#princemordecai

[inheritanceistar]

Again, he laughs, enjoying himself too much for their current predicament. "Commander. I tend to still lose myself in the excitement of battle. Old habits die hard, eh?" Yes, Istar had a bad habit of showmanship. The self-aggrandizing nature of his magic during fights like these were certainly a weakness. He threw himself into the fray, defended his fellow witch with pride, and relished in his ability to keep up with a superior like Leander while death and carnage rained down around them. This battlefield was no different than any Istar had come across while Lysara clashed with Astoria. In the end, that cheery smile of his was both a tell and a weakness. Even now, Istar was holding back.

Taking the cue, the blows stop so that Istar could use Andvari's hands to tear the ogre in half, finishing it off finally. He leaps and as he rises, his armor's form changes shape and function, sprouting the wings of its flight form. "Forgive me, I know the situation is dire," he says as he joins Leander in the air, only now seeing the full scale of Aventia's devastation. "Targeting us? Almost sounds like you're suggesting they have a strategy." Istar didn't have much experience with darkspawn, but he did know they were mindless. Or rather, they were supposed to be mindless. "If that's the case, aren't the more ... inexperienced volunteers at risk? I'd like to be able to protect them if you want to continue an advance."

This fucking guy. Istar had once been a knobby-kneed boy scratching at the doors of the Tower. Leander was a few years his senior, but he'd grown up on the stacks, and he'd already been Accepted when Istar arrived at the gate. The Warrior had known just as everyone else did that Istar would take the red and submit himself to Ares eventually. The passion of his rage was undeniable and while Leander cared for few and tolerated less, he would always have room at his table for a fellow Warrior of Mars.

Their stories could not have been more different, but they fought on the same battlefields, against the same enemies, and for the same causes. That meant something to Leander, it was more than he cared to articulate, but as molten flames erupted around him, he took a beat to appreciate the wall of indomitable force that was the Olympians in their glory.

"Save the novelties for Court, it's Commander." Leander amended, the darkspawn were relentless and they continuously pressed their advance. "They're targeting us." That much was clear, the Warriors were powerful but their strength was not unlimited. Ten could hold back an army but this was unlike any force that they'd faced to date.

[agrcn]

closed starter for @princemordecai location: the border between the lostlands and haven note: jinkies

Having not seen the prince since their...moment, Agron was quite concerned. He shouldn't have been, but his mind kept telling him that he should apologize or try and make amends of some sort. It had never been in his nature to be that kind of person though. He was a man of duty, the Queensguard. The Mordecai family was one he had sworn loyalty to and that, for certain, included Leander. He was sure he had messed up whatever progress they had made with just one moment though. And, with how Agron was as a person, he didn't know how to fix it. A bottle of cologne sure wasn't going to cut it this time.

Nevertheless, that was only the second reason he had made his way to the border. Refugees had been making their way over to Lysara and now they simply could not. This barrier was one that nobody seemed to know how to dispel and this was far above Agron's abilities to even try to do anything about it. The witches of the Tower were sure to be trying to figure out a way. Until then, they would all have to stay put. Maybe it would be handled soon, maybe it wouldn't. Either way, Agron was more concerned about the safety of Lysarans. And the royal family.

That was what brought him to Leander. He wasn't sure how the witch would treat him now, but he would be prepared to adapt. The other's back was to him as he arrived so he cleared his throat. "Prince Leander."

[incubusnero]

Person: @princemordecai Location: Watching those gladiator's oil up At one point, Nero had never thought anything would be as exciting as being on the sidelines of a jousting tournament, some kind of public sparring. The crowds were always in good spirits, the tension in the air palpable, the liquor flowed. Gladiator's were something else though, he didn't think he could ever consider going after another knight after seeing them. The crowd is rowdier, the fights far more vicious, there's this energy of violence and depravity in the air. Not to mention he swears they oil them up before they get themselves dirtied up again and he makes eye contact first with a perfect pair of pectorals in the arena before he looks to exactly who he expected to be there. at the side of the stands. "Did I miss anything interesting?"

[fharzai]

The crown's power was special and important. WIthout it, even Fharzai could admit his sphere of influence wouldn't be as far-reaching as it was. One day the Queen—and Leander too it seemed from the reading—would make choices that shaped the pattern of Taravell for generations to come. All Fharzai could do was guide them in the right direction.

"Make no mistake my prince, this tower is a source of stability across the continent. Balance is centered here thanks to the efforts of witches like Her Majesty. Like you. Anyone who threatens it is no friend to peace or friend of mine." There weren't many Children of the West left, but Fharzai's detachment extended to them as well. Whatever threads of Fate other druids tracked only pertained to Fharzai when his dreams guided him to assist, and if he caught wind of them bringing something nefarious to his stronghold... "Any pattern that involves harm to Olympians or their house of knowledge is one I will reject in no uncertain terms."

"Many things, many many things," Leander mused, "but no, Fharzai, your love and loyalty aren't things I've ever questioned." The dreamer and his odd fixations might not have been to the prince's taste, but the druid had his worth and his value. A realm of magic that however studied, wasn't one that interested Leander enough for the warrior to broach.

"And if a time comes where you must choose between your people and this tower?" Leander asked, naturally the queen did what she could to maintain the interests of all parties, but when the choice came, she'd choose her city. It's people, the Tower, and the witches within. Iskarans had hunted Fharzai's kind to practical extinction in their borders, it wasn't uncommon for druids to shoulder the blame for the world's problems.

[agrcn]

closed starter for @princemordecai location: eterna note: uwu

If someone were to tell Agron years ago that he would be here with Leander, he probably would've told them to fuck off. But here they were. They had fought together, trained together. Now they were bonded by this whole thrall thing and he was second-guessing everything. Not that that really had anything to do with Leander personally though. It had everything to do with the fact that he didn't want it to look like he was fucking his way to the top. Agron didn't really care what people thought about him when it came to most things, but he did when it came to something like that. After he had worked his ass off to even become a Blademaster, it had felt like he took several steps backwards when Valerius had turned him. After that whole debacle, it felt like he was somewhat moving in the right direction. He was a Queensguard. He mattered to these people. He mattered to the Lysaran throne. Nothing could take that away from him. That didn't mean the thoughts weren't still there though.

That was what brought him to his current position at the foot of this bed that he felt he wasn't supposed to be in. The hilt of his sword was gripped within his hand, the heron mark the only thing he was focused on. This was the one thing that couldn't be taken from him. He wouldn't let it. His head turned slightly towards where Leander was as he cleared his throat, but his gaze was still on the heron mark. "Have I ever told you how I got this?"

[agrcn]

closed starter for @princemordecai location: tower of olympia note: wink wonk

The room was empty save for the two of them. A good thing given that Agron was not often himself around the prince. They weren't here for an exchange though. The strigoi had invited Leander there because the two of them seemed to both be interested in this gladiator arena thing. Agron had only ever attended if Queen Arethusa attended, but really he didn't do much outside of that. Maybe the fights were all entertaining. He just wasn't ever going to go on his own to this sort of thing. Now that he was participating in it, he felt like it was somewhat hypocritical of him to be there. He was a Blademaster though. This felt like he was supposed to do this. Or maybe he just wanted to get into some sort of competition. He may not have gone out much, but he certainly was always interested in a fight that could yield more recognition. As if he didn't have enough.

He had been testing the weight of one of these practice swords when he heard those telltale footsteps. Honestly, he more so smelled Leander's scent before he even saw the witch. I was one he was all too familiar with. Anyway, that wasn't the point of this. Sparring. That was the point. He pointed the sword towards Leander and kicked the other one he had grabbed towards the prince. "Let's see what you're made of."

[agrcn]

closed starter for @princemordecai location: leander's chambers note: :fuckboi:

To everyone else, Agron could lie and say that this hadn't affected him. The fact that another place had fallen so soon after Iskaldrik weighed on him more than he cared to admit. This one more so than the latter, of course. He'd been there in Aventia. He'd attempted to fight until he couldn't anymore. At least he'd had one good thing to come out of it all, but even that couldn't fill the feeling of disappointment he had with himself. He could tell others words to somewhat placate them or make them feel better, but he would always seem to beat himself down. The only person he could even remotely express that to was the man in the room with him right now.

"Why do I feel like I failed?" He hadn't. He wasn't the only person that had been there. Again though, Agron was constantly his own biggest critic. He didn't expect Leander to coddle him though. They were just words spoken that he couldn't help but let out at the moment.

[agrcn]

I've been carried away tryin' to get inside your brain

@princemordecai

[agrcn]

Neptunalia Festival

"There is no competition. Respectfully, you could never be me. Disrespectfully, I would never want to be you."

accompanied by @princemordecai

@thequeendomhqinspo

[fharzai]

"Even if she chose to ignore that voice, I would still do whatever I could to protect Lysaran interests. Whatever else you may think of me, I hope you've never doubted my love for you queendom." It wasn't a passive love either. If Fharzai even thought for a moment that house Mordecai was a threat to his balance, he'd do whatever he needed to ensure Lysara moved forward. But the way he looked at Queen Damodred, then Queen Arethusa as she grew, the daughter she didn't have and the son she did, were undoubtedly with the eyes of someone who cared.

"Dreams are private, Her Majesty's or otherwise. Though I can say her sleep is always blissful. I'd have it no other way," he says with a slight bow of acknowledgment. Much could be learned about a person from their dreams, so Fharzai did not share what he saw in most cases. However, it was becoming harder and harder to justify his tightlippedness as more of what he gleaned became pertinent to current events. "Where do I stand? Well ... whatever path leads to the Tower still standing is one I will counsel the Sitters to take. No matter what, it cannot fall. Though it is my hope that our citizens can avoid further violence."

"You're here at the Queen's leisure, given position and authority because she saw fit to give the dúnedain a voice." Leander reminded though he smiled as he took in the setting a bit more and considered how long Fharzai had been settled in Eterna now. How long he'd likely be hereafter, it took a great deal of commitment to affix yourself to any place for any given length of time. "Fortunately you and my mother and my grandmother were always close. Tell me, what does she dream of? Is it all chariot races and naval expeditions?"

The Aetherians could only be a formidable foe, but the Sitters would do what they could to settle things. "It's said that our Scholars have the power to end a war before it is begun." Astorian atrocities could not be negotiated or ignored, Iskaran brutes could only be put down. But a society of magi? Perhaps they were foes that Lysara could reason with. "If the dreamer wishes to walk, then he has my consent to do so. But where do you stand in all this, Fharzai? The fence will only suit you for so long."

[fharzai]

"Teas and cards, dreams and signs, the light of prosperity shines here because all tools are utilized to their fullest potential. Balance reigned before you were even a thought and it will continue to reign long after you've passed, my prince. I will have it no other way," Fharzai says, the unspoken truth hanging in the air. House Mordecai was an ally, but not a friend. Fharzai had always conducted himself as he pleased, keeping his Queens in the loop as he deemed fit.

"Violence cannot solve all," Fharzai continues after looking off at some point beyond Leander. For a few moments, it was almost as if Fharzai thought of himself in the library alone, pondering something only he could see. "Battle is not the concern. War is already here. What's coming, what's threatening to swallow this great queendom is calamity. Outside and within." The nature of which was unclear to Fharzai. It crept on Leander's horizon, and he wasn't the only one. Calamity of no clear origin or shape, at least not yet. "I've been places you couldn't begin to imagine, Highness. I've seen more than you ever will. I hope you heed my word when I say that despite what I feel, your readiness to act will turn the tide. In what direction remains unclear, though your dreams hold those answers I imagine. Shall I turn my spirit on you tonight?"

"Caution," Leander warned, "you have my mother's ear but think twice before lecturing a soldier on how best to prepare for battle - you, who sit in your stacks," he gestured vaguely toward the area around them. "sipping your strange teas and playing with your cards." He raised a brow at the other as he made the note that Fharzai was better suited for the realm of dreams than he ever would be for combat, "I've been to every corner of this country, and stared into the eye of the blight itself." Which said nothing of what he'd endured in Astoria, he didn't need Fharzai's lecture on conflict.

Fharzai's blanched expression was predictable, all these fortune tellers had to peddle was doom and gloom. Leander was not shaken, not by the fall of Iskaldrik, not by the blight, and certainly not by obscure interpretations of the pattern. Everything he had broiled down to what he could close in his fist - and that alone had carried him this far. "The Mordecai line has persisted for three thousand years, if a battle is coming then speak plainly." The prince's patience had run its course.

[fharzai]

Nothing, a word that conjured imaged of desolation yet bore the weight of a thousand worlds. That was the source of Fharzai's skepticism. In the grand design, a view that for him spanned over two hundred years now, 'nothing' was hardly ever meaningless. "Pain is an affliction that gets carried with us, whether we mean to bring it or not. The shadows of the blight linger long after that darkness is expelled. You'd do well to remember that as you continue to risk life and limb for your queendom."

Those that could fight would be imperative in the coming days. Dark omens were already blowing in, so indications of good spirits from Leander were entirely welcomed. Fharzai wouldn't fault the prince for his short tone, but what simple expression of humor briefly touched his features vanished almost immediately. "Of course. You were drawn here, to me, for a reason. It's time I see what it was," he says with forced resolve. Fharzai collects the cards and reshuffles them, each cut of the deck making his heart pound harder. Bravery was not his strong suit, but with Leander there he felt empowered to set aside that particular shortcoming. Fharzai draws his cards and arranges them accordingly, flipping each over with the same reverence as he did Leander's. All inverted, though he notes his fourth and Leander's fourth were the same. It's coming... After a drawn-out moment of staring at the runes, Fharzai raises his haunted gaze looking as if the color drained from his face. "I will do what I can to fortify the witches against the coming storm," he finally states after a few more beats of silence. "I refuse to let the light I've nurtured be crushed in this era."

More placating, Leander rolled his eyes. Fate was for people who couldn't stand to admit their own failings, a weak crutch conspired by happenstance. The wheel weaved, but the wheel didn't want anything, it was people who wanted. People who wanted to matter, and people who came up wanting. "I saw what the blight always leaves behind. Nothing." Nothing but death and rot, anyway.

Years ago Ikaros had warned him of the blight, naturally, the prince was young and arrogant and hadn't listened. Seemed a far-off problem and a distant story that bore little relevance today. He'd known friends to leave the Tower behind in favor of joining ranks with an order that was on its last legs. Leander stood amid the moors and remembered staring at the dilapidated keep, the broken griffin, and the truth at the center of it all. The monsters that had done this were still out there, still real, but there were monsters anywhere a person looked. "Delightful." Leander quipped, light on the horizon but grim signs ahead, vague enough to apply to just about everyone. A true professional. "What does your future show you, give yourself a reading. I'd like to hear it."

[fharzai]

"Only a fool or incompetent would ever attempt to deceive you. It's plain to see how you are shrouded by destiny. Fate will not be through with you anytime soon." Of course, Fharzai may have been biased by that fact. The signs surrounding House Mordecai have never led him to question their rule. Though he put that out of his mind to remain objective. "What I offer isn't a prediction, it's merely an interpretation of the signs threaded into your energy. You can have faith in what I see because my words come from the Veil," he reassures, though the furrow in his brow only deepens. The inverted card is not the only thing that gives Fharzai pause. The order, specifically of the last three, form a troubling conjunction made darker by the inversion. "Don't block your ears to the echoes of empty halls. Something was there you were meant to see, so you went."

He doesn't mean to pry, though the image of the abandoned fortress wove into Fharzai's mind from Leander's memory. He places his finger on the fifth card, tapping it at a measured tempo. "Eterna is at its most beautiful when the hearts of her people are free of conflict. I will always believe that, however the need for Warriors is as strong as ever so rest easy. For a time. You will not find a season of peace yet." There was no sugarcoating on his part because of the value he attributed to the prince. "No death I can see, but grim signs nonetheless. Apologies," he says before drawing a sixth card to conclude the reading. From this, he smiles. "Yet there is still light on your personal horizon."

The deep, earthy scent of the tea made Leander wrinkle his nose as it was poured in front of him. The bitterness wafted through the vapors before Leander went about indulging the Sphere in this horse show. Leander hadn't come to the library to drink tea on the floor with the dreamwalker, but his dreams had been a problem as of late. Nothing he couldn't handle though, naturally. Leander brought the brew to his lips and was glad that the taste was far less offensive than the smell or the deep green color that it had taken on. It didn't make his mind feel any more open than it already was, but Leander was taking what Fharzai said in strides measured with a grain of salt. If nothing else, he felt a connection settle within, threads weaving and winding as spirit and water washed over his mental state. The kick Leander was going to assume.

"I was in the bazaar just a few days ago where one of these fortune tellers turned the death card over three times. Forgive me for being a skeptic." She'd ushered him and Morgan out expeditiously as well, annoying, all things considered, Leander imagined that people would do anything to make a quick buck or get an innocent jab in at a member of the royal family. "War is war, Fharzai. If things were uneventful then there wouldn't be any need for me or my fellow Warriors of Mars." Leander tried to think about the journey back from the front, there'd been little beyond the temporary peace behind the centurion that had followed him back into Eterna. "I stopped at Caledon Moors Citadel on a whim I-" the blighted fortress and the land about it were dead and long abandoned. The prince shrugged, opting not to finish his thought.

[fharzai]

"Just tea, though the properties of this brew are as potent as its flavor, my prince. One sip and even you'll feel the strength of your tether to this moment." For as long as he could remember, Fharzai had been able to intuit which of nature's bounties could support the alignment of the body and spirit. One herb could energize, another flower could soothe. Balance was key, and the dark green of the tea he poured for Leander steamed with enough earthy, bitter vapors to entice Fharzai to have another cup as well.

"Certain people are so pivotal that they seemingly create their own patterns, witches of your line most notably. What your cards will show me will undoubtedly carry weight." Fharzai tosses his head back to gulp his tea down in one, feeling it warm his center and focus his senses on the cards before him. Without changing their position, Fharzai draws the top five cards and lays them out in order before Leander, flipping them in turn to reveal the runes. Four upright, one inverted which claimed the bulk of his attention and even sprouted a frown upon his features. "It's here, but also beyond your sights, the journey hasn't ended," he mutters unintentionally before setting his silent gaze on Leander for more than a few drawn-out moments. "Your last journey, the one that brought you home from battle, was it uneventful?"

Leander reached toward the cards as he idly thought about the night in the bazaar not too long ago when he and Morgan had done something similar. The woman called herself a professional but anyone native to Eterna could spot a crook trying to make a quick buck off tourists. The cards shuffled between his hands as he ordered and reordered them before he moved to place the stack between them.

"As long as it's just tea." Leander didn't know what it took to traipse about the dreamscape as Fharzai did, but he had no intention of getting whatever mess coated the other's lips and fingers on himself. "We'll have to settle for somewhat accurate then, not all of us put as much stock in the pattern as you."

[fharzai]

Much like the setting Fharzai had unwittingly created, his visions and interpretations were incredibly chaotic. There was something brewing in the periphery of his sight but he couldn't hone in on it. The answers would certainly be found if he walked the path of his own dreams. "Take the cards, move them in your grasp, let fate decide the order. Then I will divine whatever it was you were sent to show me." For now, he seemed intent on finding answers anywhere but where they were sure to be.

Fharzai knew this view betrayed his purpose, however this day would not be the one he faced down the nightmare. Tomorrow maybe, but today he chose to believe the warrior prince carried a message from the Veil. "The runes will show me what it is I need to do," he insists, moving to thrust stacks of books and papers off the top of a nearby table. "Would you like some tea before we begin? Being fully open to fate as I am is the only way to ensure complete accuracy."

Obviously, Leander would never say this out loud, but druids could be nasty sometimes, they reminded him of the skeevy witches living on the fringes of woodlands - mixing potions in cauldron and stomping poultices with their feet. Still, everyone had their uses, and the prince respected the sphere and his people.

Leander was a native of the Tower, that was enough reason for him to be in its library, he'd hoped to find one of the Scholars, but coming upon the Sphere instead might have been an intervention on fate's behalf. "Alright, Fharzai, I'll bite," Leander said instead as he looked at the other, the prince wasn't about to eat whatever residue lingered on the tips of Fharzai's fingers or at the edge of his mouth, but he'd play the druid's game. "Give me a reading."

[inheritanceistar]

The Prince was truly spectacular. His power was indicative of his commitment to wandering the endless path of arcana, a quality Istar had always respected and admired. The man he was today could be largely attributed to the time he spent under Leander's command. It truly was an honor.

However, some words came from the lips of others he'd never be able to accept. They called him a one-witch army, a man of the highest station who had no real need for anyone to back him up. An unparalleled prince. Anyone wise seeing his current display of power would arrive at similar conclusions and Istar could understand why, but whenever the other troops began to say such things as if they were absolute fact were always met with his rebuffs. He always had the same thing to say: "And who decided that?"

Weak Warriors would only be liabilities and get in Leander's way, putting him in a position to hold back as to not harm those who couldn't keep up. Istar did not fall into this category. He has fought under and beside Leander enough to know how to handle a battlefield without getting caught up in his immense power. With his flight armor shifted into his form, Istar can move swifter than any breeze. He does not hesitate to dive into the horde, his movements appearing to be a wind-like dance as he cuts down the horde of darkspawn with general ease. Bludgeon, axe, bludgeon, axe, sword-–the weapon in his hand changes with his movements to best suit his needs. Some get launched in the air to render them temporarily out of reach, some get cut down where they stand, but it's all a strategy to get him closer to the ogre.

"Come now, Your Highness. We shouldn't be so hasty with our advance. This battle is surely a gift from the All Father, a chance for us to enjoy the power we've cultivated. Why rush when the outcome has already been decided?" he yells over the heat of battle, his deep bellowing laugh drowned out by the ogre's roar. Istar stopped moving right in front of the foul beast's charge path, hands on his hips without a care in the world as if this was some sort of sightseeing opportunity. He doesn't even flinch when the ogre brings a heavy fist down atop his head.

A cloud of dust is created from the resounding impact, however as it clears Istar can be seen having altered his armor, Andvari condensed into four powerful arms at his back. Two crossed over his head to counter the ogre's blow and two more slammed against the earth to soften it beneath Istar's feet. The two acting as defense throw the ogre off so all four metal hands can gesture energy-focusing hand signs, suddenly spooling threads of earth around all twenty fingers to pull jagged earth spikes out of the ground in every direction, impaling the horde and the ogre simultaneously. Istar rears back and reinforces Andvari's fists before raining down a hail of pummeling punches onto the immobilized ogre. "See? Even though such a disgusting creature could never be a sacrifice, this thing was kind enough to present himself for our pleasure. We should honor that!"

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: for the combat thread girlies, limiting this to 4 + Agron.

A golden aura outlined the lionhearted prince, Leander had traveled to the far corners of Lysara and Ankhuria alike in his quest for power. Studied dragons, drank in the heat of the desert, and made pacts where needed. Wreathed in the draconic presence indicative of his training, a pair of gilded wings held him aloft as Leander's fists blazed with molten, raging flames. He wore the standard of the Lysaran army, a centurion, and Warrior of Mars, Leander proudly led the Olympians onto the field as he had countless times in Astoria.

The aura was not just for show, as the blighted blood splattered against him, it did not reach Leander's frame. Arrows fell casually to the side and the Hurlocks that swung against him with their blighted blades found a pair of raging, molten fists instead.

Politics bored him - and whatever sympathy that the Iskarans had managed to invoke as of late did nothing to quell the hatred that had burned within the prince for decades. This was where Leander thrived.

A Genlock rushed forward, its jagged blade raised to strike, but the moment it came within reach, the dragon's aura flared. Leander snarled as a pulse of energy threw the creature back, sending it skidding across the blood-soaked ground. Leander didn’t even turn to acknowledge it. His focus was absolute, his breath steady.

These creatures were meant to be impudent and stupid - while that remained true, they came equipped with war machines. They tacked on organized tactics that the Lysarans were only prepared for because of the caution that had spilled from Iskaran tongues. If any of the westerners expected gratitude from him though, they would need to look elsewhere.

A beat of his wings saw Leander lift into the air as he pulled air and fire into his lungs, weaving them together without the need for his hands. There at the center of his breast, the Warrior of Mars tethered it with threads of spirit before he opened his mouth and bequeathed a rush of golden flames onto the forces below. With it came a bestial roar, beyond human, the draconic burst of power echoed with the ego of the endlessly proud Prince of Lysara.

The creatures erupted in righteous flames, incinerated in a wide cone ahead of him before Leander took to hovering only a few feet off of the ground. As much fun as he was having, Leander opted to begin taking this seriously as his sword materialized in his hand - a blade of twisting draconic make that resonated with power.

"Hold the line!" Came the Prince's command, the Olympians had each been connected, and their power pooled together meant it was seemingly endless. No Astorian force had ever gotten past seven of them, now fifteen stood in defense of Aventia. An ogre shook the ground as the alpha stomped toward them, another horde swarmed about the creature, and Leander charged.