Real Loyalty


POSTED: Tue Dec 25, 2018 2:17 am

[[Gift Giving from Shaamah to Elphaba - I didn't know how best to start this, so the starter is small. <3]]

Claws braced against the cedar box as he moved with direction through the territory. His own tower loomed in the background as he neared the crossroad of Idrieus and Loki's residences and through to the heart of the ruins, his lone eye placed on the tower of the Boss of Salsola. He was still a family member withing Salsola's walls, and while that wasn't a 'bad' thing, Shaamah wasn't one to stagnate long. It did take some doing to learn the finer details of the culture of this place. However it was that he fit in, it would ensure that it was seamless. Though, in Salsola, morality was questionable at best.

Then again, that suited him just fine.

There were things lacking in the mountain of a man, but debts were not something that went unpaid. He arrived through the castle ruins to the castle proper, and through that he stood at the threshold of the Throne room tower. Strong arm lifted and three raps echoed through the wood and into the space behind it. He wasn't so much a coward as to drop the box and avoid the woman's calculating stare. No. He invited it. There were a few things he had to discuss and the gift he had stationed in this box was just the beginning.

Salsola would know of his loyalty and he would prove it to the only soul that it truly mattered to within the territory.
The Family
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POSTED: Wed Jan 02, 2019 12:58 am

Word Count → ??? :: ty so much for starting love!!

Another miserably cold day peaked beyond the last remaining glass windows in the tower. Narrow, miserly slits, they allowed only spears of the pale sickly light to break the cold grey shadows of the stone tower. Underfoot the wide slabs bit with chill, and even through the pads of her feet Elphaba could feel winter's force.

She walked carefully, using the furs spread out like rugs as stepping stones. With the season in full menace she felt her hybrid blood more keenly; The Pentiti had been a lanky, yote-ish man, and much as she had craved it in her youth Elphaba had never inherited Osrath's plush wolfish beauty.

To guard herself against the grim air, the young queen wore a thick woolen overshirt with braided patterning, rustic but of a high enough quality to show her veritable wealth. Bare aside from this, she looked like a dark splash of ink in the largeness of the chamber, the waist-length tumble of her raven hair flowing with liquidity through each motion.

Though no suitors or reports were expected today, the sharp knocking came as little surprise. More often than not the Family sought audience with her here, as the only times she was liable to leave mid-winter were on her pilgrimages to the Blackwoods. Most knew better than to disturb her there.

Reclining in the highbacked stone throne with a steaming clay mug of brew in hand, Elphaba's sparkling vermilion eyes rose with curiosity to the doorway. "Come in!"

we need a forest fire
The Boss
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Luperci Witch she hath or consulteth with a familiar spirit
burn the witch
↟ ↟ ↟

POSTED: Mon Jan 14, 2019 7:18 am

[[He's wearing second to last outfit. White shirt, no black tunic. -]]

The summon came from the belly of the throne room at the beck of his gentle rap, her tone lost within the wooden configuration of the entry to her chamber. He could not assume her mood by an inflection he could not detect.

Bolt clattered as he pulled the door askew of it's frame and the hinge protested with a groan of metallic timbre. As the chill of the earth swirled within, his silhouette scattered cast gamboled rays and shadows that danced with his movement against the masonry. The crack of distant thunder roiled in the northern most point of the Halcyon range. The clouds had not yet eaten the brightest star, but the whisper of wind through the hollow cracks and spaces offered insight, a natural discourse, to the slow approaching, frigid tempest. Obsequiously, he delved deeper into Salsola's citadel, now snared in her abode as the ruin was staved of the bitter chill by the solid clap of it's threshold.

The variegated hermit hovel from where he had come upon his trophy seemed to have had hand in the fortuity his home trip provided. Strange, the woman there, with her cascaded threads, and what she was to him yet didn't matter. Fruitful, he had found his journey, and that was where his distinction remained. Culled on his return from a neutral territory, the feline within his case had been taken with precision, purpose, and prudent forethought. Circumspection found the corpse in the hands of a proper tanner, undamaged, and thereafter a masterly tailor. It's features fine and stately, to be august on the shoulders of the Queen it had been altered for.

Foot pads scuffed with sweeping stride as canine talons scratched mercilessly against the cold floor. Without word, he entered the full breadth of her keep. Nails were patient at the end of ebon digits. His breath, at rest. The grandeur of the central nested, fortified palace came as little surprise. Here the atmosphere hung heavy, weighted with power of a soul that could rule with a single word and steadily measured by cardinal eyes, contriving and dissecting all that was held in her vista.

“My Queen,” With a tact that had not become him in the venomous strangle that was Sapient, Shaamah spoke on his own behalf. He would no longer trudge that unseen line, to communicate in a way that would acquit him from the deeds of the myriad he claimed. This world was different. He was an agent, for her empire. A soldier, for her cause. It would be her will, alone, that would be his incentive and today was the day he would undertake the oath of that fidelity.

His posture, ordained by his birth rite and the social constructs of the most basic canine understanding, yielded. Brow moved forward as he arched in bow and ears rolled aft, his edges stripped clean of all supremacy that could ever be held of a warrior with his exposure. Even so, the cedar wood crate was handled with care, regardless of his subordinate gesture.

When he righted, his full stature stood and the threads of his finest attire draped from shoulders, just barely kissed by the flurries that threatened the tower's outer facade. Strong arms presented the scented chest with an outward stretch, bracing the box away from his breast for her to declare what would be done with the initial reason he was here,” My offering to you,” Baritone lexis barely a hum, abrasive in guttural tone, even in it's most placid form. Textured alabaster upon his biceps, braced at the wrist with leather bands, creased upward to his shoulder with his presentation. The high waist of drop crotch pant, bound in leather as well, gave a more discerning look to the both rare and functional clothing that actually fit him rightly.

In her repose, he did not meet her gaze. Lone cerulean eye fixed on the steaming figuline grasped within her paw. Helena was keen to educate this warrior in a way that would have her commended and Shaamah, an intelligent man despite what he'd let believe, avidly collected memory of her law and culture. Before, his method had been to adhere to the better judgment of those above him in title. Here, he wouldn't dare give the Thistle Kingdom any less than what it was worth.

He did not utter out of turn. Properly, he bid his silence until she'd have him speak.

“A commander that has well defined a position of claim, deserving of well maintained regard,” Some might boast or brag, other's dare to stain their nares with earthen hues, but Shaamah thrived on the structure, the respect, and the order. His remark wasn't hollow with the expectation of reward, or seeking advantageous domain. He lived for these traditional values and had desired them for too long. Where on his first weeks within Nivosus' poorly scrounged land claim, his own people spoke ill of their Sagax. In Salsola, not a murmur dared reach his ear of Elphaba in any gross constitution. Such an illustrated definition of her authority surpassed her. Notwithstanding his commendation, he wasn't here to explain to her that she was likely well aware of.

He had more presents than his presence and in addition to the item that had been fashioned solely for her, exquisitely crafted, hidden in the obscurity of an unassuming casket. This was a homage of his loyalty, an item that had yet to be earn by any face in Nova Scotia. To Elphaba, it would be offered, without question, but not quite yet. First, the gift. Then all else would follow.

The Family
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