Chaqery

With a smile, this one genuinely warm and filled with relief, Geralt would move to awkwardly lower himself in order to give her a soft hug. "Of course... Lady Valois, that's right, isn't it? - My mother and father spoke very often of you. I believe I was instructed, should I have the fortune of finding you, to call you my aunt." At this the shrugs, stepping back from the hug, "Though I won't if that title bothers you." In another moment of clarity, the youth takes a look around, scanning his surroundings briefly for any signs of trouble. Seeing none, he focuses his attention back upon his newly discovered friend... or acquaintance, at the least. With another warm smile he listens to her. Though there is something about his eyes... perhaps a reaction to the woman's projected sadness, but for a moment they almost seem to glimmer in the sunlight, very much like his father's, before resuming their fiery orange hue. "Perhaps we'd best not... meet, or catch up I suppose is more accurate, here in the middle of the street? I don't really know any of these people my father told me about... so I'd prefer not to wonder into his enemies absently."

Glancing from the woman passively to the now questioning man, a short name is offered, "Geralt, sir." His attention focuses back upon the woman, hoping his appearance hadn't harmed her in some way.

With his gaze fast upon the man in silver and blue, the young half-blood, freezes. The utterance of his fathers name tenses him nearly as if stricken. The clatter of metal upon the stone starts him, and instinctively he reaches to grip the pommel over his shoulder. With an initial tug he brings several inches of his claymore free of it's scabbard, revealing a blood-red blade that glistens in the sunlight. His head darts around, finally landing upon the woman. Confused, he manages to force out words... "That is the name of my father... Toov. Who... are you that knows him?" With a sigh he relaxes his grip upon the blade, not wishing to frighten the lady. Blinking a few times, the youth slowly becomes aware of the odd glances he has begun to receive. Shrugging, he makes a move to the woman, kneeling and offering one of his pale hands to her, along with a reassuring smile. "Given what my father told me of this place, you are either a true friend or a mortal enemy... at least that is what he told me of his relationships in the Empire. I'll hope you're the former."

With a pause, the youth adjusts his gaze on the gentleman clad in blue and silver. Arching an eyebrow, he scans the crowd around him, pausing only momentarily upon Prince Harold for fear of attracting undesired attention. To his accuser he speaks plainly, his accent neutral, but with hints at foreign influences. "I am partially human, and raised to be nothing more than the average man. See?" he offers, tugging his hair back behind his ear, which is round instead of the tell-tale point. "-But you speak in tongues sir... the past cannot be forgotten, the future a mystery to beholden... do you address me or merely ramble?"

As the ship drew near to the dock, a lone figure stood out upon the deck. Clad in a ragged leather cloak with an upturned hood, the only remarkable thing about this individual was his height. He was tall - too tall for a human, and yet his stature spoke of a rather muscular build under his rough clothing. A half-breed perhaps. Protruding over his right shoulder was the hilt of a claymore, sized accordingly to it's owner, and wrapping in a simple black leather. Another soldier of fortune then? It's not as if the land wasn't plagued with their kind already. The ship groaned to a near halt, sending the crew began bustling about, preparing for the long and arduous process of unloading all of the cargo... made worse by the fact that it meant less time they could spend at the dockside pubs and inns. With a smooth stride, the hooded figure set out upon the dock, causing the warped planks to creak beneath the weight of his booted feet. -But, there was something in the way that he walked. It spoke of a militant upbringing, years spent being forced to stand in a very precise manner... and his hands were clasped before him as if in prayer. Breaking finally into the sunlight past the docks where the great mass of ships cast a long shadow, the figure reached up to flip his hood down. His nearly sickly looking pale skin and long, white hair reflected the glorious light, longing for it even. They were not the only luminescent attributes about him though. Giving a thankful glance to the sky for such a lovely day, his eyes seemed to catch ablaze. Orange... with a bit of a red tint. Clearly inherited from his parents... as was perhaps the necklace about his throat. Simple, with a metal band to hold it in place, and resting against his sternum, was the flower of a rose, carved from ivory. Looking back down from the heavens, he took the time to get his bearings. A youth in a new land with only tales and descriptions of people to look for to go on. Perhaps those he came in contact with along the road would recognize him for his likeness to his father and mother... or perhaps their names meant nothing anymore. With a soft sigh, he shrugged the strap of his satchel into a more comfortable position and set out down the path. "Creator watch over me." he whispered, lifting the necklace to kiss it gently. ((If you'd like to RP bumping into him along his journey, please feel free to do so. If you're not sure who his parents are given my name and his description, then you probably wouldn't recognize him... and no, I don't expect anybody to know his name. Go on then, he doesn't bite.))

--- The echoes of the ancient horn's salute hefted themselves into the air, only to be swept away and tattered by the unforgiving northern wind. For what must have seemed an eternity, the call of the Dread Knights was unanswered. Whatever force ruled the lands beyond the great glacier remained silent. Far off, in the land of Burzûmkûtotaz, that land of shadow, the din of an army on the move dominated the ambiance. Foundries and forges filled the hellish sky with smoke and ash. The wicked siege equipment lay sheltered in the various workshops. An endless collumn of tainted, cruel, and armored creatures shuffles along to the beat of the smith's hammers. There was a continent to seize, after all.--- Meanwhile upon the glacial barrier, a shriek, cold and metallic sent cracks all down the ice. It was an unnatural sound, one that invoked illogical fear and panic into the hearts of mortals. In it's weakened state, a sheet of ice splinters free and tumbles, sending ice and snow about the impact site like a thick smog. From the shards of ice and snow being scattered by the wind, a lone rider paces slowly into view. Rider and horse alike seem spectral, and the tattered sanguine cloak of the mysterious figure flapped loosely in the wind, carrying with it what almost seemed like whispers into the barren wastes. Upon the great wall, figures began to dot the horizon. Ashen and blackened banners were risen, before a flurry of horns echoed a final response to these new arrivals.

The War Front has now been updated! The Dwarven Warcamp is now the fortress of Storm's Crossing. The Orenian Warcamp will be constructed upon their side of the black Combat Zone. The RP of the War is expected to revolve around these warcamps, as they serve as staging and mustering grounds. Creator and Yemaker's blessings be upon you.

(( It's not being destroyed lol. You are the first target if the war against the dwarves erupts, because Salvus is the nearest settlement to the border. We're moving you to keep you safe from the war.))

One of the fliers is delivered to the Lord Inquisitor. As it is placed upon his desk, the acolyte quickly retreats out of harm's way. "It seems the city of Kingston is keen on signing its own death warrant. Acolyte..." "Y-... yes, Lord Inquisitor?" "Send word to the Emperor. I suggest Dies Irae." The acolyte nods, quickly and quietly exiting.

Sitting in the chapel of an undisclosed location, a lone figure clad in a black cloak prays, chanting in an eerie and reverent tone, amplified by the surrounding silence of the small chapel. Faintly, the soft thud of leather boots and the ruffling of robes approaches the praying figure, stopping several feet from it and standing perfectly still. There is a pause, as the chanting ceases and the room is left in complete silence. In a neutral, monotone voice, the inquiry is finally made: "Why is it you have disturbed my meditations?" "I-... I'm terribly sorry, my lord. -But you'd better take a look at this." Audibly sighing the kneeling figure rises, causing his dark robes to settle loosely about his daunting frame. A hand, sheathed in a black-dyed gauntlet, is extended to accept the document in question. "What is wrong with this docume-" the figure quickly clips his sentence as his gaze falls upon the phrase in question. It then falls to the bottom of the page, where the signatures lay. After this brief hiatus, a cold chuckle emits from the figure. "How very... curious."

Name: Baldir Toov Race: Human Aligned House: House Toov Location of Dwelling: Barony of Hyrr, in the County of Peakard. By signing you agree to follow the laws of Kaedrin. You also agree to allow those recognized to uphold the laws of Kaedrin, within the boundaries set by the laws. Baldir Toov

Thankya thankya. I look forward to trying to put the beliefs and issues of the players before my own (novel idea, I know). To that end, as Gaius offered, feel free to add me on skype "dj_chaqery" (add both because one is glitched), and please don't hesitate to approach me on TeamSpeak or via PM. I want to hear from you. I want to hear your concerns, your beliefs (with regard to the server and community), as well as the sort of things you would like to see in the future. I need your feedback in order to push for what /you/ want. So help me help you. It is a massive honor to be chosen for GM. I don't aim on letting you all down.