Chaqery

((Oh come now Khel. What's the worst that could happen? ; ) You know you lot enjoyed it. ))

Lord Captain Toov watches on in silence at the head of the White Rose soldiers gathered there. His hands clasped firmly behind his back, he fidgets with a medallion in his gauntleted hand. The Captain's gaze remains fixed upon the Black Prince, now made Emperor, hoping to perhaps make eye contact with His Divinity, looking for that hint of a sign to cast aside his doubts. ... But perhaps not. Maybe that was long since passed.

By no means will they be easy to kill. But they won't kill you in the blink of an eye now either.

Les Go0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Fire. It coursed through the very veins of Baldir Toov. As an Inquisitor, and as a White Rose, it had added an aura of fear to the giant. He would immolate those foes of Oren and the Rose that stood before him, the embodiment of murder and power. But, there was hidden beneath the violence and zealotry a warmth of another sort entirely. His fiery blood fostered a warmth of love, of protection, reserved only for his family. For Thomas and Peter Chivay, and Velwyn Ashford, his brothers. For Tanith, his beloved wife. And... for Artorus Hightower and Bran Volsung, his sons. The news of Artie's death had crushed him, and he had decided to retreat to a place where he knew none could find him. And as he knelt before the altar of that small chapel high atop the distant mountain, the memories of Artorus Hightower came flooding back. It was many years ago that Toov had happened upon the small boy unconcious in the snow. It was the land of Ildon, back in the days when the White Rose was nothing but a small band of soldiers assisting Count Elendil. From the head of the small collumn of men dispatched to patrol Ildon's streets, Toov had witnessed the boy plunge from one of the ramparts into the icy moat of Winterhall and clamber up out of it only to lie helplessly in the snow. In a moment of goodwill, the giant had lifted the shivering boy into his arms, and used the warmth of his flames to comfort him. He had travelled throughly the mercilessly falling snow back to Rose Hold, and laid the boy upon his own bed while Tanith fetched some hot tea. Together, the young couple nursed the boy back to health, completely unaware of his lineage. To them he was not royalty, but a boy in need of shelter from the cold. It was then that Toov had vowed to himself to protect young Artie. He felt a strange connection to the child. Fast forward a few years later, and Toov found himself at odds with Blood the Hunter, who was at that time Duke Ezekiel Tarus. Blood was a vigilante. A loose end... but somehow he and the young Captain Toov had become fast friends. That friendship, however, nearly shattered when Tarus revealed his plans to transform young Artie into the next Blood. "I vill not let you turn zhat boy into a monster, Tarus. He is zhe only hope ve have for a Hightower zhat understands common folk." The anger in Toov's voice was incarnate in the rippling heat ways that irradiated off of his body. Contrastingly, Tarus was cold in his response. "The decision has been made, Toov. I will not allow some peasant like you to change that." The words were a slap. Never in his life had Baldir considered slaughtering a friend, but that day, whether he knew it or not, Ezekiel Tarus had been very, very thankful to be protected by his title of Duke. Despite all this though, Toov had his revenge. Blood was made an Inquisitor. Not Tarus himself, but the alias, so that one day young Artie might take that position, and Toov could still watch over him. Years later still, and Artie, now a young man, sought Toov's help. He had fallen madly in love with Isabella Elendil, his childhood sweetheart from the days of Ildon, and their love had turned into to passion... and that passion a child. Unfortunately, Lady Elendil had been pressured into engagement with the son of a certain prominent dark elf, one that threatened to kill the couple for their transgression. Of course Toov had helped him. He had too. Artie was, after all, an illigitimate child... and Toov was without a son, something he wanted more than all else in the world. In this, in all things, Toov had protected Artie. The news of his death was to Baldir the news of his own failure. He had failed Artorus when he needed a father the most. If only he could see the boy one last time. To hug him. To apologize for letting him down. For not being the father figure he vowed to be. Artorus Hightower had been for Toov a small candle against the darkness. But one must protect a candle, lest a gust of wind snuff it from existence.

Custos chuckles, focusing his gaze upon the letter and it's response. He sighs, unclasping his hands from their usual prayer-like clasp. "I do hope the boy finds purpose in the twisting politics of Oren. I fear he knows not fully what he commits himself to. A pity I didn't wonder this way sooner. The Creator works in funny ways, I suppose." Shrugging, Custos removes a strip of parchment from his small satchel, and slips his signet ring onto his finger. He tacks the paper to the tree, and presses the ring upon it, murmuring softly. Gentle tendrils of smoke curl up form the paper, and when Custos removes his ring, the symbol engraved onto it is burnt onto the paper. It is that of a comet with two tails of flame behind it. Custos nods a bit, as if reassuring himself of something, and continues along his way. "Creator protects, I suppose. I must only hope his light is not snuffed by the darkness he would plunge into."

Marcel's introduction story added. The next chapter is Toov's story of the Temple District. Stick around for more updates as things heat up in Forochel for the rebellion. Criticism (constructive) is as always welcome, and I appreciate all of the +reps. Thank you for taking the time to share in this story with me. Oh, and Blood, an excellent excerpt, I must say. If anybody else feels like following along the same lines, I certainly won't stop you. More to be added soon. This story's got a ways to go yet.

Updated. Declan's story added. Marcel's will be posted tomorrow. To anybody interested, these will be playable characters. Reave is already accounted for, but Declan and Marcel are not. If you enjoy RP with Toov and are looking for something with a pre-existing story behind it, shoot me a PM. If not they'll just remain in the story.

((Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Fangirls gonna fan.))

The eyes of the Lord Inquisitor slowly shift to settle upon Greymane as he makes his way before the Emperor. With a faint smirk behind hisbmask he continues to watch in silence. Things were on the up and up... When would the bottom fall out?

The Rose Captain chuckles, turning about to face the silent line of White Rose soldiers. "Right. Vell let's not get involved in any more political bickering over who can serve as cannon fodder zhe best. Back to zhe mountain. Fall out." In a unified, "Jawohl!" the men of the white and red file out without further word. Toov takes a moment to nod respectuflly to both Lancel and Lord Winter. "Prince Lancel. Lord Vinter. Emperor protect." His large figure falls in at the end of the collumn as the Order clears off.

The Captain chuckles, shaking his head as Patrick walks off. "On second zhought, perhaps bannermen are in serious need if he is to be in charge of zhe army..."

The rise of the White Rose from obscurity into becoming something mothers threaten their children with. We're like... The boogeyman, or ghosts.

The Captain merely shrugs, and noting the ineviatability of this settling into conversation he raises his right gauntlet into a balled fist over his right shoulder. Without words his column of White Rose break from their ranks and fan out, settling into a line. As the rattle and clank of their armor dies down the large Captain steps forward in a manner of more casual conversation. Glancing about to Lord Winter's footmen he smiles, before his gaze falls upon the nobleman. "My lord, I hear your vord und opinions und vish zhat Oren could be so romanticized anymore. As ve've agreed on, you und you bannermen are more of an exception zhan zhe rule. Zhe vast majority of bannermen across zhe houses as of late have been more cannon fodder zhan soldiers bred for battle. Zhat is exactly vhy zhings like us, zhe Rose vere formed. House Chivay, und zhe gentry of Oren who fight for zhe Rose- myself included- bore vitness to zhe fragility amidst zhe noblemen zhat Oren has needed to protect it. Even zhe Knights are not vhat zhey used to be. Many of zhem take zheir oaths und dissapear. Or seek to gain vealth from it instead of giving service to zhe Empire. I know I can speak on behalf of zhe Vhite Rose vhen I say zhat ve admire men like you. House Vinter is seen as a glimmer of hope for vhat ve also believe in: a powerful Oren. An Oren vith nobility intelligent, capable, und powerful enough to protect zhe Empire. Zhe Imperial Court cannot accomplish it all alone. I agree zhat houses like your should be allowed to retain bannermen, but I zhink zhe shift has been due to zhe sins of zhe past. Here Artorus Elendil vas allowed to hold his own forces und he turned on zhe Empire. House Taurus has abandoned us instead of seeking to use zheir influence to make any sort of changes. Zhere is a fear zhat giving such unstable und... Perhaps incompetent nobility vill plunge us into civil var. You are- or at least appear to be- a great und honorable man. Zhat, I'm afraid, makes you a member of a dying breed. Zhe Rose mourns such." At this comment Captain Toov clasps his hands behind his back, a slight frown upon his face.

Captain Toov clears his throat a bit as Harlod finishes, and shifts his attention to him. "Lord Vinter... Zhe man you address so is Lord Patrick Horen. Perhaps it vould prove a bit more erm... Tactful to merely disagree vith him. I fully fully support zhe actions of zhose nobles villing to fight for Oren und maintain disciplined bannerman units... But such noblemen are few und far betveen. If zhe defense of Oren vere left to zhem alone ve vould have long since lost zhe Empire. Many of the noble Houses are only zhat in title. Zheir actions are not noble, und zhe power zhey vield is far from being noble equatable. Zhey merely sit back on zheir vealth und pretend many of our laws do not apply to zhem. Zhis army vas a matter of reqvirement instead of a political ploy. I have nozhing but zhe utmost admiration for zhe vork you und your men accomplish... But you are alone in zhis crusade. Zhere is us, zhe Vhite Rose, zhe Teutons, zhe Ulfhaedyn's, your men, und zhen zhe army. Zhe ozher noble houses don't play into zhe eqvation. Zhe last of zhe nobles vill capable forces. I truly salute you."

At such a violent outburst the shadows of the background seem to pulse, as each agent of the Inquisition tenses. The masked figure from before takes a few steps forward, just enough to reveal himself. "I would not overly worry about the Ulfhaedyn, Lord Elendil. The Inquisition will not tolerate such infighting amidst Oren's factions. I would ask that you merely guard yourself and do not strike againt him. We shall keep an eye on him. His capabilities as leader of the vanguard may be up to par, but his temperment when dealing with such... Delicate issues as politics does not correlate... Especially after you slew his firstborn."