home. The violent bastard son. The watcher of the gate. It was spring, the sun would be dawning over the ridges. Deep shadow would still cloak the valley, but the outside world would begin to remember them again. Ships would begin coming to port because the horrors outside the wall would be crawling into their deep caverns for slumber. "Well, grim tidings brought me here. Things I'm sure others can familiarize with."

Temporary voice w/ disguise azazel | Image is his disguise. just a simple leprechaun here to steal your lucky charms and nothing else, thank you. No wine either, also thank you.

Helayne Ilirium She looked up at him, smiling at the mention of her companions, his face holding a genuine curiosity that puzzled her. ”An animal person indeed,” his head canted in thought, ”I would be lying if I said a dragon horse didn’t interest me.” To that she laughed, shaking her head slightly at her own rather horrid explanation. Her fingers reached for a loose lock of her silver hair, absently coiling it around her fingers, ”Oh no, a poor explanation, I’m sorry,” she smiled, gaze trailing along a sliver of a scar on her forearm from one of her first rough rides on the mare. ”It’s more of her fierce and fearless nature, dragon is a bit of a term of endearment and… I suppose frustration,” she shook her head, thinking of the mare’s willful and wild temperament. ”Osmanthus”, he offered to her the question of his own companion, and she nodded as if this made sense. ”A noble name. Is he named for the flowers? A part of your homeland?” She watched him move to sit, adjusting his sleeves and cuffs. Was he nervous? Was she prying at something he didn’t want to discuss? She found herself studying him again, watching as he settled himself. He seemed to pause at the mention of home, and she felt a pain of guilt briefly. Home could be a rather sensitive topic. She knew it was for her own. Those were thoughts she firmly pushed away before she could delve into them, instead watching as he seemed to choose his words. ”I come from across the northern, angry sea. An island surrounded by mountains. A lot like this city is, though not quite so many people. You would have to go further south before you found anything quite like Odersten.” The tone of his voice tore at her again, drawing her in. His gaze seemed to look for an escape, much like she had herself, but this was a pain she knew too well. Her scars felt like they were burning suddenly, like they may open and bleed across the floor again. She took a steadying breath, refusing to remember the last of her memories of home. He was a northman, like herself. A son of the sea and salt, while she’d been born in the winterlands. Perhaps that was all this familiarity was, a kindred spirit found so far from home. ”Well, grim tidings brought me here. Things I'm sure others can familiarize with.” She couldn’t help it, she let herself down from the table with hardly a sound, taking a cautious step towards him, her hand reaching boldly to take his briefly, if he’d allow her. To gently offer what she could. ”Your home sounds beautiful, the north is beautiful.” She smiled, a bit sadly at him. ”I’m sorry for what's become of it. I’m also from the North, more the mainland though but far from here. Still in the mountains though, probably a bit colder,” the faint smile wavered at the memories that came forward. ”Nothing in my home comes close to Odersten though,” she tried to muster a laugh, a smile, but it was more a forced breath as she took the chair across from him, forcing her gaze to his.

art by novaakuin

Even before she spoke the objection, he could tell that whatever fables he had conjured for his mysterious dragon horse were false. He'd heard tall tales of such a beast though, he believed many referred to them as kirins, a beast he would be most keen to meet. ”Oh no, a poor explanation, I’m sorry,” she would continue on to further explain and he would shake his head lightly, ”It’s more of her fierce and fearless nature, dragon is a bit of a term of endearment and… I suppose frustration.” There was a light of true amusement that lit his features. "She sounds like every dragon I've ever heard of, so not a bad comparison in the least." Nefarim was such a remnant as well, in some regards. In others he was too much like his owner and trainer, and it should come as no surprise that the beast had become so level, tame compared to his younger years. While he was still very much young, most of the fire seemed to have been forged from his veins. He had become steady, resolute, dependable. He merely followed orders. Yet another sickening revelation. How did one remedy years, centuries of mindless obedience? How could amends possibly be forged with ghosts of the past? Only more answerless questions were rising, plaguing the mind. ”A noble name. Is he named for the flowers? A part of your homeland?” "Both, I suppose. They bloomed in the late spring and summer. Beyond that it was too dark for too long. They were a favorite wine and tea of mine." The admittance came easily, a bitter fondness of the warmth after coming in from the bone numbing cold in the depths of winter. The fragrant steam called to them all when the harsh climate had robbed them of their voices and their throats burned from inhaling the frigid, wild zephyrs. It reached further back than that even, recollecting those few precious memoirs with his mother. The golden powders stored away within sealed jars upon her shelves. Helping her pick them from the garden she was given among their own private court to hide away the shame of his father. His focus, lost among the past, was sharply drawn to her once more as she moved, her footfalls carrying her closer to him. However, her intention was far from harsh, a tenderness within her as she reached a hand out to him. It was one he could take, though it was far too late to save him from drowning. ”Your home sounds beautiful, the north is beautiful.” It was warm, her touch, not like the fake temperature of his own skin, but genuinely so. Her words also bled understanding, ”I’m sorry for what's become of it. I’m also from the North, more the mainland though but far from here. Still in the mountains though, probably a bit colder. Nothing in my home comes close to Odersten though.” Her vocals were taut, her breath hitching in the slight attempt at a laugh as she settled closer, his thumb brushing unconsciously over the back of her hand. It wasn't smooth and pampered, it did indeed reflect a life of work, hardship. Did she enjoy it, he wondered. The way she lived. He remembered what it was like in the years following the collapse of his home, how each and every night he simply wanted to dream of the past, to lose himself in it so that he didn't have to accept that the era had come to an abrupt end. "When I was younger," he offered, a slight hesitance in his vocals, "my brother told me that grief was just love with nowhere to go." The sentiment had been more pointed towards his mother at the time, but he hoped that she could draw at least some measure of comfort from the words as he did in his youth. "It's alright to grieve the home you lost, but don't let it blind you to the one you have now." Least you become a mindless soldier wherein nothing but duty mattered any longer, and you didn't recognize the face in the mirror or the atrocities your own hands had wrought.

Temporary voice w/ disguise azazel | Image is his disguise. just a simple leprechaun here to steal your lucky charms and nothing else, thank you. No wine either, also thank you.

Helayne Ilirium He looked amused as she explained Freya and her temperament, a genuine smile gracing his lips. ”She sounds like every dragon I've ever heard of, so not a bad comparison in the least.” Hel nodded, turning her attention back to his own companions, ”Is Osmanthus your only one then?” ”Both, I suppose. They bloomed in the late spring and summer. Beyond that it was too dark for too long. They were a favorite wine and tea of mine." She did not miss the ‘were’, as if it had been too long since he’d had it. ”It sounds like a fitting name then.” Hel thought of her mother, certain she’d have known its many uses and the best way to prepare it. There’d been a lesson at some point when she’d discussed it Hel could imagine, but she could only recall so much anymore. Her interest then had been following her brother’s anyway. Determined to be warriors just as they were. His hand was warm in hers, settling some edge in her she hadn’t realized she’d been near. Despite his station, it still held the marks of a soldier, the skin rough beneath her touch. Not too good to still get his hands dirty then, she thought, not that he’d given her that impression so far. His thumb brushed briefly in return across the back of her hand in comfort. He didn’t flinch away at her touch, no comment made on the rough calluses and scars that made the mapwork of her hand. She stared at where they were joined before he started to speak, doing her best to shield the ache she was sure had settled in her face. "When I was younger, my brother told me that grief was just love with nowhere to go." There was a slowness to his voice, as though he was trying to keep himself together. The words settled like ice around her heart, fire burning up her throat, a current moved across every surface of her skin. No, she thought silently, she would not burden this stranger with tears. ”That is… a beautiful way to look at it,” a sad smile touched her lips, her gaze dipping once more to their hands, afraid if she met the depths of that emerald gaze she’d break. ”It's alright to grieve the home you lost, but don't let it blind you to the one you have now." She thought over what home meant now, not so much a place as it was the people and creatures in it. The wilds had become home, freedom, and escape. She was never alone with the antics of her animals at her side. She had Tanyi, who’d skillfully mended her broken and torn flesh, despite the horrific scars that remained. The scarred woman had become something of a sister to her, something she’d never had in her own family. She had Halfdan, the only one who remembered the old world and the old tongue. She wasn’t truly alone with them in it. ”Thank you,” she spoke, voice hushed. ”I hope you’re able to do that too one day,” Her gaze left their hands to meet his eyes once again, certain he still mourned his own world as she did her own. She slipped her hand from his, feeling suddenly cold without the brief sense of touch. Instead she moved to cup her jaw, leaning against the cool surface of the table. ”Where do you call home now?” she tried to pull those emotions back, the agony of her memories threatening to overwhelm her, forcing her face and her body to relax again.

art by novaakuin

”Is Osmanthus your only one then?” He would slightly shake his head. "I have a horse as well, Nefarim." Again, he held very little doubt that she would be able to tie the ends together as very few knew the title he had given the steed. He was not the large, gallivanting war horse that some boasted, but rather a slimmer build, one that hailed from the gilded grains of the desert. "He's lively, but I don't believe he's as vicious as yours." Certainly all of the dragon had been wrung from their blood - at least when the reigns lie within Theo's own grasp. No one else offered the stallion any attention, let alone the intent to settled into his saddle. Maybe the wildness was still there, merely an understanding forged between them. They'd been through several battles after all. The brimstone and blood no longer frightened him, and even the hail of cannon fire did little to spook him. The gates of his memory showed no sign of damming up the flood of recollections that plagued him. A malady of the mind that threatened to wholly consume his thoughts. The faces he had once shared the warmth of the dining hall with were very long since faded from clarity. No longer did they haunt his dreams, and he had abandoned his once prominent ideal of trying to remember each and every single one of them. As long as he remembered them, they would survive with him. But he hadn't survived the encounter either, and the husk that bore his face and name was not the comrade they would have wanted to recall them and their tales. ”It sounds like a fitting name then.” A slight hum of agreement. It was not immediately after his turning that he had found Osmanthus. It had been many years after the tragedy that had befallen his home. It was after he had deigned to bury his past and allow it to rest in the peace it deserved. Her expression still remained soft, her gaze linked upon their joined hands. Normally, he'd have recoiled from her touch as if it was a viper, but Aevor could not be seen to be cold and unflinching. This guise was supposed to be softer, and perhaps he had intentionally fallen too much within the character her sought to portray. Sometimes, it was an easy feat to do, and this masquerade was somewhat well versed. Any time he had crossed the threshold into Vufrien before it was this mask he donned, and the lines were easy to come across as most times he spoke very little. He had never considered that sympathy would be a mark upon this shroud, let alone the words he had once unknowingly pined for would depart his lips in an attempt to soothe another. How he wished  Viktor could have told them to him one final time before their fall, though maybe it was good that they hadn't become tainted by some bloody last breath and remained a simple melancholy gesture. ”That is… a beautiful way to look at it.” He noted the ache within her expression, the tightness within her vocals. He had a beautiful way of thinking, the words didn't leave him, a memory he jealously guarded. While he still vividly remembered Viktor and Isabella, and even commissioned portraits of them to be illustrated for his home in Lavalles, he would be lying if he wholly remembered his sire. However, the duke and his older half sibling both held lofty and tragically gorgeous ideals, ones that while he would silently admire them for their commitment and optimism, Theodred simply couldn't grasp. Not with hands and feet so firmly rooted within the earth at least. "He was a good man." Was the only thing that leeched from his throat at long last. He'd have done the right thing from the beginning. ”Thank you,” vision would attune back to her through the distance of memory, to her taut smile as she finally looked back to him, ”I hope you’re able to do that too one day.” Oh, how he hoped she would never know how long he had mourned a place and time no longer attainable. Especially through those long years he was chained like a rabid hound, when he was as tumultuous and angry as the sea he had crossed to get here. He would pray, were any gods that would listen. "Thank you." The slight stiffness bled through his vocals, uncertainty clawing at his throat. As her hand departed his own, he would draw his fingers in towards his palm, reminded of the coldness that lingered there. ”Where do you call home now?” She inquired, her intonation different, albeit not unpleasantly, marred with reservation. "I wander, mostly. I don't know what to do with myself without the threat of war." The draft had been quietly dismissed, a decision perhaps influenced by the rumors that another heir had graced the ruling pair of Vuf, and while he had never been an avid part of it on this front, he knew enough of the happenings here. After all, many a word drifted through the stagnant mire of Dunmeath. "What of you?"

Temporary voice w/ disguise azazel | Image is his disguise. just a simple leprechaun here to steal your lucky charms and nothing else, thank you. No wine either, also thank you.

Helayne Ilirium "I have a horse as well, Nefarim. He's lively, but I don't believe he's as vicious as yours." To that she smiled, ”He sounds lovely.” She recalled the day her eldest brother, Heimdall, had brought the mare from their free roaming herds on the mountainside. Lively had been one word for her. Snorting with every breath, her hooves looking to trample any who got close to her. The expression on her roman face eager for a fight. ”For you little Helia,” he smiled, offering her the lead as the mare pulled it taut. He’d waited to see her balk, to shy back. But Freya’s fire had met her own, a determination to be just as her brothers were. They had been an unbreakable pair ever since.. She had been anything but easy, but what she’d learned and gained from having the fierce little mare far outweighed the rather sour temperament. ”He was a good man,” he spoke, his voice tight, gaze dipping from the brief connection of their hands. His posture otherwise was carefully composed. She both envied and empathized with his control. The brief recollection of Freya with her brother threatened to pull at those carefully built walls, brick by brick trembling with the agony they bore carefully tucked away behind them. She could still see Heimdall’s crooked smile and vivid blue eyes, his handsome face marred only by the scar slashed across his eye and cheekbone. How he’d boasted about his earning of it. Bjorn at his side, his darker features so like their mother, a powerful warrior. Silent and steady. Eskel had borne a third son’s anger, a desperation to be as strong and fierce as his elder siblings. Leif had been closest to her in age, a constant rival. His dark competitive eyes meeting hers in everything they set out to do. His memory dripped with blood across her vision, throat splayed open in the snow, the light fading quickly from his eyes in a ragged pool of fear. She clamped down on the tension, feeling a deep ache move through her chest and settle in the scarred flesh of her back. She could almost feel the brush of the whip kiss along her spine. More horror that would not do her well to dwell on in this unfamiliar place with a stranger she barely knew. ”He sounds like it,” she nodded, her own voice tight with emotion she forced back down. ”Thank you” his voice seemed tense, drawing her gaze and her focus back to him once more to settle on his turbulent gaze. All she could do was nod in reply, afraid of the knot in her own throat. "I wander, mostly. I don't know what to do with myself without the threat of war." To that she tilted her head slightly, watching as he spoke. Was he intentionally being vague? Or did he just spend so much time within the militia he’d never had a chance for roots to take hold? ”Is it not a looming threat?” she asked, her voice darker than she intended. The tension between the two regions seemed more and more palpable by the day. Maybe the general population didn’t feel or see what she did, but those that had suffered and witnessed the destruction first hand seemed to wait on bated breath for the moment the scales would tip, and all hell would break free. ”What of you?” What would he think, she wondered, to see her free of this dress and gold, burrowed in her furs, leathers, and high boots. Blood and dirt on her hands, the wind doing its will with her long silver hair, half feral creature once more. A far cry from the poise and glamor of the ladies inside. ”The same mostly. I try to avoid the city and town if I can and stick to the wilds.” Lost in nameless places, too deep for anyone or anything to find her.

art by novaakuin

”He sounds lovely.” Though the light, happy conversation seemed to die there, moving into far deeper, darker conversations that were as debilitating as a bottomless abyss. He himself was withdrawing, a sensation he certainly felt, and while normally he would not try to halt himself, if he even remained at all, but this wasn't meant to be a solemn occasion, nor should he merely brush off the company he allowed himself to tarry with. He could not cruelly sever the bond that had at least momentarily forged between them and retreat from the discomfort. It also stood as odd that something that had failed to sink its talons in him for quite some time now had rended him open entirely, and he felt helpless to stymie the incessant flood of feeling that bled from the wound. ”He sounds like it,” she spoke alas, and her vocals were a mirror to the softly shuddering tendons within the sundered flesh. His arms burned, his chest ached with each and every breath that he forced in. It was not the threat of tears that assailed him,  it was the mere thought of feeling something again instead of being a simple, directionless void. It wasn't that he didn't think of his family and the years that lived far, far between he and they. It wasn't that he had forgotten the unspeakable cruelty that had darkened the yawn of time after either. Perhaps he had unintentionally just built a wall between those days and himself and this evening it had crumbled indiscriminately. Simple enough, likely enough. Maybe it was just as likely that Os's sweeter, more benevolent nature had begun to worm its way under his skin like an infection. The feline had been his only true companion for quite some time now despite all the other faces and thoughts that polluted the air, the feline was the only constant. He could never quite part with the taste of violence however, ever since he could recall, he had been naught more than a soldier. He had donned many different colors over the unfortunately long span of his years, but the only constant was he was a weapon. As such, peace was never an option for one such as he. Though he could endeavor to ensure that none follow in her footsteps. Found brittle and broken, their path in life derailed. That none would be drug down the trail he had traipsed. Eventually, his end would be met, just as he lived. Perhaps just at a different coat of arms than he had somewhat been expecting. ”Is it not a looming threat?” He would tilt his head faintly. "I suppose. Though the draft was eased, we are no closer to taking back Dunmeath." He would run a hand through his hair lightly. Despite the inklings that were circling his cerebrum like ravenous sharks, he was still firm in his hatred for the dogs as well. They were little better than the parasites in his eyes. Both merely wanted control. They were slobbery, they lacked discipline. They were messy and crass. Every full moon most were just as bad as the fledglings. In the eyes of their king, strength was all that mattered. The weak were doomed to starve under his belligerent rule. "Maybe it will simply come down to who makes the first move..." A truth, despite the inner workings that he himself knew. The true nature of his current visit. A colleague had drug him here, yes, but to scout the weaknesses of Odersten's walls. With the perfect opportunity presented in an evening extravaganza in which all were invited. How long would it be before the corpse was discovered upstairs? How long before one of those inside was discovered and publicly dealt with? Surely, by her guard, she had already pinpointed those of his ilk? ”The same mostly. I try to avoid the city and town if I can and stick to the wilds.” He would give her another slight simper. "Perhaps we'll cross paths again then. I travel quite often."

Temporary voice w/ disguise azazel | Image is his disguise. just a simple leprechaun here to steal your lucky charms and nothing else, thank you. No wine either, also thank you.

Helayne Ilirium He seemed to tremble, only slightly, a barely there shiver that moved up his arms and torso. She’d have missed it entirely if she had not been watching him directly. The tension that moved through him, the evidence of his pain, barely controlled once more. He breathed evenly, almost calculated like he had to remind himself to do so. His face didn’t falter, keeping it carefully relaxed, his river colored gaze unfaltering even as his body seemed to sway under the cascade of memory. She felt an aching heat bloom in her chest, spreading its cold fingers down her body. The agony, the control, all of it so familiar to her own memories. She still woke to vivid dreams, drenched in sweat, the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth, choking her. The sharp splintering ache at the memory of broken bones and a shattered soul. A strange ringing in her ears that seemed to blot out everything around her, no matter how the voices screamed. The feel of a whip peeling apart her flesh, the feel of hands and teeth ripping into her. She fought back a shiver of her own and the desire to reach out to him again, locking her fingers together as if it would stop them. It was the nature of it she supposed, for how long she’d been alone, at finding another who seemed to understand with so few words the pain she’d kept locked away so carefully. A kind of kin within him that he was like her, separated from his home, one they had both known in some way, lost from the beauty and rage of the north. What could she say to offer him peace when she’d never found words for it herself? Perhaps that was why she fought to stay seated. This was a stranger, she had to remind herself not for the first time. Despite how familiar he felt, the way his vivid eyes looked into hers with a kind of knowing. It was only that. The shared yet separate history, the manner of the north. It had to be. ”I suppose. Though the draft was eased, we are no closer to taking back Dunmeath.” He ran a hand through his golden hair, as if his mind had been going over and over this pathway. She recalled the draft letter addressed to her father and eldest brother. How she’d somehow been managing to hide amongst their numbers as one of them. Perhaps that was her recollection of him, watching him oversee the training of the drafted recruits. ”Was the draft not enough?” she questioned, sitting slightly straighter in her chair. She thought of those still trapped within Dunmeath and those that were lost, too familiar with the horrors they were mostly likely enduring. The constant murmurs for the king to do something. He’d summoned their fathers and sons, to what end though? ”Maybe it will simply come down to who makes the first move…” The way he said it sent a small chill down her spine, ice settling in her veins. ”And who do you think that will be?” Would he even dare to say? A man of his rank and status speaking to her of war. Her gaze briefly moved in the direction of the party, the lively beat of the music dulled behind the glass walls. Was this not a night of opportunity? Open doors for any who wished to come and celebrate the nobles of Vufrien. She’d been worried about it as well, but had also desperately hoped for it. It was only by getting close to the vermin that she may find the name of the one who had taken everything from her. Some hint or clue that may jog the parts of her memory that had been beaten into blurry consciousness. ”Is that not why there are so many soldiers here tonight?” she turned her vivid gaze back on him again, wondering what he’d know of it. Would he tell her what he knew? The thought that she may be so close to anything resembling an answer had her holding her breath.

art by novaakuin

From one dangerous topic to the next, he supposed. Such was the nature of his inclinations when they were allowed to roam. It was of little difference to when he found himself alone within his study at Dunmeath. When there was nothing else for his thoughts to rigidly dissect and pick away at until naught but bare bones remained beneath his vicious focus. ”Was the draft not enough?” Her curiosity bid him to shift within his seat, leaning forward slightly as his index finger drifted over his lips. ”Is that not why there are so many soldiers here tonight?” He debated his next words, how much to reveal, how much to give. Much like Avarice, he had little want for this woman to be caught within the crossfire of the war to come. He didn't want to meet her on a battlefield as Lavalles's General, as the damned Lord of Dunmeath. Though if he allowed too much to depart him, he would certainly become a subject of suspicion himself. How to put his idle speculations into perspective in a way that did not leave to foreboding. "I think..." He began, true contemplation bleeding into his vocals, one that need not be feigned in the slightest. Even withholding his ties to Crue Efros, his way of thinking would hold the potential to see him chained under the crown of Vufrien. "In all given honesty, I believe the king is... distracted." He had placed himself in the boots of the man many times. When he had first heard the order leave the Red Queen to see the first heir slain to start this damnable war, he had been trying to see things from the perspective of his given enemy. The insidious plot had been, of course, more than enough to provoke the dogs into biting, taking the bait and forgoing any and all pretense of peace. He remembered the murmurs and worried faces as the declarations had been made throughout the kingdom. He recalled the order he was given when the hounds had first struck out at a small village near the border. It hadn't been vampires that the wolves attacked first, no, it was a human settlement. The beginning of what they had undoubtedly hoped would be to cut off the chain of food and supplies to the Queen and her followers. The fall of Vufrien's farmland was of a similar ideal. It was not easy to seize the land, but it should have been better protected. Already, the effects were beginning to show. The poor were gaunt, easy to see the beginnings of the famine beginning, and yet what was the response? A draft that barely lasted before the would be troops were allowed home for an extended period? An extravagant party to further show the disparity between the classes and waste the lifeline of goods available to even the rich? A poor gamble. "The paper reads his wife is with child again. The war began because his firstborn son was assassinated. It seems celebrations all the way around, save for the class wherein most of your drafted would come from, no? The longer he waits, the weaker his soldiers become, and then what?" His stare would flicker to her, to her face to read what she thought of the matter. If he were in the king's place, he'd have certainly tried to at least aid the rebellions that were, at one point, a near constant. The wealthy families would need to be monitored to preserve food and other much needed materials. The poor and working classes would not be neglected and ignored. He knew that they all had a point at which they would no longer bend, but break. "I think the first stone will be thrown by the starving and dying." He confided alas.

Temporary voice w/ disguise azazel | Image is his disguise. just a simple leprechaun here to steal your lucky charms and nothing else, thank you. No wine either, also thank you.

Helayne Ilirium Her question seemed to knock him off balance, adjusting his posture in his seat, leaning closer, his gaze deep in thought as it met hers. ”I think…” a pause, another surprise she thought. He seemed to be debating his answer, carefully selecting what he could tell her. Truthfully, he probably should have shut her out, that was what she expected to happen at least. ”In all given honesty, I believe the king is... distracted." Dangerous words, she thought, and bold. Despite the seemingly familiar current between them she could not shake, he did not know her or where her allegiance lay. ”The paper reads his wife is with child again. The war began because his firstborn son was assassinated. It seems celebrations all the way around, save for the class wherein most of your drafted would come from, no? The longer he waits, the weaker his soldiers become, and then what?" ”Then it seems hell with reign,” she answered, uncertain how she should feel. She had no true sides in this war. Most of humankind was collateral damage to those with immortal lives. Atrocities had been committed on all sides, but it was humanity that would suffer its greatest and most enduring casualties. ”I do agree the waiting, the lavish celebrations, the strutting of a wealth we all know is dwindling is a waste of time, of energy and resources… I suppose we will all be forced to take a side at some point,” she lowered her gaze briefly, her mind wandering over the defenseless. The draft stole from its people, but also undermined half its population. There was no training for those at home on how to defend themselves or how to fight. There was a time she thought she knew the world, thought she was a skilled fighter before that attack had shattered the illusion. ”I think the first stone will be thrown by the starving and dying." That surprised her, she was sure her face would show that. A man who paid attention to the mortal coil of the common man. Who could see it hemorrhaging and the eventual unraveling that would ensue. ”I think you’re right. Famine has a way of pushing its victims into depravity, to survival… I’m afraid that time grows closer the more they do things like this…” she canted her head in the direction of the house.

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