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The Autumn Court - Chapter One: Bloodheir

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"What you have just done, child, is both gruesome and frighteningly imaginative.
Your heritage is showing."



Woken Judges (Player Characters):
Name: Magnus Blacklight
Race: Dwarf
Gender: Male
Age: 122
Personality: Magnus is Lawfully Neutral in alignment. He is always first to think and then to act. He always has a wide array of logic present before him to guide his pious thinking.He has no problem with surviving on stale bread and bad water, but he prefers eating exquisite meals and eats heartily. He will go forth to help someone, but will think of the consequences which affect him beforehand. He is very much like a Paragon in nature, always reminding himself of any misdeeds committed towards him or people close to him and in most cases pardoning those deeds.
Backstory: Magnus, his story doesn't start with his life, but the moment his true life began... Before that, he was a child abandoned on the side of the street, waiting hours upon hours, unfed and sickly, until a Priest of Wydros, named Orien took him in as his own, and raised him as a priest.
Many decades went away, and he grew up, with no knowledge of his true parents, but only that Orien was his mentor, his friend, his guide, his father..
The Order of Wydros broke away in the city, as people fled from the Dwarven Fortress which was collapsing. Orien, with Magnus, were left for dead in the ruins of the fort, and seeing his father die from writhing pain was too much for Magnus. He prayed day and night to Wydros for cure, but nothing saved him from death.
Magnus, now broken tried to leave the destroyed fortress, when suddenly, a giant pillar came crashing onto him.. Magnus shut his eyes and held his breath.
Startled, he opened his eyes again, he saw a bright flash of light in front of him, and a silhouette of a Dwarf standing, and then disappearing. He stood up to see that the Pillar shattered the ground around him, but left him unscathed. He noticed a small pebble tucked into his palm, with the glowing runes, saying "Svencsar".
He then realized a few things,one, that unlike Wydros, there was a diety which heard him, and saved him from death, and secondly, that Magnus had to rise to a higher calling, the calling of Svencsar.
He left the fortress, and scoured the nearby lands for any survivors, trying to help them learn of Svencsar.
Many years passed by, as Magnus grew into a pious man, who had built a Dwarven hamlet named "Velardunn" and made it his homestead in Silithiren, and a site of Svencsar's worship. He had gathered a decent number of people to worship the diety. Now, he wishes to live up to the calling..
Abilities:
Secrets:



Name: Drem Hazeol
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 32
Personality: Drem is meek and shy person but despite this, he isn't afraid to stand up for what he believes in. He is a caring man who will do anything to help other people out. The man is also the type of person who will sit on the fence and not choose sides and instead try to create a union between the two.
Backstory: Because of his shyness, Drem was the subject of bullying at a young age. He was always picked on by the other kids and he would always run and hide from them, even those who try to befriend him. To cope with this, Drem would escape into the world of his imagination. He wrote stories about magic, love, the unknown, and many other forms but what he mostly wrote was about peaceful lands where everyone live together in total peace and harmony. Despite being ridiculed, it didn't shake his belief that people can become good, that people can, despite doing wrong in the past, would still see the error in their ways and change for the better.
Due to writing a lot, it paved the way for Drem to become a famous writer at an early age. He wrote books that gave a lot of people the feeling of wonder, curiosity, amazement, sadness, and the like.
Abilities:
Secrets:



Name: Teyia Rowman
(Pronounced 'tear' as in cry, not rip/tear)
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 193
Personality: Teyia is quite a calm and collected individual, with a hard-earned patience that she has built up and tempered over many years.
Quiet, well-spoken and slow to judge, she is soft and understanding and knows that one must work to succeed (knowing that no one’s going to hand her a good life to her on a silver platter).
With something of a motherly temperament, she has a weakness for all things young and “innocent” and can be equally overprotective and chastising.
Backstory: Teyia is the second child to a wealthy coastal merchant. As the first and eldest daughter, she spent her childhood and early adolescence being groomed for Ladyship, ready to be married off to the first rich or powerful courter her that father approved of.
However, her mother died giving birth to her younger sister, Aria - their Father, unable to cope with the loss, buried himself in work and other-abroad affairs, leaving the management of the house and estate to his eldest, Armen, and the care of the young Aria (and a large number of following - unsolicited - children from multiple women) to Teyia.
In the years following Teyia adapted slowly to her matriarchal role, leaning on her brother for financial support - all thoughts and dreams of her own future now a thing of the past.
Over time they began to hear from their father less and less, until one day they simply heard no more. Armen took over all of his affairs and left the estate to Teyia, who then had to learn to juggle both the accounts and the children. In time, things worked out and the younger children grew up and left home, one by one, pursuing their own goals and dreams.
Despite being the eldest of the younger children, Aria was the last to go, and did so only with a forceful push and tears in her eyes.
So with even the youngest of her all her late father’s children now gone, the reality finally sunk in for Teyia.
The hundred years that had seemed nought but a blur all came crashing down at once.
She struggled to recognize the aging woman in the mirror, with the downcast and distant gaze, echoes of crows feet around her eyes and the very first hints of grey.
She felt so lost and alone. She’d given up her life to take on another, and now that one too, seemed to have come to an untimely end.
So it should be little surprise that she didn’t much convincing to walk away from what little she had left and accept the mysterious invitation to join the Autumn Court...
Abilities:
Secrets:



Name: Arilia
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 158
Personality: Arilia never consider himself good or evil. He don't care much about anything or anyone, save for his goals. The byproduct of that is a complete lack of organization of anything unrelated to his goals (such as his bed and table). He is willing to use any option to achieve his goal, but he prefer peaceful means that conforms to the law. He plans throughly and is quick to act once he found a working plan. He will not tweak his plan to make it less repulsive to others.
Backstory: Arilia is a man who you can get what you want for the right price. Be it a rooftop fix, blueprints for a catapult, a criminal in prison or a won war, he will give it to you if you pay him a hefty sum. Desprate nobles and paranoid con-men came to him to get what they want and he gave them what they want, but at four to ten times what you would get from anyone else. Many agree that his services are valuable, and you can get a lot of things from him, but his prices are extremely high.
His past has been speculated by a lot of people. One said he was a bastard child of a noble, another said he was a wizard, and yet another said he was a demon in human form. All of them are right in a way, for he is descended from a long-forgotten bloodline, can get even the hardest to get items and have connections with nearly everyone of importance.
Some said he was thrown onto the streets when he was born, and found and raised by a burglar. It would explain his quick fingers and wit, his ruthlessness, and his hasty decisions. Some said he tipped the burglar who raised him to the authorities for a bit more cash.
There are many theories as to what made him the man he is today, but whether any of them are even slightly close to the truth remains unknown.
Whatever his past, he has a sharp mind, is quick to act, has a light foot, and can bring even the most unlikely thing to you most of the time.

NOTE TO CONFUSED PLAYERS/READERS: After a short while of play, the player 'frettory' who was in control of Arilia was kicked from the roleplay.
His reaction to this led to him being banned from the site, and his posts removed. The sudden gaps in the roleplay thread which can be found here and there are caused by this.
I apologize for any inconvenience this might cause.



Name: Eveline Goriot
Gender: Female
Race: Half Human \ Half Herder
Age: 38
Personality: Fake smile always lies on her face and she knows that others like to hear sweet words. The only person of importance to her is she and very few people that managed to earn sympathetic feelings and even less genuine care. She tries to be calm and wise beyond her age but she is still a rather young inexperienced person and can burst in anger, especially regarding those who are more power than she is, such as people noble birth and to extent dwarves. In private she is relaxed and enjoys not being forced to wear the mask of constant smiles and favors those lone moments when she can be herself. Still young and remains to be seen will she mellow down with age or become cynical.
Backstory: Eveline is a single child of merchant Johan Goriot and to know her we must first learn something about her father. Johan earned his riches through questionable conducts in the foreign lands before deciding to settle in more peaceful Silithiren. During his travels he fell in love with herder girl but the union did not last for long. She gave birth to little Eveline but did not live to see her daughter grow up and instead Johan alone took care of his daughter. Eveline was raised as human and in time she grew to dislike her non human side and she developed a taste for more luxurious life her father provided her with. But money didn't last for long as Silithiren did not have wars which Johan knew how to exploit and so he had fallen in to debts. Eveline at first did not understand through what her father was going through but when she found out the lengths he was going through to make her happy she realized that one simply can not have riches and do nothing. To help out her father Eveline had to seek employment as a servant girl in a lesser noble house. Years passed and things didn't seem to change but the Eveline did learn valuable experience of plotting and intrigue and she believed in time she would find a way to bring her father back on his feet and have the riches and power she deserved. Till one day came invitation to something called "Autumn Court"...



Name: Skojam Wheelwalker
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 59
Personality: Skojam is a combination of many things. He lives a hedonistic lifestyle, with a bottle of wine always at the reach of his hand, and a lamb ready to be cooked in his vicinity. Armed with wit sharper than any sword ever forged, he considers laughter one of the best cures.
Moreover, he is also an educated man and can be calm and level-headed if need be.
Backstory: Born in a relatively affluent family, Skojam has enjoyed his life so far. He hails from an ancient family of Silithiren. His ancestor's were lords of a medium-sized town whose profit came from fishing. However, one year, a harsh winter combined with an outbreak of a disease made them quickly lose their status. Cashing in everything they could, they fled to a prosperous region, however the disease made the head of the family die, which caused a feud between his children. Skojam's branch was left with nothing, forcing them to travel the lands and barely surviving, until Skojam's grandfather became a smith in a small town. His talent as a smith and the fact that he used Skojam's father as free work force made him a widely known man. Skojam's father on the other hand, with little to no funding from Skojam's grandfather, was able to become a successful physician, working in a city relatively close to the capital. Skojam was raised in that town, taught to be loyal to his family, to the monarchy and to himself. He then studied to become a physician, however he, being himself, also enjoyed the arts. With an affinity to sing and write down his thoughts he dabbled with poetry. After becoming a physician, he settled in the capital city of Silithiren where he works as a physician while also writing literary works. Although not engaging in politics of any kind, his charisma allows him to use his numerous contacts as ways to gain information about the current status in the kingdom, which he primarily uses in his works, often criticizing some flaws of the society.


The Cindethyre Lounge (Hub/OOC Thread):
http://www.hiveworkshop.com/forums/roleplaying-370/autumn-court-258248/

The Archives:
-People of Note:

-Miscellaneous Important Information:




___________________________________________________________________________________

-GAMESTART-
___________________________________________________________________________________



It has been two days since you arrived at Year's End, The Autumn Court's mountain fortress.
Placed dizzyingly far up the side of Vault Peak, the fortress' inhabitants oversee the surrounding valleys from their home among the clouds.
The journey upwards was one of lifts and churning gears, one which makes even the sturdiest of hearts tremble silently as they ascend the windy mountainside.
Upon arrival you were seen to your living quarters, a rather large and well-decorated room, where you were instructed to stay until further notice.
The door to the outside was locked, so you did not have much choice in the matter.
Fortunately for your well being the room was complete with your own personal latrine, and servants clad in orange robes brought you food from the fortress' kitchen.
But now, on the evening of the second day, something finally happened.
A servant arrived at your room, informing you that he has been orderd to lead you to the 'Warmwind Halls'. Intrigued, or perhaps somewhat impatient to find out why you are here, you follow.

You walk for a solid ten minutes through corridors with wooden walls, until you arrive at last.
An enormous wooden gate, carved full of runes, blocks your path. The servant whispers to it, and it opens.
Immediately a thick fog flows out to meet you, drifting past your feet and into the corridor behind you before fading. It covers the room behind the gate entirely, preventing you from seeing any of the place.
The servant walks inside, and gestures for you to follow.
He guides you through the fog for a while, then asks you to sit down. You do as you are told, and find yourself sitting on something surprisingly soft and comfortable. An armchair?
Before you know it the servant is gone, and the fog begins to lift.
You still can't see very well, but it looks like you're in some sort of... amphitheatre?
A few torches light up the centre of the room; a small circle surrounded by a spiked metal fence.
You can see other people sitting like you around the room. How many there? How big exactly is this place? You cannot tell.
Suddenly a voice cuts through the silence, speaking to you from somewhere far above it all.

"Welcome, esteemed inhabitants of Silithiren! Welcome to The Autumn Court!
We, the custodians of Year's End, have brought you here to aid the nation which we all inhabit. These are strange times, and the world outside of our borders is changing faster than even the gods can keep up with. It is in times like these that we must be at our strongest, or fall.
To achieve this, we need people like you.
We need you to help us preserve this land, and to help it grow. We need you to help us tend to this garden of peace.
Specifically, we need you to help guide Silithiren along the crooked path into the future. We need your insight, your wit, your cunning, your intellect. We need your judgement, starting right now.
Thank you for coming."

A soft breeze blows through the chamber. A hooded figure in a brown robe enters the amphitheater's centre. It speaks with a woman's voice.

"Today, on the second day of the Marching Month, we will begin the judgement of Avithyr Tolk, heir to the Tolk Dukedom. The marked will be led before you in five minutes.
Use this time to gather your thoughts."

The woman leaves the amphitheater's circle, vanishing from view.


[DM: Once all active players have made their first post to introduce their characters into the game the story will commence.]
 
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Magnus speaks to break the silence amongst them..
"Well, lads and lasses, it seems that we've a situation at our hands, and we should get to it. But first, allow me to make myself acquainted with all of ye. I am Magnus Blacklight, herald of the lord Svencsar, and owner and master of Velardunn. Let us all progress harmoniously and wisely."
 
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This was all so surreal to Drem. He couldn't believe what was happening. One moment he was enjoying his life as a writer and now he was called up to be a part of something big. Excitement and nervousness overcame his body in anticipation of what was to happen. A lot of things raced through his mind but was stopped when a dwarf spoke and introduced himself.
"I guess I should introduce myself also." He reluctantly thought.
"Hello there. My name is Drem Hazeol." His voice somewhat shaking.
 
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The judges' voices echo through the hall as the first of them begin to speak.
A dwarf was the first to raise his voice, soon followed by a young human. They cannot see eachother clearly through the fog, but they can make out some rough outlines of how their fellow judges look.
Another voice joins in, originating from a figure of human shape. The voice is deep, speaking with the slightly slurred accent typical of a city-bound herder.
"I greet you both, ehir*. I am Syhr, an architect trained in the dwarven ways.
I have heard of your work Hazeol*. It is an honor to meet you."




OOC:
*'Ehir' means 'wanderer' or 'wanderers', and is one of the few places in which the herder language differentiates itself from Grainspeak (english).
Herders use it as a part of most greetings, a custom which has been adopted by most of Silithiren's human population as well.


*Herders traditionally refer to people by their family name.
 
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"Ah. You mustn't say that. I am nothing more than a young man who writes what comes to mind." Drem quickly replied, somewhat shocked at the sudden acknowledgment.
He quickly regained his calm and spoke fluently.
"But I do thank you for your kind words."
 
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A fourth silhouette moved somewhere in the fog. A soft woman's voice spoke this time. It was slightly coarse, but the words flowed effortlessly after eachother. The person speaking was either very confident, or an experianced orator. Perhaps both.
"Oh, don't sell yourself short kid. I haven't read it, but your stuff's makin' the rounds in the circles that are well versed enough to read it.
'seems they didn't pick people at random; we've got a promising writer, an architect rich enough to buy half of Wyrro* and a dwarven refugee who's managed to set up his very own little re-enactment of the dwarven empire. I'm beginning to feel inadequately unimportant already."


*Wyrro is one of Silithiren's big port cities, and is by many considered to be its true capital.
 
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Magnus tries to look at the lady in the distance, he smiles and replies
"Now now milady, don't think of yerself like that. Everyone is unique and everyone is important in their own way, so are you. I believe that a person's destiny is their path, and they can choose whether to walk it or not.. "

Magnus quickly changes the subject..
"Tell me, milady, what is your parentage and your occupation?"
 
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The woman giggles.
"That's funny."
She yawns, stretching her back before replying.
"People call me Rhyme, and you can do so too. I'm in the business of knowing things, then having other people pay you for the privilege of also knowing those things.
As for my parents, I haven't got a clue."
 
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OOC: *sigh* Alright guys, I've been waiting for Grey Nightmare to make a post for a while but he hasn't been responding on the site or on skype for a fair while now. It's quite a shame as I'd really like to have him with us, but I don't feel like I can keep you folks waiting anymore now.
I'll set the plot into motion as soon as I come home today. Cheers!
 
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OOC: I'm kinda confused, how did Arilia know Magnus? There was no deals struck of any dwarven artifact, so I'm not sure where you got that idea :p
Also, 'tis sad that yet another RPer won't be able to join us for this..
First Zzone, now Grey Nightmare..
 
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OOC:
@Frettory
Funny you should say that... ;)

@Wolffman
Aye, it's a shame. I know that he's really busy and I was somewhat surprised when he said he'd be joining us to begin with, but he's not respondin' anywhere atm. Hopefully nothing serious has happened.
Anyways, it looks like frettory has employed the classic roleplaying trick of 'instant backstory', making up a little bit of backstory - which technically isn't cannon - on the spot. It isn't anything major, so if you're fine with it Wolffman then I'll allow it (although I wouldn't reccomend doing this too often).
 
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Before Rhyme can answer Arilia's question, the voice of the hooded woman booms through the chamber. Unlike before she is not standing in the room's centre, and her voice seems to have no clear place of origin.
"In a matter of moments the man named 'Avithyr Tolk' will be brought before you.
He is twenty-three years of age, son of the late Duke Cyries Tolk."
She pauses for a moment, then continues.
"One week ago, in the span of a single night, exactly three hundred inhabitants of Wryt* were brutally murdered in an indiscriminate mass-slaughter. Witnesses claim that they saw the young Avithyr sprinting through the streets covered in sanguine liquid, wielding a set of red-bladed dueling swords. Even his own brother and sister claim that they found him soaked in blood in his bed the morning after.
The people demand his head, but his mother and several other nobles refuse to believe that he is responsible for this crime.
Tensions were rising, so we intervened.
Avithyr Tolk, as well as those who would stand with or against him, will be brought before you to face your judgement.
If you have any last words to speak amongst yourselves before the young man enters the room, do so now."




*The largest settlement in the Tolk dukedom.
 
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Drem felt the atmosphere change in an instant when Tolk was brought out and much more so when they told the accusation against him. But Drem knew not to judge him so quickly without knowledge.
"Now now. We don't know yet if he was the one who committed the massacre. We mustn't jump into conclusions." He voiced calmly.
 
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The sound of heavy gates opening fills the air. As soon as it ceases it is replaced by the sound of slow footsteps, approaching the room's centre.
A young man, his hands bound behind his back, enters the lit circle.
He is wearing a large black longcoat, decorated with golden and red threads, and a white silken shirt. His trousers are made of a very dark-brown leather, and his large black winter boots are lined with grey fur.
His brown hair is messy and hangs lazily down the sides of his head. His chin is spotted with the beard stubbles of a man who has recently stopped shaving.
His eyes are a deep, muddy shade of blue.
He lifts his head and looks around the room with a melancholy expression.
"Fog. I won't even be able to see the face of those who judge me? Skull's nose*..."



*A common phrase for expressing outrage, disdain and a plethora of other unwelcome emotions.
 
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Magnus seems quite confused by Arilia's sudden question, he mutters to him " Of all the questions? Clearly, the fella' would have blades for himself, he's one of the heirs to the Tolk Dukedom. Tell us Avythir, what do you plead yerself? Innocent or Guilty? Speak the truth, or do not speak at all."
 
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Avithyr's tired gaze follows the sound of the voices speaking from within the mist. He sighs.
"I have committed no crime. I own but the one blade my father gifted to me, and it has not tasted blood since my duel with Niels Folkes*."



*The son of the Duke of Folkes.
 
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Magnus replies, "There are witnesses who claim that you have been slaughtering the people of Wryt, saying that you had not one but a set of blades, bloodied. Even your siblings have claimed to have seen you blooded. What say you, to your defense?"
 
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Avithyr bares his teeth.
"Lies! Lies from my own kin!"
The young man's words echo through the chamber. His eyes widen, apparently surprised at his own outburst, then he turns his gaze to the ground.
Rhyme, who has been silent until now, begins to speak.
"He aint lying about only owning one sword. It's name is 'Wurmbane', a blade which his father brought home with him from the journey to Urnung* on which he met Avithyr's mother.
It supposedly belonged to a crycon Rune-King*, and is thus worth a fortune. 'kid refuses to sell it though."


*Urnung is Silithiren's closest neighbouring country. It is many times larger than silithiren in terms of landmass, but it is almost entirely composed of frozen ice-desert due to the enormous cloud of black smoke which hangs in the sky over the entire country and blocks out all sunlight. Supposedly this is the result of a curse cast on the land by a being known as 'Shroud'.
It is often referred to as the land of eternal dusk, and the people who live there are incredibly resillient.


*Crycons are the primary inhabitants of Urnung, and supposedly lived there since before the land died.
They are both larger and stronger than humans, the average crycon standing almost twice as tall as the average human, and their skin is notoriously pale.
 
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Magnus yet again questions the lad "Tell us, young Avythir, where were you on the night of this massacre? Give us an exact log of your bearings of that day half a fortnight* ago. We want to know what exactly has been occurring, so it is best you answer us with honesty.

OOC- Where'd GunSlinger dissapear off to?

*Fortnight = 14 days, so Half a Fortnight = 7 days. 7 Days = 1 Week
 
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OOC- Sorry. Was sleeping at this time.

"Hmm. Something doesn't make sense though. His brother and sister claim to see him covered in blood in his bed at the morning. What's weird here is that what kind of killer doesn't clean himself up after a killing and simply go to bed? Unless I misunderstood something here, I would like to bring attention to this matter." Drem voiced out.
 
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Avithyr listens to Magnus' question, and looks like he's about to answer when Drem speaks. His eyes light up with something which might be hope as the young writer speaks, but he suppresses it quickly and answers Magnus.
"I spent most of the day sparring with my uncle, Jonas. I returned to my chambers exhausted, then spent an hour reading a book my mother gave me before I went to sleep."
 
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Magnus, quite angered at the nonchalant bickering, speaks out, "Enough! Avythir, since you say that you were in sparring against Jonas*, can he vouch as a witness to your innocence? Also, do you have anyone else who would vouch as a witness to your innocence?

*- Is Jonas supposed to be called Sir Jonas or Lord Jonas, or something similar? Otherwise, I'll refer to him as Jonas..
 
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Drem speaks lightly.
"Yes. We can also call for those who claim he did."

He leans forward in his chair.
"Also, you are the heir to the throne correct? Wouldn't it be possible that this would be a case an internal struggle for the crown?" He questions.
 
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A voice without a source, like the hooded woman's, pierces the air of the chamber. It is that of a man, deep and age-worn.
"All witnesses, as well as those who defend the accused and anyone else deemed relevant, are already in Year's End. They can be here in a few moment's notice, should you require their pressence."
Avithyr's eyes widen for a moment upon hearing this, but he quickly regains his bearings.
"Yes, please! Ask Jonas, ask my mother or anyone else who was in the castle that night! I slept like a godsdamned bear in winter that night!"
He faces Drem as the young writer voices his question.
"I'm supposed to take the reins of the dukedom come summer*, yes."
There's something in Avithyr's eyes as he utters those words, but none present can identify exactly what.


*It is currently mid-winter, when Silithiren is covered in thick snow and life-ending cold.

OOC: Jonas Tolk holds no noble title, but he is the duke of Tolk's younger brother so he may very well be referred to as 'lord'. There is however nothing wrong in just calling him 'Jonas'.
 
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Drem was a bit shocked at the knowledge that the witnesses and those related were already inside the fort. He shudders at the thought of how quickly and how they had gotten them.
"Well. That makes thing a little easier for us now." Drem speaks as he turns to the others.
"Who do you think should we call first? I vote for either Jonas or his brother or sister."
 
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Teyia's attention had wavered since she had first entered the amphitheatre.
At first she had taken to the closest empty seat, towards the back of the gathering with a mind to avoid any direct involvement.
She propped up her head in one hand and allowed her mind to drift, as her eyes scanned over the room lazily, taking a vague note of those few who were speaking.

But as more and more people began to join in the conversation, Teyia found herself less and less interested. Why was she here? Because she agreed to come, yes, but why did she? Because there was nothing else left for her back home, but was that true? Was coming here really the right decision? What even is here? There was simply too much to process, two days was simply not enough.

And so the introductions and idle chatter continued for some time, until at long last, the purpose of their audience was finally announced.
They were to trial someone? For murder? Of three hundred people?

Not only was the story itself shocking, but also the fact that they seemed to be considering all of those present to be perfectly qualified to make such a judgement on this man. If she didn't know better, she'd say she was dreaming. But no, that in itself, would be far too good to be true.

For the first few minutes Teyia let the others prod, jab and jibe the supposed guilty-party, and found herself pulling more than just a few faces at some of the more extreme comments and questions they put forward.
Again, how are we, how are any of us qualified to judge this man? He who no doubt has a better upbringing and education than myself and many others here. A Noble, called guilty, by a writer, architect and who else knows what?

It's not that she was against the idea, not at all, but the concept was most definitely an alien one, and so she kept her mouth firmly shut at first.
But when he mentioned taking over the throne, the way he tagged on that conclusive acknowledgement to the end of the sentence, the tone of his voice and that ever so strange flickering in his eyes.

That look, she was wasn't certain, but she thought she had seen it before...
The look of a man, no perhaps a boy, a boy who wasn't quite ready to grow up yet - the same boy who pouts when he's told he's going to be a big brother - and from now on, he has to be a "big man" and take good care of his little sister.

"So then, I am right in thinking that you do not wish to lay claim to your rightful Throne, my lord?"

The words slipped from her mouth - loud and clear - before she'd even thought to speak them.
 
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Avithyr spins around, facing the direction this new voice had come from. His cheeks are turning bright-red.
"How dare you! Of course I wish to claim my rightful place as Tolk's ruler! My father raised me to continue his legacy, and-"
Avithyr is cut off by Rhyme's laughter, echoing through the room. When she finally catches her breath her silhouette faces Teyia, still clutching its stomach.
"Heh, I like you already. As much as I want to know the answer to your question though, I don't think we're going to get anything else out of him yet. I lend my voice to the idea of bringing in the kid's uncle."
From the other side of the hall Syhr grunts.
"I, for one, agree with the outspoken man who has not yet given us his name*. We should speak to the siblings before we go any further, as their claims are essential to the case."



*Arilia.
 
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Syhr's silhouette nods.
"Yes, bringing in more than one would do us no good. THe last thing we want is for them to be able to communicate with each other."
"Unless we have something specific in mind, that is."
Rhyme adds.
A gust of wind blows through the hall, followed by the hooded woman's voice.
"What are your requests, judges? Is Avithyr to remain in the hall, or do you wish to speak with someone else?"
 
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Syhr's silhouette shifted in its chair.
"Information gained from an individual being exposed to torture is never reliable. People will say anything you ask them to when the alternative is excruciating pain, and we are simply left with the same dilemma of whether to believe them or not.
Frankly, I find your insistence regarding the use of this cruel method of interrogation to be apalling."
 
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"Torture? If we succumb to that level of interrogation, then how much better are we than the one called suspect?" Teyia added, sitting up straight.
"But from what we've been told, I'm not sure we'll be able to get much from the brother or sister other than that they found him asleep on his bed, in a pool of blood - and hasn't he already denied that? So where does that leave us?".
 
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OOC:
Well, I'm afraid neither of your two actions are possible. You are not allowed to leave the Warmwind Halls, and your dart trick would be viewed by the court as a transgression against someone who is in their custody (guilty of crimes or not). Since that action isn't going to go through it is unimportant, but should you actually attempt to do somethng like that then there will be consequences.
The Autumn Court allows you but a single weapon; your mind.

The second set of actions is impossible, as
A: This is reniassance times. The fact that you're actually part of a court questioning and judging criminals rather than just declaring them guilty or not guilty based on the judgement of whoever is in power is a new and forward-thinking idea already, and the kind of investigation protocol which we know today is nonexistent.
B: The bed has long-since been cleaned (if there actually was any blood there to begin with, that is) and although witnesses have been gathered as they are relevant to the case pieces of evidence have not exactly had the same kind of attention paid to them.
C: The twin blades are still not even certain to have existed at all, as their existence so far relies entirely on witness accounts.

In general you have to keep in mind that you're not dealing with the well-oiled machine that is modern law enforcement systems, but something far more chaotic.



IC:
Rhyme chuckles.
Syrhr's silhouette nods slowly.
"Lady Nameless-Voice-Of-Reason has a good point. I've changed my mind, and I vouch that we bring in the uncle."
A gust of wind blows through the hall, shifting the mist. The hooded woman's voice is heard again.
"A majority has vote has been reached, and Jonas Tolk will be brought before you shortly. Avithyr will remain in the circle until his uncle arrives, in case you have any further questions for him."
 
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The hall's lit centre is suddenly engulfed in a whirling cloud of smoke, the sounds of howling wind surging through the room.
When the smoke fades Avithyr is gone, and in his place stands a tall man with long, pitch-black hair. He is wearing a black long-coat in the same style as Avithyr's, but unlike Avithyr he keeps it closed. It has a large amount of insignias, crests, medals and miscellaneous marks of honor or service sewed onto its chest.
His facial features are sharp and his gaze is keen, his azure-blue eyes slowly scouting their surroundings. He has the aura of someone with a fierce intellect.
His hands are not bound, and there is nothing visibly restricting his movement.
His voice is deep and smooth.
"Good evening."
 
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Nameless Voice of Reason - Teyia smiled and nodded to herself, she rather liked that.
The snap of the wind brought her back to attention and drew her gaze to the new figure standing at the head of the room.
Jonas Tolk. The uncle of Avithyr.

What could he bring to the table? It looked like only time would tell.

She decided she would let the others talk first, they seemed more willing and she had always favored the eye over the tongue for interrogation. Kids, they could plot and lie as well as any noble family, if the risk was worth the reward, but even the very best of liars has a guilty heart - old or young, rich or poor. They were all only human, someone was bound to slip up... Eventually.
 
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Jonas' gaze shifts towards Arilia, but the rest of him does not move an inch.
"You assume that we had but a single duel. Your assumption tells me that your interrogation of my nephew was either piss-poor or that you've overlooked important information."
Rhyme snickers.
 
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"None of what you have just said is true, and even if you were trying to frame me I doubt you could prove any of it."
Jonas scratches the back of his head.
"Curious. I was under the impression that people of the law were at least smarter than the average bucket of porridge."
 
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Jonas faces Drem, ignoring Arilia completely.
"He was with me up until four hours before the slaughter occurred. We had been training his swordsmanship since morning, and he was exhausted when he left me. I saw him again an hour before the slaughter occurred, when he came to my chambers seeking my assistance with understanding something he was reading. A book by a crycon author if I recall correctly."




OOC: NPC judges know diffirent things about the world than you, but nothing more than you do regarding the Autumn Court.
 
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Syhr raises his voice.
"Its a crycon legend. It speaks of a healer, Jen Myrdes, who follows a wolf spirit from battlefield to battlefield. In every place he tends to the wounded and listens to their stories, from the simple infantrymen to the greatest of generals. It is a fantastic piece of literature, and whether there is any merit to the myth or not it is a rather inspiring tale."
Although he attempts to hide it, he speaks with obvious excitement.
 
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