The Stolen Kingdom | Started (Still Accepting via PMs)

Jaska | Tálamon Marketplace

Jaska’s hand almost instantly shot up when the white haired man tried to retreat. Like he was holding onto a puppet’s threads. This made the man stop in his tracks, turn around, and take a few steps back towards him. Jaska didn’t need to say anything, by the look on his face the man knew whatever he had planned for him wasn’t good. His eyes drifted away from him and back to the crowd-- looking for the long haired street rat that he had spotted a few moments before.

These two were perfect to set his plan into action.

The second he spotted the man again, he brought up his other hand and turned him around-- bringing him back over to stand beside the white haired man. He surveyed them both, then nodded to himself. They would do nicely for his plans. The slave boy beside him remained silent, most likely trying to predict what his master was about to do.

“Wonderful. You two are just perfect. You get the honor of telling the kingdom who I am. One for the royals, one for the... common folk.” Jaska used the term loosely, knowing that boy was much lower than that. Just the filth of the streets. The pale-haired man twitched violently, still trying to break free.

“You’re...scum...”

The other man opened his mouth to speak as well, but Jaska tightened his grip before he could get a word in edgewise. His gaze had darkened considerably, and a grin had spread across his face. It was a twisted pleasure of his to see someone so helpless against him, but still so willing to fight.

“My name is Jaska Kovro, the puppeteer of men. I am that of gods. And I have come for Angoria. Things will change around here. Very quickly. There is no use fighting me. I am a one man army. I do not forget, I do not forget, and you should have expected me,” Jaska chuckled, tightening his grip even further. “I do believe in sporting chances, though. In precisely ten days I will take the throne. No more... perhaps less. I can be a rather... impatient man.”

A crowd was beginning to form now, just as Jaska had planned. It was what he needed if he was going to strike fear into the hearts of these people. Claiming their kingdom would be such a bore if he didn’t have a challenge--a little fun--in doing so. He needed them so see exactly what he was capable of, but it wasn’t time for that yet. They only got a taste of that for now.

“Now, take this as a... warning to your people. A warning of what’s yet to come.”

Without warning, Jaska twisted his fingers. The white man’s arm twisted up behind his back, breaking in two different places. Along with that went the crunch of his fingers. His left arm completely in ruin. The street rat found himself with a broken leg, and several broken ribs. Both of them attempted to choke back their cries of agony, which was just more entertaining to the mage. Finally, he let them both fall to the ground in a heap.

“That is but a taste of what is to come. Go, spread the word.”

With that, he shoved several people aside and made his exit. Before the guard could arrive.

Cillian Angorias | Marketplace of Tálamon:

His ribs were aching. That was the only thing Cillian could currently focus on at the moment, other than the throbbing bruises down one side of his body, excluding his face--somehow, that had escaped the strange man’s wrath. The sun had not quite set yet and the light was drawing out all the shadows. Cillian turned a corner and froze.

The girl from before--the one he’d been watching fight that foreign guard... She was at the door of a shop whose front steps just happened to be in a rather dark shadow at the moment. Cillian stood still for a moment before smirking and striding over, hiding his injuries as best he could--which probably wasn’t that good at all.

“Hey, you,” he called, paused to catch his breath. The girl ignored him. “Girl. What do you think you’re doing?”

She looked up, pausing what she was doing, “What does it look like? I’m picking a lock.” She rolled her eyes at him and got back to work.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, moving to lean against the wall to her right. “Oh, really?” he asked, watching her hands for a moment. “Looks to me like you keep getting it wrong, princess.”

“Well, if you’d shut the hell up and let me focus, I could get it. Or have you finally come to get your ass kicked?”

“No.” Cillian smirked, studying at his nails thoughtfully. “You do realise the guards pass this shop every hour, on the hour?” He flicked a glance at her, then at the setting sun. “And, if I’m correct, that hour is almost up. How long have you been at that lock, princess? An hour?”

“Pfft, not even nearly that long. Shut up, I’ve almost got it now. It’ll be in and out and no one will even notice.”

The prince-turned-thief watched her for a long moment, glancing towards the marketplace end of the street. He rolled his eyes, re-adjusting the bow on his shoulder. “Well, shorty, you’re running out of time.” He pushed off the wall and winced, clutching his chest. “Ouch,” he hissed, falling back against the wall.

“What the hell happened to you? Someone beat me to kicking your ass? Tsk, shame.” She shook her head at him. He tried to breath past the pain for a moment, glaring in her direction. The girl was still picking the lock while casting him small looks. Cillian tugged the hood back down over his face.

“Psh, maybe.” He let his hand fall after a moment, still leaning on the wall--mostly for support than anything now. Cillian’s eyes drifted closed for a moment. “Some arrogant mage decided to throw me into a wall...”

She snorted in amusement, stopping her work to look back at him again. “Those mages, you just can’t trust them, eh?” She shot him an amused grin, “There’s a few energy mages around here, you should be more careful beanpole.”

Cillian eyes shot open. “Beanpole again, huh? Don’t you have any other nicknames for me yet?” he asked, turning his head towards her. “Good ones, too, that is.” He sighed, pushing away from the wall more carefully this time, holding his ribs as he did so, muttering about some possibly being broken. The girl started laughing.

“How about weakling, then? Or chicken legs?”

“How about you shut the hell up, girl?” he snapped, taking a few steps away from the wall. He abruptly froze when he heard footsteps. Obviously, the girl hadn’t, cause she was still trying to pick that damned lock.

“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Cillian swore and turned towards them, a little too fast. He yelped and clutched his chest again, cursing the mage who’d thrown him into that wall. The guards were closing in on them now, and the girl was looking around frantically. Cillian ignored her.

“Hey!” the guard shouted as he reached them. The man saw Cillian’s right hand disappearing under his cloak and immediately hit him in the gut, sending Cillian to his knees with a pained groan. His fellow guard was looking at the girl while the other three looked between the two.

“Hit me with your best shot, I can take you!” The girl jumped at the guard, knocking him over. Before she could land a punch, another guard restrained her and pulled her away. “Let go! I can take you all!” She screamed as she kicked her legs at him.

Cillian watched the guards through narrowed eyes. Somehow, his hood hadn’t fallen back yet. “H-hey,” he snapped, still on his knees, one hand now on the ground as well. “Stop picking on the girl, would you? Didn’t anyone teach you lot better?”

That earned him a blow to the face. “Shut up, thief.” Cillian curled in on himself, one hand holding his ribs, the other over his cheek. He flicked a glance towards the girl. Two of the guards had her pinned to the ground a few feet away now, and she was definitely putting up a fight.

“Hey, lessee what’s under this hood, eh, boys?” the first guard said, grabbing a fist-full of dark blue fabric and making to pull it back. Cillian grabbed the guard’s wrist with his left hand before the man could do so.

“I would suggest that you don’t do that,” he snarled, sitting up slightly. Ribs, cracked or broken, or not, be damned. “Let the girl go. Now.” He jerked the man’s hand away from the hood, eyes on the girl. They wouldn’t see that, though. It was dark now, the sun almost completely gone.

The guard laughed. “And just who do you think you are?” he sneered, crouching in front of Cillian. It was obvious the man didn’t want to take the commanding tone seriously. The guard snickered and turned to look at the man standing back from the group. “Well?”

Cillian was just about to make a move to pull back his hood when that last man produced a set of iron manacles. The former-prince froze, eyes on the man, both hands holding onto his hood. “Oh, shit,” he whispered, watching as the guard smirked and strode forward, handing the manacles to the man crouched before him. There was a loud click and one cuff was around his left wrist. A moment later, they had the girl a foot closer, and then the other cuff was around her right wrist.

“That’ll make ‘em think twice,” one guard commented snidely, snickering.

Ria | Castle Roof

Ria found herself on the roof of the castle. The sun was setting and the sky was covered in pink, purple, and gold as the last rays hit the clouds. She hadn't looked at the sunset in a long time, instead she was always looking at rooms and dresses and a lot of other things. Ten minutes ago she had done just that when she had a sudden feeling of claustrophobia. She stacked some furniture on the balcony, climbed up to the roof, and now, she was alone with her thoughts.

"Are you planning on jumping?" a voice said. Ria turned around, to see a stranger. He was dressed in the clothing of a porter, but even this couldn't hide how handsome he was. His dark eyes seemed to seemed to bore right into her.

"What?" she said.

"You know- suicide?" he prompted.

"Oh, no," she said with a laugh, "I'm just watching the sunset."

"You're the handmaiden of that princess, aren't you?" his tone carried a bit of admiration in it.

"How did you know?"

"Your dress, it is foreign. And you're on the roof. Princesses are too busy to climb roofs," his eyes were still focused on her. "Besides, if I had let my princess get raped, I'd be on the roof too."

The statement smacked Ria in the face and she stood suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" she said angrily.

"Only two people are assigned to watch over Princess Dim-wit, that would be you and that ex-general Gilbert. The Prince has been undressing her with his eyes every moment they're together and he's got an entire castle full of people who will gladly become blind. She's not the first that he's taken advantage of either. The Prince is a scoundrel and everyone knows it." He saw her look of horror and continued unabated.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. The Prince planned it very well. Separating two bodyguards from their charge is easy enough. All he needed to do then was drug the wine, and keep you all away. It would make no difference if the Princess had come with fifty armed guards. Of course, that won't stop Gilbert from placing all the blame on you; he'll have to in order to keep his own head from being chopped off the moment he returns home, which is what awaits you when you return home, if Gilbert doesn't kill you first."

Ria stared at the stranger, carefully this time.

"You're a spy," she said. "Only spies gather information that well, besides, your uniform doesn't quite fit you and Porters never go on top of roofs."

"Bravo. You're smart as well as attractive. Right now, you can jump to your death, return to Gilbert and death, or you can come with me and start a new life."

"A new life?"

"Yes. One where you are free to determine your own destiny. What do you say?"

"I'll take it," Ria said, without hesitation.

Grohiik Vahdin | Thieves' Den

Vahdin had become increasingly grummpy and shorter of temper as the day progressed into evening and, eventually, into night. Those who she would usually tolerate were sent scuttling into the shadows as she cast them aside with unleashed words. Grohiik Vahdin sat in her corner, refusing sleep for fear of those whom she lay amoung would take what was left of her past; her dagger, a gift from her mother on the day she left for Tálamon. Despite being awake Vahdin's thoughts were far away in the Tálamon's anicient castle; in her mind's eye she was visualising the corridors and the best way to traverse the castle without being caught, all based on vague descriptions she had gathered from drunken guards or ex-servents roaming the streets over the few years she had opperated within the city. Eventually though, even Vahdin's mind began to suffer from lack of both food and sleep so, giving in to darkness, and drawing her dagger close she closed her eyes and driffted off to sleep to be haunted by memories.