Conqueror's Crown (The Story)

[TragicAce]

Hiberton woke before the sun, and for once it was his intent to do so. Last night while growing weary from watching the elves setting camp and making supper, he speculated what an elven princess’s company would be like in the morning. Surely that would be when her regal airs were at their lowest-Sunborn or no. Hib was determined to discover the kind of person behind this entire hullabaloo, this quest for a mythical artifact.

The tray was a nice silver, well-crafted orcish work. The porcelain was far more extravagant; one did not need to inspect closely to know it elven-made. Fancy as it was, Hiberton was hoping it was what was inside it that would curry him favor with Linserra. Grown only in the Outisles, coffea beans were worth their weight in gold this far inland. That month he spent studying how they roasted them was a pleasure nothing from a pipe could bring. Those rumors of cannibals and savages from the isles were so overblown! Hib had personally only spotted one severed hand his entire visit.

As the gnome crossed camp his strong-smelling brew caught the noses of guardsmen on last watch, of cooks preparing breakfast, and even packhorses rearing for another march. As he made himself towards Linserra’s tent-easily identifiable by its grandness-the stares Hib received were those of displeasure. “They must have thought me shameless to court the princess’s favor so directly, these elves are worse then drawves!” No, they weren’t that bad. His body shook as he remembered how he gotten himself chased out of Formoria with nay more than the shirt on his back. And just his shirt. ”Those cold, northern winters…”

The guards at the tent’s entrance look more in need of his brew then the princess ever could, the poor chaps looked as if they spent the night running from Freeport. Might be they did. “Ahem, if any of you kind lads would escort me to milady and highness Linserra Sunborn, daughter of Fredundria, called ‘The Lady of-” The gnome was cut short his trivilties, how he hated that!

“Yeah it’s early for titles, ya? She’s a damned well prissy in er mornins’, well, more then usual see? Ha.” The guard spoke in a yawn, too tired to keep his voice quiet. And as it turns out, too tired to keep his job. A tempest of tension rose from inside the tent, and if Hib had to caution a guess, milady Sunborn was not in good humor. Not in good humor at all.

[Eva]

Linserra Sunborn sat on an elegant chair in her tent, her horned cat Goodberry resting at her feet. She was going over reports that had come in from other searching parties, scanning for any important details. Some had found treasure, but not the one she was looking for. Still, what they had found would go towards funding the continued effort. But eventually they would run out of funds and promises. Linserra sat back in her seat and took a sip of water, thinking deeply. Many had searched for the Circle of the First before her, and none had succeeded. If it was truly lost to time, Linserra would be the fool of Fredundria. A wasteful, inept one at that.

Without warning, her tent opened up. Linserra stood and adjusted her white robe as a chipper dwarf entered. "My lady, I have news of the jewels you recently received from one of the other search parties." the small woman said. Her chubby face, from its rosy cheeks to its deep dimples, seemed to bring good news. Linserra sat down again and gestured to a chair next to her. "I hope you have something worth hearing, Glamour. I have little patience these days." she warned. The dwarven woman smiled and scrunched up in the chair, buried under her many layers of silk clothing. Tiny, fat Glamour was a glimmer dwarf who had been managing the appraisal and selling of found items; her immense experience and skill had given them a great deal more money, and therefore time, than they could have hoped for.

"My lady...the jewels you received were marvelous fakes. And not very well-crafted ones." Glamour reported, her meaty hands clutching a journal. Linserra's face twitched slightly. "Explain, Glamour." she ordered. Glamour nodded, her two pale hair buns bouncing. "The search team sent the crate of jewels they found while searching the Black Forest. From the report they wrote, I know they found them in some ruins. Looking at them, I can tell they're nothing that would be found anywhere in Fereth, they just look like it. They're too light, too glassy." Glamour reported. She opened her journal and flicked several pages before landing where she wanted, and then gave the journal over to Linserra.

The elven princess's face became livid. "HOW many false treasures has this team sent?" she asked. Glamour smiled and let out an inappropriate giggle. "This is their third shipment. I waited to tell you because one can never be completely sure the first time...or a second time. Three's the magic number for this kind of thing. It's when they know they're confident." Glamour explained. Linserra threw the journal down. "What can you sell the fakes for, Glamour?" she demanded. Glamour's face went from her sugary smile to a more neutral expression. "As admitted fakes, and costume jewelry...they will not sell for much. I can't sell them as real, either, my lady. It would ruin my reputation." she said. "Then...then do what you can, Glamour." Linserra sighed, her voice tense.

The two women went to the tent's opening and stepped out, only to see the guards talking to a gnome. The air was immediately tense as Linserra looked around. "Is there something you need, Sir Hiberton?" Linserra asked icily. Beside her, Glamour smiled once more, feeling relieved that someone else was to receive judgement. "The princess has just received ill news regarding one of our other search teams. Soon to be former search teams." she said.

[TragicAce]

Oh-ho, she had remembered his name, even? It was near a week since they last (and first) met, though as he remembered the elven women spoke in much softer tones then. Hib was starting to regret not sleeping in this morning. Even so, he steeled his resolve and put on his best smile. “Milady Sunborn, I am heartened to meet your acquaintance in this early morn.” The gnome gave a gracious bow, difficult when holding a tray of very valuable beverages. He arose and continued. “If it pleases your grace, I would like nothing more than to speak around some Outisles coffee."

While Linserra was long since made immune to ‘gracious’ displays, that smell arising from the gnome’s porcelain-one in which she hadn’t smelled in ages-was winning his cause. Whatever the herbalist-that's what he was, if she recalled correctly-had to say, she would hear it. The energizing effect of the bitter beverage was known throughout Elemere, and if this morning was any indication, she would require the boost. The princess practically shooed her drawf companion away, hoping this gnome didn’t have more poor news to tell her. “Though in his case, it’s like to be coin for some journal about ferns.”

The two made their way to a small ornate white table made precisely for two having tea, and Hib was in silent awe at how luxurious the inside of a tent could be. How many wagons did all this furniture require, anyhow? His questions were far more polite, as he began pouring the coffee. “My lady, forgive me if I have intruded on a busy morning. The day looks like it will continue this stretch of lovely weather we’ve been having lately, don't you think? Nice cool breezes, a-“

“What do you require, Sir Hiberton? Forgive me but my patience is short.” The words came out a tad harsher then she intended, but especially so after her lips first tasted the gnome’s brew. It was…so intense. The richness was brilliant, though not overwhelmingly so. It had hints of lemon and honey, and flowed like silk in your mouth. The aftertaste was something she would not soon forget, either. Her face must have shown everything.

“He-ha! You absolutely loved it, I see. Harvested and roasted the beans myself, though I don’t mean to boast. If you have tasted a better brew, then please let me know the brewer, for I would seek an apprenticeship post-haste!” The gnome took a moment to savor his brew, as well as his small victory. The shock and revelry in this elven princess, though it was only for a couple instants, was worth waking early. Though he might have enjoyed himself overly so, for the stern mask was back on when Hib returned Linserra’s stare.

“I see I have amused you…” She was far from it, however.

[Eva]

Linserra kept her glare up for a moment, not really expecting Hiberton to say anything to her last statement, but he did. "It is just very exciting to see my leader more...energetic and happy." he said. Linserra folded her arms and stood up. "Thank you for your gift, it is most refreshing. But if you do not have pressing matters then please relieve yourself and go about your duties." she said as she walked over to the mirror propped up next to her bed.

Linserra began brushing her hair and Hiberton came up to her once more. "My lady, if you don't mind my asking, what has been troubling you about this expedition? It would be a great relief if I could help." he said. Hib knew he was pushing his luck a little with continuing to prod the princess, but he felt that he had built up some good will with his gift. Linserra continued to brush her hair as she spoke, "I have just received news that one of my search teams is sending fake artifacts and findings and possibly keeping real ones to themselves. This is not something that puts me in a good mood." she said, still facing her mirror.

"I am sorry to hear that, my lady. But...perhaps this could be used to your advantage?" Hiberton suggested. Linserra put her brush down and turned to face the gnome. Her face became a half smile and she seemed more amused than anything. "Explain this to me, then." she ordered. Hib began to gesture with his hands as he spoke, "Find the liars and make an example of sorts out of them. It doesn't have to be torture or death, just something that tells other search parties that you are not to be lied to." he explained.

Linserra sat in silence for a moment. "You may leave, Sir Hiberton. I will think of what you have suggested." she said as she turned back to grooming herself. "And another thing, good gnome. If you wish to truly curry favor with me, do so with good news. It's the one thing I'm desperately in need of these days." she said as Hiberton made his way out.

[Duvet de Mot]

Rising lazily over the horizon, the eastern sun's light streamed weakly through the trees and vines, illuminating the small camp nestled within the lush grove. A soft whistling arose as the dry desert air found its way through the untamed wilderness and into the encampment, causing the colorful birds overhead to rush into a frenzy of activity, chirping and cawing to signal the day's beginning. Within the camp, the residents began going about their business, starting off their days in the hopes of good news from the Lady Sunborn's tent. Even the guards seemed anxious to hear from the woman who had so well cloaked herself amidst her loyal followers and the wild jungle which Miashdar now found himself.

For Miashdar's part, he did not much care for the Lady Sunborn, but his opinions were inconsequential so long as he received the gold he was promised. An upfront sum had been provided upon his recruitment, and while the amount had not reached his usual standards, the promise of more for every kill he was required to make and a share in any treasures discovered certainly peaked his interest. It wasn't that Miashdar only cared for gold, but the promise of an open agreement regarding how many individuals he could kill gave him all the motivation necessary to accept Linserra's offer. As the snuffing of torches began, Miashdar sat just outside of his own tent - settled about thirty paces from the main camp - and finished the sharpening of the last of his knives. Having been up for an hour before many of the others, Miashdar had taken his time with his daily preparations, reflecting on the vital information surrounding his current position.

It was a puzzling thing. Why would the Lady Sunborn require a professional assassin as part of her entourage? Were her guards so incompetent that Linserra felt the need to hire a back-up plan? Miashdar thought for a moment before deciding the answer. In the end, the issue was not the reason for his hiring, but that it appeared he was to be paid for nothing. That might also be of little consequence should Linserra take offense to Miashdar's actions yesterday...

-

Miashdar unloaded the last of his equipment and weapons inside of his simple, canvas tent to organize later on that night. He had made sure that his tent was situated well away from the others: he didn't like company and company certainly did not seem to like him, which of course was a shame considering the amount he could learn from people who considered themselves "civilized". The whole charade of staying clear of an assassin because of his profession seemed absurd: why would an assassin randomly kill someone if there weren't payment involved? But then again, everyone was always so irrational about death. Like this fellow, for instance...

Stalking down the path towards Miashdar tent was one of Linserra's guards. Brandishing his longsword, the elf's rage appeared to grow within his eyes as he grew closer to Miashdar's encampment.

"Iceblood! Stand to!" Glaring at Miashdar from behind his helm, the elf's lips curled into a snarl as Miashdar stepped forward to face the young elf. As young as a "young elf" could be, that is. Though he was not an expert in elven aging, the guard before him could not be any older than fifty judging by the slight lines around his eyes; unfortunately, fifty was enough for the elf to be fairly skilled with a blade.

Miashdar considered the guard for a moment: his arms were shaking slightly and his footing seemed off. Emotional. Emotions meant he would be unable to compete mentally. He was sweating, meaning his blood was pumping faster than normal. The elf's blood was moving too quickly through his body for him to be even slightly rational; however, should he make contact, Miashdar's leather armor would not be enough to completely stop a full blow.

"Yes? May I be of assistance?" It would be better to take the innocent route even though Miashdar already knew where this was headed, having encountered many like this young man before.

"You killed my brother!" The guard's breathing was growing faster and more shallow. It appeared he was moments away from snapping. Miashdar stood firm, surveying the young elf... He would be better to end this sooner than later.

"It's possible. I kill a lot of people... Only if they deserve to die, though." Readying himself mentally for the guard's attack, Miashdar played through all of his possible attacks in an instant before the guard charged.

"BASTARD!" Charging forward, his sword following at his side, the guard swung upward towards Miashdar's face, his muscles tensed with rage. Although formidable combatants, the elven guards of Linserra's encampment were not trained to kill enemies more skilled than themselves, giving Miashdar the advantage against the irrational elf. Aiming to kill and certain of his strike, the guard stepped forward a bit too far, giving Miashdar the advantage he required to side-step the soldier's strike and pull him forward to the ground.

Only seconds later, the guard's met the cold earth with a satisfying thud, releasing a stressed groan as the pain in his back was realized. Warmth surrounded his neck and right wrist as Miashdar's steady hands gave both a firm squeeze. Face to face, the orc's eyes glared through his mask inches away the guard's own.

"If you wish to live, then drop your sword and return to your post. Tell your princess she may retrieve it at her leisure." Once the guard released his grip on the weapon, Miashdar gripped the elf's collar and tossed him a few feet away. Turning to re-enter his tent, Miashdar gave a glance back at the soldier shuffling back towards the main encampment, the rage still coursing through his body.

-

Miashdar place his mask and close over his head and sat quietly within his tent, a single lantern casting a light into it which reflect a hundred different ways off of the orc's armaments. Swords or all types and sizes, crossbows of every draw and wood, and about a dozen sacks filled with various other tools of Miashdar's trade filled every inch of the tent that did not contain the small, gray cot in the center. It was there that Miashdar patiently awaited word from the Lady Sunborn. None of her guards had come for the elven blade yesterday, so it only followed that they would come for it today. Perhaps he might even meet the woman who was employing him.