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Welcome to the world of Fortuna, a land of fantastic proportions. This is an original fantasy roleplay that takes place in a world developed over nearly a decade of work and collaboration. We aim to encourage all participants to have a hand in the stories of the characters here, and the world around them. Your choices are key - so make them with pride. You decide who wins the wars, you decide who becomes King, the world is ours, and together we will bring it to life!
[attr="class","gilles2"]Gilles returned inside unscathed, but many of his men and women were less lucky. Electrical burns, cuts, scrapes, bruises. No one had died, which seems almost... Purposeful, but The Stormbringer would put little stock into that theory. At least until he could review the evidence. For now, the healers would have their way with those injured, and Gilles would away to the war room.
"S-sir, would you like us to follow them?" One of the men asked as Gilles strode through Fort Giakohs with little apolmb. He shook his head, which was a surprising answer, but enough for them. He continued walking, but the man who had tried to speak to him was not finished. He walked double-time in order to keep pace with the tall brute that was Gilles, and asked his next query: "Shall we gather the witnesses?" A nod this time.
The soldier broke rank with his commander and fell back to do as offered, saying little else (know that Gilles would say little else), and The Stormbringer took to the quiet war room. It was late at night, Cowell was sleeping. Or possibly, more likely, tossing and turning. If he was awake, he had heard the commotion. He ought to come to the war room, but... Well, Gilles could only suspect that his ally would pretend he was out like the dead. That was fine.
Gilles needed time to process.
The diviner from Oculum arrived swiftly, a high elf who was a mute, except for when magic was at hand. She was a middle-aged woman of blue-tinged skin and alabaster hair who always looked wrong in the standard robes offered to military mages of her standing. He cared little for her comfort, of course, but if he could have found the words he might have told her not to bother with the outfit. Instead, he looked at her expectantly, and she nodded understanding as she placed four jewels on the table before him. Ruby. Opal. Fluorite. Ruby. The alignment of his soul, something she had decided, and something she would claim made this easier. It just seemed like an act of showmanship to him.
The diviner focused on the four jewels, waving her hand over them mystically, not needing to have an assistant here to communicate what he needed to focus on. He was already focusing.
I heard the alarm while in the war room. A native had been seen within the perimeter. I found that interesting, I walked outside. It was no native. A young man with red hair and tattoos. Carrying a dead native of indeterminate gender. I offered to take the man without force. He refused. I prepared to paralyze him. Then, lightning. Then, it was there. A gigantic beast--
He shook his head and tapped his hand on the table to encourage the diviner to replay it. The memory was flawed, and she was not skilled enough to fine-tune it from his memory alone, but she could use the memories of others. Until she did, he would watch this one.
The diviner filed witnesses in one at a time as they were finished with healers. Most had terrible memories -- pain would do that to your mind -- but there were always flashes of perfect clarity that came with the mess of the rest. Soon, everything became clear.
The young man had red hair and pale skin, but no tattoos. He was wounded, and dressed in Attonian garb. The woman he was carrying - yes, a woman - was not dead, but unconscious. He was carrying her. He had called peace, and had spoken words that were not quite exact on his tongue. The accent was not perfect. The closest thing they had to an Attonian translator (they knew few words) was able to assess the phrase approximately: I will protect her. Help me.
Now it was now Gilles the man had asked for help, that much was clear. After he had spoken that phrase, the beast had been summoned. For some reason, this man, distant however he was from Atton's native birth, was tied to the nature of the place. Theories were already spreading, which meant Gilles needed to decide what the party line would be.
Was he a disguise worn by an Attonian native?
Was he a defector from another army, loyal to the Attonians?
Was he a soldier of another army, abducting a native woman?
The theories raged on, and as dawn approached: Gilles needed to make a decision. His decision was to take the repeated image of what had happened to the prison tower. Show the face of this man. Look for recognition.
That was when he found it. The key to the puzzle. An intelligent orc recognized the face that had been collected from the memories of the Rielcia-Malscure soldiers. He attempted to withhold it, but in a place run by the most powerful magics in the world there was no chance for him. The orc's name was Evard, and he was a corporal in Pelagia Xista's army. A high ranking officer, and a prize catch for their team whether they decided to make demands, or simply poll information from his mind. This orc, this Evard, gave them their answer. The man was Ellis Danton, a scout. Last Corporal Evard knew, Danton had claimed a usable connection to the Attonians. Evard had been captured before Danton had returned.
The question was not yet answered, but Gilles had heard the rumours. Pelagia had been seen attending the Broken Temple Fort. Every force had scouts that witnessed it. Most assumed it was a show she had put on for the sake of morale. Now... Gilles had reason to believe otherwise. Now... He had reason to fret that there were talks - important talks - he and Tristan Cowell were not involved in.
That was not acceptable.
"Get Cowell," They were the first words he had spoken since his interaction with the soldier Ellis Danton, and the sound of his low, growling voice sent everyone to work. A decision had been made, they all knew. Now they needed to hear exactly what was going to happen next.
And dammit -- who was going to be the poor soul telling Tristan Cowell?
Post by Tristan Cowell on Jan 6, 2018 17:01:01 GMT -7
[attr="class","tcowell"]
[attr="class","tcowell2"]
[attr="class","tcowell3"]REFLECTIONS ON THE MOON
[attr="class","tcowell4"]OF A HEART TORN IN TWO
[attr="class","tcowell5"] The damned rotten hellscape that was 'Atton' had begun to, had been, and had finished wearing on Tristan Cowell's final nerve. The place was loud with rolling thunder in the night time, and even when it was dark there was a high chance of lightning storms that would break through it all and pierce his tired eyes. He despised the lack of quiet and darkness, and that was just the land itself, as the why of him being stuck here was even worse: War, endless, pointless, downright stupid.
When he had begun this godforsaken war there had been reason for it. Joint expansion of Malscure-Rielcia territory to better their relations. Unity against outside forces, numerous of whom he had suspected of targeting him personally. An outlet for the anger that had so fully encompassed his every waking moment. Now? There was only bullshit.
He supposed that was the purpose of allies. To deal with the things you didn't care to, and to lead your armies into battles you couldn't be arsed to fight. Gilles was excellent for that. Tristan wasn't sure how deeply the red-soul cared about this war, but it was surely more than Tristan, and that lone interest had continued to drive them as a major player at the table. Tristan was able to, thanks to Gilles, be just a figurehead. Someone who showed his face at parties, at negotiations, around the fort. People saw him, and they felt confident based on his reputation alone. Gilles did the rest.
Which meant for the remainder of the time Tristan could simply rot in his quarters with the doors closed, the windows removed by his illusions, and a bottle of bloodwine replaced on his mantle each day. This was fine. Perfectly fine.
This morning he was finally asleep after tossing and turning in black satin sheets all night. There had been some kind of commotion outside that had ruined any chance he'd had of slumber at a normal hour. Yelling and explosions and that damned thunder. He didn't consider, even for a moment, removing the illusion on his windows to see what was happening, leaving it for "The Stormbringer" to deal with. He'd spend his forcibly wakeful hours drinking instead. One glass, two glasses, three glasses, the rest he'd finished from the bottle. He didn't notice exactly when it was that the sounds had calmed, probably partway through the second glass, but when he was finished it was mercifully quiet. He'd fall into a drunken slumber soon after.
Not for long enough.
A rapping came at his door not moments after the sunrise. At first they were tentative. Then more purposeful. He did not stir. The knocker waited a moment, and then knocked again, more insistently. Eventually the sound grated on Tristan's alcohol-dulled and alcohol-pained nerves enough that his bloodshot eyes opened to the darkness, and he hissed out a sound of response.
"Sir?" The knocker wasn't content with being heard, evidently: This was not a wake-up call. He didn't respond, willing them to go away, and they likely wanted to will themselves to do the same... But orders were orders. "Sir? I'm afraid there has been an incident. Commander Gilles requested we bring you to the War Room--"
"Enough," Tristan barked from his bed, the voice almost worse than the knocking, though he would not trade one for the other. He knew he needed to rise, and now he had to will his body to move. With a sigh he stared at the ceiling and got up. Except that he didn't, and he would need to put in more effort to do just that. It was too early, he was too hungover, Atton was too horrid. He was going to stay in bed.
"Sir?" The voice was incessant, "Sir, I truly am sorry to bother-" He blew the door open with but a glance and the evocation of a gust of wind, and stood at the same time, spooking the soldier who had been forced to come and poke the sleeping bear. The light from the torches in the hall pierced the darkness only by pinpricks due to the illusory cover he had enveloped himself in, and so the soldier just squinted to spot his 'fearless leader'. Tristan squinted back. It was a boy, sixteen at most, but a high lamini, which meant he was in his late twenties. He wore the black uniform of Malscure, but no personal item like they were allowed. It must have been a Reminder.
Reminders were things that no one dared wear around Tristan Cowell, or dared even to be. Diviners steered clear, Kina especially, and anyone with blue eyes had them magically changed by a trasmutationist who had little sympathy for Tristan, but more than enough for the soldiers in Malscure's employ. No one wore purple. No one wore a symbol of Khades or Errance. No one wore wedding rings. At least, not when they were in the fort, and especially not when they were going to knock on Tristan Cowell's door. Tristan knew he ought to feel embarrassed for himself. He knew that he ought to know that he was pathetic for not being able to handle even a subtle reminder of his broken heart. But he couldn't. Just as Khades was, he was a bleeding heart, and that was all that was left of him.
"Are you just going to stand there?" Tristan finally seethed after the boy had stared long enough at the dishevelled shape of the Once Great Imperator Cowell and the Empty Bottle of Wine at His Bedside. Was the boy sad about it? Disgusted? Whatever he was feeling, he was doing a splendid job of hiding it, despite the fact that the fear was plainly obvious. The boy finally took the hint and stepped to the side of the door, clearing a path for Tristan despite the man's distance from the jamb.
The Imperator scrounged up some clothing (the same thing he'd worn the last time he had been summoned from privacy) and donned it quickly. Then, he pressed past the boy, and dismissed him, "You've done your duty, and survived. Now carry on with whatever it is you're actually supposed to be doing and speak not of what you have seen. Understood?"
He didn't even pause for the response, or to wonder what had become of the last soldier they had tried to send to him. He'd come a handful of times before this new one. He could have died on the battlefield and Tristan would be none the wiser. Not that he cared. He should have cared.
The war room itself had been cleared out by the time Tristan had arrived to it, leaving only Gilles sitting and staring in the way he often did. The man didn't greet him, which Tristan was fine with. He knew Gilles wasn't a conversationalist - and in his current state, neither was Tristan. The lamini Imperator settled himself across the massive scape of table from Gilles, slouching in the seat like an pot-addled teenager. His head was killing him.
"So?" He prompted after a moment of silence between them, "What grand events couldn't wait until my lunch?"
[attr="class","gilles2"]It was the smell that announced Tristan Cowell before the ally Gilles tried to respect shuffled in. The scent was astringent and organic: Bloodwine, as it almost always was. Prior to meetings with other nationals Gilles would ensure that Cowell was cleaned and sober, but he could not justify forcing anything of the sort upon the man on a day-to-day basis. He was troubled, deeply so, and hardly functional... Yet, when it would count, he would right himself with a sizeable helping hand. Gilles could be fine with that.
So long as Tristan could see that this was a time it counted.
Gilles stared at his green-skinned ally for too long of a beat evidently, because Tristan impatiently prompted him to explain what was wrong. It was true that dawn was an early hour for Cowell to be awake, but a part of him had to realize that it was of importance. Gilles couldn't help but think Tristan Cowell was being overly flippant, almost as if he were trying to make a point.
"Important," Gilles answered simply in a low roll not completely unlike distant thunder. He did not quite have precise enough words to explain the situation, and so the word would need to do until he could show Cowell what had been gathered. He then tapped a small charm on the table in front of him, and a fog lifted into the air between them. It was clearly an act of divination, but they all knew to have a diviner in the room with Cowell was to ask for trouble. Instead, she had put the images drawn out of the minds around her into the charm. If Cowell broke it, it was hardly as troublesome. A charm could be replaced, an excellent diviner not so easily.
Images began to form in the fog, an imperfect replay of the events from last night. The soldier, Ellis Danton, making his approach while carrying the Attonian. Rielcian guards stopping him. Gilles coming outside. Gilles attempting to apprehend the boy. The massive tree-beast and the boy's disappearance.
Then, the image shifted to their prisoner's memory of Ellis Danton. Corporal Evard standing a distance away, watching as Ellis Danton stood by one of the electrified trees in Atton, next to the same native woman. This time the soldier's identity was clear, thanks to the uniform he was wearing and Evard's own memory. Gilles didn't have to explain it, but he did, "Aurcaele." The scene from the orc's memory played out then. The woman was less clear, but the combination of his own soldier's memories had refined it to match the other repetition. After watching the two of them disappear in a shock of lightning, the images were replaced by a scene with Pelagia Xista herself discussing with Evard the worth of Ellis Danton's attempts at connecting with the natives.
In short: It was everything except for the actual success of Ellis Danton's mission.
Luckily, they knew that Pelagia Xista had been visiting with Peacekeepers. All of the nations knew, because all of the nations had scouts in the area who had witnessed her riding on a unicorn to the temple. None of them knew precisely what had gone on between Xista, Peti, and Sharp-Eyed since that most grand of entrances, but Gilles and Tristan now had more context to work with to solve just that problem.
After the final memory played out, the one of Evard's conversation with Pelagia, it faded and the fog had a chance to dissipate. As it cleared, Gilles slid the charm across the table. He did not know if Tristan would wish to watch it all again, but he would give the man the opportunity. There was a good chance that Tristan was painfully hungover and would need to mull over the details before they pieced together. Gilles would also give the man silence, so that the more charismatic of the two of them could fill the silence with coherent thoughts in place of Gilles' wordless understanding.
Post by Tristan Cowell on Jan 11, 2018 10:48:56 GMT -7
[attr="class","tcowell"]
[attr="class","tcowell2"]
[attr="class","tcowell3"]REFLECTIONS ON THE MOON
[attr="class","tcowell4"]OF A HEART TORN IN TWO
[attr="class","tcowell5"] The first thing that Tristan noticed about the visions divined before him was the noise. Or rather, the first thing the wine noticed was the noise. He cringed, closed his eyes to protect them from the illumination, and barely resisted the urge to plug his ears as well. Though impatient and hungover he was, he still knew he had a job to do. Gilles could at least be trusted not to drag him out of his room for no reason, no matter how petulant Tristan had seemed, and so he would attempt to bear it in order to give an opinion.
Then it happened. "Aurcaele," Gilles told him, and Tristan willed his aching eyes to open. Aurcaele had not been much of a problem at all of late, in fact they had been the opposite. Pelagia had been seen trouncing around with peacekeepers, and they had all assumed she was merely angling for publicity. Pelagia Xista, after all, was rarely the first to begin negotiating peace. Tristan watched the next collection of images, out of focus and jumping around. It was clear they were not from his own people where they would have cultivated a collection of images to refine the final picture, and so he assumed it was a prisoner of some kind. An Aurcaeli one, was the correct assumption he made.
The images disappeared finally, and Gilles slid the small charm across the table with dexterous ability. It stopped just before the edge of the side Tristan had seated himself at, and the Lamini looked at it as if it might snap at him. He knew he needed to watch it again, to pay attention to the details, but he certainly did not wish to do so. His eyes flitted to Gilles briefly, who sat silently as ever, and then back to the charm. Gilles was not going to be explaining what had been shown. Gilles never explained anything.
"I'm afraid I'll need to review the account," He finally sighed, albeit unnecessarily. Then, he pressed the charm and watched everything. Then, he watched it again. Then, he called for an inferior, having them supply him with parchment and quill. Then another, a magician who sat quietly nearby so that Tristan could feed and regain his energy. Finally, after he had filled several feet of parchment with notes, Tristan did not press the charm again. He pushed it aside, cracked his fingers from the exertion, and looked to Gilles, who still sat silently.
Tristan had not entirely made sense of things. His brain was incapable of it whilst still recovering from the several bottles of Bloodwine he had consumed over the last several days. He was foggy, far from his best. He also did not have the motivation to truly work every angle of this puzzle. Instead, he had chosen one angle to work from, and had exhausted every last outcome he could conceive of in his current state. The inconvenient answer was that more investigation was needed, the more convenient answer was: "I don't believe her. Not for a moment," He spoke of Pelagia, "I believe that she wants whatever puts her in the best position politically, and that this may be it... But I think it's clear she's far from the key, here. The boy... That Ellis Danton? And the native woman. She didn't look familiar to you, did she?"
[attr="class","gilles2"]Gilles watched patiently as Tristan went through his motions. The man was unwilling at first, but at Gilles' stare the resistance was abated and replaced by the devotion he knew was still there, somewhere inside Cowell. His ally watched the piece again, and again, called for material, called for sustenance, and all the while... Gilles sat. He was happy to have more time to process his own thoughts on the Recall, and also wished to not accidentally pull Tristan out of his momentary lapse in apathy.
Eventually, Tristan cracked his knuckles, and Gilles nodded as if to say he was listening.
First, Tristan noted that he did not believe Pelagia. Gilles had to agree, and nodded more sternly than before. He did not know Pelagia Xista personally, as they had negotiated little with Aurcaele. He did however know how she operated, he had seen many memories from her own soldiers. She wore a veneer of kindness that was marred by cruelty, or perhaps she wore kindness but her underlings had nothing but fear for her. Whether she was truly cruel was a matter for debate. Like Cowell, her people were on their guard near her.
The idea of Aurcaele being the first to negotiate peace could mean what Tristan was suggesting, but Gilles had another thought. Perhaps the Peacekeepers were offering something of greater value than territory. Something that Pelagia or her Queen treasured more than the ability to convert all of Atton to life worship. Gilles did not voice this opinion. He let Tristan continue.
His ally picked up on something Gilles could most definitely agree on. The human boy and the Attonian woman were important. The boy had been wearing local garb when Gilles first saw him, and Evard's memory had shown the boy with the woman again. In that memory, she had disappeared with him into a bolt of lightning centered on one of the trees Gilles so liked here.
It would have been easy to decide the boy was duplicitous with the woman, working solely for Pelagia. It was easier to imagine he was a witless soldier who had no clue where his misguided steps would lead. It was not easy to imagine the ways that the woman could have been charmed by the boy, because yes -- Gilles recognized her.
He did not know her name, but she had been seen by members of their own force, and by prisoners they had taken to extract memories from. He had seen the face before, and he knew of her status. She was Chief, whether the only one, or one of many was difficult to say, but she was Chief. That was what Gilles knew. What he felt? Something strange, like static electricity, ran over his arms when he saw her. It did not feel like base attraction. It did not feel like anything he was familiar with. Until he could sort the feeling, he would not mention it to anyone.
"Yes..." He answered, choosing the word instead of the nod, though it was still paired with a sharp bob of his head, "Chief."
If Aurcaele was working with an Attonian Chief (the Attonian Chief?), whether duplicitous or not, it was against Rielcia and Malscure's best interests to allow that interaction to continue. They would need to sabotage it. They needed access to the boy, Ellis Danton. He wondered briefly if Tristan would actually help this time, or if he would give an opinion, give an order, and then disappear back into his quarters until the next interesting development.
"I will seek her. Tristan... The boy. Can you?" Gilles spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words to best describe his vision. He wanted to go out into the storms and find the woman, this Chief, he wanted to connect with her. He wanted to both explain this feeling he had watching her and to bring her over to their side -- or at least ruin Aurcaele for her. He wanted Tristan to go and speak with the boy. Convince him, capture him, calculate what worth he had and use it. He hoped Tristan would agree. Gilles was certain he needed Tristan this time, there was no other option.
Post by Tristan Cowell on Jan 21, 2018 13:16:41 GMT -7
[attr="class","tcowell"]
[attr="class","tcowell2"]
[attr="class","tcowell3"]REFLECTIONS ON THE MOON
[attr="class","tcowell4"]OF A HEART TORN IN TWO
[attr="class","tcowell5"] His suspicions were confirmed then, as Gilles supplied his own recognition of the Attonian woman. Tristan had seen the woman's face before, though only fleetingly. Earlier in his time in Atton (when he was still driven) he spent time on the front lines inspiring his soldiers, and he had seen her. Once.
She was of some interest to him, due to the power that radiated off of her. Back then there was a mixed interest of domination over the foreign land, and a desire for partnership. At that time time, dominance had won out. He had been angry at the world. Now? Now he was bored. Partnership and peace was more and more appealing by the day... But only if it was a partnership between the three of their nations, not with any other interference. A stronger Eleusia. He could not let the people of his nation believe that the long years had been wasted. That was the trick of it.
Then Gilles asked Tristan to find the boy, or rather he requested in his stunted speech that Tristan - the boy - can he - and it was thankful that Tristan wasn’t a social dunce. He knew Gilles' meaning. He could play the fool to drag this out and perhaps annoy Gilles into submission if he truly wanted. However, he knew his ally was correct, that Tristan was needed in this situation. He also knew that he had no interest in finding this Aurcaeli fool and determining the exact motive behind his relations with this Chief. He could send Aramis, perhaps. His closest friend, his loyal second. ...But no.
It would need to be someone with a persuasive edge, and he himself could manipulate the boy with ease. He could disguise himself with illusion, trick the boy into spilling himself open, and then do whatever he wanted with the soldier afterward to defend their cause. This was a quest that required him, and his ally would not take no as an answer.
It was Gilles finding the Chief that was more concerning. He was not so persuasive (even if he had just convinced Tristan to do work for a change), and his grasp on language was stunted. Not that the Chief would share a language with the two of them...
Well that was just perfect, wasn't it? Gilles was a storm evoker. He had power over lightning, thunder, and water. The Attonian people worshipped those things, didn't they? Certainly while they would recognize Gilles as a foreigner, they could consider his talents closer to them than other invaders fighting in the war. His direct way of speech was more likely to be a boon in negotiation with them, as he would drive any point they needed home with his simplistic manner and their inability to understand common. Honestly, as much as Tristan would have preferred to switch targets, Gilles was damned right.
"Yes, yes," He waved his hand as if it was a foregone conclusion, but the way the tension released between Gilles, himself, and the unfortunate mage who had been stuck as Tristan's lunch proved that breath had been abated, "I will find the boy, and I will ensure he shares all that is required for our interception."
He stood then, hands meeting the edge of the table. He looked more confident then, like the man he was before he had last found Tehodis. The dark circles under his eyes had faded from the rich feed, a vague interest had sparked some life into the glow of his eyes, and he held himself with the air of a man with purpose. He could pretend he was one well enough, at least.
"Reassign the scouts, and ensure they know precisely whom we seek," He commanded, "The moment we have word on the boy's location, I'll away. Until then, I shall revisit some of the Recalls from our soldiers positioned near the Peacekeeper, and Aurcaeli camps. Will you await the scouts, Gilles?"
[attr="class","gilles2"]Just like that, Tristan Cowell was returned. Not to perfect form, Gilles knew, but he was motivated enough that for this precise cause he would pull himself together. How long that lasted was anyone's guess, so long as your wager was low. It could be just until Gilles left to find the Chief. It could have been before the Scouts came back with any viable information. Maybe it would be before Tristan encountered the boy, and perhaps it would be after. Gilles hoped that Tristan was going to find meaning somewhere along the way to drive him. The man was a good leader when he was motivated.
Tristan asked him if he was going to wait for the scouts to come back with information, and Gilles quirked something that might have been related to a smile. He had no such intent. "No," He responded simply, also standing and suddenly dwarfing the room. Across the table Tristan would seem small compared to the bulk of The Stormbringer. It was just how things were.
Gilles would not need much in the way of equipment. He was a caster of impressive proportions and required no weapons or armor for war. He needed no coverage from the weather, both because he felt little of hot and cold due to his race, and because the storm would weather him, not the other way around. For sustenance he would only need the amulet around his neck, a constant siphon of magical energy that kept him fed and watered. He was prepared.
"I leave now," He asserted, not matching Tristan's posture and instead circling around the table to stand beside his ally. He placed a hand on Tristan's shoulder, giving it a squeeze of camaraderie. He wished for his ally to know just how hopeful he was of this return. Go with strength.
Post by Tristan Cowell on Jan 30, 2018 21:39:03 GMT -7
[attr="class","tcowell"]
[attr="class","tcowell2"]
[attr="class","tcowell3"]REFLECTIONS ON THE MOON
[attr="class","tcowell4"]OF A HEART TORN IN TWO
[attr="class","tcowell5"] Of course Gilles wasn't going to wait. The two of them could likely not have been more different, which was the reason Tristan had wanted the Stormbringer in the first place. Now, it was just annoying.
They could both remain in the fort and await for news from scouts, the exact location of both the woman and the boy. They could go direct to the sources and save the time and effort. Instead, Gilles was going to walk out into the wilds of Atton and 'believe strongly' that he would encounter his target. It was ridiculous. Tristan would have said something if he cared enough. Instead, he forced a smile of fraternity and nodded an assent to Gilles' unspoken statement.
"Keep in contact," Was all he left Gilles with, letting his ally depart the room before him. Once the plodding footsteps disappeared from earshot, Tristan turned to the mage in the room with him, and gave a simple order: "Ensure someone follows him. We can't have him dying on us, hm?"
"Y-yes, yes sir," The mage nodded, but he didn't move, he wasn't certain Tristan was giving him permission to. It took a sharp look and a near hiss before the man finally took the message and bolted, leaving Tristan alone. Thankfully. Tristan's hand met the bridge of his nose and squeezed, his headache was more pronounced now that the 'action' was done with. He would leave the scouts to do what they were going to do.
The skin OTHERWORLD was made by JAWN of WICKED WONDERLAND.
FORTUNA-RPG was created by MELLIE. Images belong to their respective artists. All codes and scripts belong to their respective coders. Please DO NOT take anything without the owners' permission.
