Talinn Ryalor
Duke of Westisle
Staff member
Nobility: Duke
Minister: Innovation
Urk Expedition Service Badge
Thundering booms erupted over Bully Harbor as the moonless night sky was illuminated momentarily by flashes of lightning between the pounding sheets of rain that lashed at the Harbor and its residents. Those in the Slups would be desperately, futilely trying to floodproof their houses at the last moment, the workers of the Docks would be hurriedly tying down ships and preparing the necessary materials to repair them from any damage, and those in the Insanely Rich Area would peer down and enjoy the occasion from beneath their reinforced and guarded castles and mansions, suitably warmed by burning fires, and, in a few of the more experimental residences, steam powered by coal.
At the Ryalor estate, now more often being referred to as Fort Ryalor due to it hosting one side of the harbor chain, new fortifications, and cannon, a lone, old, tired fox looked up from the stacks of papers he was dutifully drafting and sealing, even at the hour of the wolf. A shaking in his paw occurred at that thought, so much so that he had to put down his quill and grasp it with his other paw to control it. A fitting name for the hour that was rumored to take more beasts to death than any other, having faced that monster called Ulog. It took him a good five minutes to quell his nerves at the memory of the battle, of the afterlife, and of the grim measures it took to “save” him. He glanced down at his wheelchair and the braces on both of his legs and pelvis, with the intent for them to heal properly. If not, they would have to slice him open yet again, then break them once more and hope for another result.
Even if they are successful, though, I will be so weakened, perhaps permanently, that I wonder if I will ever become as strong a personal fighter as I once was. Of course, some of the techniques can still be used, but…
He shook his head. It was a sad state of affairs, but that was the cost of using Corda Aurea, arguably his greatest achievement to bring him back when all was lost, and it was a relatively favorable outcome of its use, all things considered. He rapped his paws on the desk thinking of the “miracle” drug, the consequences of using it to change what fate would otherwise surely ordain, and the terrible price paid to produce a vial. After all, one did not get the ability to make such a powerful medicine without sacrifices that both he and the production team on Magh paid for every day. Kitsune forgive them all…
Yet without it, good beasts like Tultow would surely be dead, and it will save the lives of many just like him. If I had been able to make it thirty years ago, perhaps Vaelora might…
Talinn shook his head, wiping away the tears that were forming. No, he had to focus, the best he could do to honor her was to relay her messages when the time was right, and make sure her kits were safe, happy, and would never be threatened by the enemies of the House again. And for that to happen, he would have to work to the end of his days to ensure the long game played out in their favor...while trying to save his own soul...hoping that the two of those were compatible in the end.
Wine, I need more wine. It keeps those thoughts at bay, along with the medication...I know I am not supposed to mix the two, but sometimes…
He pulled down the lever that had been installed to ring a chime outside of his door, waiting for his personal servant, Arta, to enter. He was sure that the vixen was spying for Dusk, more so to make sure he was not taking another vixen as his than for any other reason, but he did not mind. He had nothing to hide from her, and was resolute to fixing their relationship now that he had returned. They would soon go to Amarone together to work on that among other things.
Yet, strangely, the dutiful vixen did not come in moments as she usually did, or her temporary replacement when she was sick or had to use the restroom. Once again, he pulled the lever on the chime, and, once again, nothing happened. He frowned. That was unusual, and he did not like that at all. Rolling himself back from his desk in his wheelchair, his paw went to the wakizashi at his side, his only means of realistic defense given that he could not wield Duty’s Burden, and he drew the beautiful Auldarnian Steel blade, the rippling patterns reflecting off the candlelight as he rolled toward the door.
I did not hear the sounds of battle, clashing steel, screaming, and the guards and Arta are loyal...to me or Dusk...and for once I do not think she has it out for me. Not after what happened. I could stay here, lock the door, open the window, and scream for help, but the storm would muffle anything I say and I have nothing else to make myself noticed except if perhaps I threw my desk out the window...and I no longer have the strength for that. Besides, this door would not stop someone that skilled for long. The only chance I have if this is what I fear is to go on the offensive...and hope it is just one beast. I can manage that. Maybe, if they are slow or wounded.
Bracing himself, he ripped open the door with one paw and prepared to spring with the wakizashi with the other as he rolled forward in what would be considered an “unorthodox” offensive, but, to his surprise, there was no would-be assassin. No, as he turned his wheelchair around, only the limp body of Arta. Concerned, yet seeing no obvious wounds or blood, he rolled his wheelchair next to her, then barely managed to reach her neck with his paws, then felt for a pulse. It was there, and still strong. He put a paw over her muzzle, briefly, and felt warm, regular breaths. She was alive, just sleeping, and apparently out cold as his attempts to shove her awake did nothing.
What in ‘Gates…? Did she drink something?
Deciding to continue forward down the main hallway of his interior apartment, he hoped perhaps he was wrong, that it was just her having some kind of condition or some other cause, but it was as silent as a crypt, even as he called out a few times. He soon discovered why-the entire squad of guards, nearly a score, his clerks, and even Lieutenant Matas were out cold similarly, bodies arrayed in chairs or slumped along the walls. To his credit, the young arctic fox seemed to have been the last to go down, and had even managed to draw his sword, though there was no blood open it. No deaths on his side or the other, however many there may be, or, perhaps one beast, but he could count on one paw the number of those skilled enough to pull this off alone.
This is either a message job, a way to kill me and only me, or perhaps both.
Talinn glanced down the stairs into the first floor of the apartment, toward the door that led down the many steps to the main barracks. It was bolted shut from the inside and locked in addition, and Matas had not had the keychain on him. He was stuck in here, and even if he were not, he suspected the guards outside were dealt with and even if he could get through the door the only way down was a massive flight of winding, narrow stairs designed to be easy to defend in a siege that even when he was able to walk was an exercise-suicidal in a wheelchair.
He sighed, gripping the hilt of his dagger, and headed toward the bedroom. He had a feeling that is where whoever this was would be, and, increasingly, an idea of who it would be as well. He was tired, both because of the hour, and because of the effort to propel himself, but either he saw it through or that beast would, and if they had to, he suspected it would not be nearly as pleasant for him.
Opening the bedroom door slowly to a room illuminated only by the occasional burst of lightning, he quickly checked both sides of it as his decades of training prepared him, knife at the ready, but saw no one. Puzzled, and letting his guard down for a moment, and that was all it took. The beast who had somehow contorted and by means of some substance attached themselves to the ceiling dropped down, pushed the blade out of his paw, and held cold steel to his neck. A metal he was all too familiar with as he looked at one of the Dark Judge Brushes.
“Tanya...it has been some time…”
@Tanya Keltoi
At the Ryalor estate, now more often being referred to as Fort Ryalor due to it hosting one side of the harbor chain, new fortifications, and cannon, a lone, old, tired fox looked up from the stacks of papers he was dutifully drafting and sealing, even at the hour of the wolf. A shaking in his paw occurred at that thought, so much so that he had to put down his quill and grasp it with his other paw to control it. A fitting name for the hour that was rumored to take more beasts to death than any other, having faced that monster called Ulog. It took him a good five minutes to quell his nerves at the memory of the battle, of the afterlife, and of the grim measures it took to “save” him. He glanced down at his wheelchair and the braces on both of his legs and pelvis, with the intent for them to heal properly. If not, they would have to slice him open yet again, then break them once more and hope for another result.
Even if they are successful, though, I will be so weakened, perhaps permanently, that I wonder if I will ever become as strong a personal fighter as I once was. Of course, some of the techniques can still be used, but…
He shook his head. It was a sad state of affairs, but that was the cost of using Corda Aurea, arguably his greatest achievement to bring him back when all was lost, and it was a relatively favorable outcome of its use, all things considered. He rapped his paws on the desk thinking of the “miracle” drug, the consequences of using it to change what fate would otherwise surely ordain, and the terrible price paid to produce a vial. After all, one did not get the ability to make such a powerful medicine without sacrifices that both he and the production team on Magh paid for every day. Kitsune forgive them all…
Yet without it, good beasts like Tultow would surely be dead, and it will save the lives of many just like him. If I had been able to make it thirty years ago, perhaps Vaelora might…
Talinn shook his head, wiping away the tears that were forming. No, he had to focus, the best he could do to honor her was to relay her messages when the time was right, and make sure her kits were safe, happy, and would never be threatened by the enemies of the House again. And for that to happen, he would have to work to the end of his days to ensure the long game played out in their favor...while trying to save his own soul...hoping that the two of those were compatible in the end.
Wine, I need more wine. It keeps those thoughts at bay, along with the medication...I know I am not supposed to mix the two, but sometimes…
He pulled down the lever that had been installed to ring a chime outside of his door, waiting for his personal servant, Arta, to enter. He was sure that the vixen was spying for Dusk, more so to make sure he was not taking another vixen as his than for any other reason, but he did not mind. He had nothing to hide from her, and was resolute to fixing their relationship now that he had returned. They would soon go to Amarone together to work on that among other things.
Yet, strangely, the dutiful vixen did not come in moments as she usually did, or her temporary replacement when she was sick or had to use the restroom. Once again, he pulled the lever on the chime, and, once again, nothing happened. He frowned. That was unusual, and he did not like that at all. Rolling himself back from his desk in his wheelchair, his paw went to the wakizashi at his side, his only means of realistic defense given that he could not wield Duty’s Burden, and he drew the beautiful Auldarnian Steel blade, the rippling patterns reflecting off the candlelight as he rolled toward the door.
I did not hear the sounds of battle, clashing steel, screaming, and the guards and Arta are loyal...to me or Dusk...and for once I do not think she has it out for me. Not after what happened. I could stay here, lock the door, open the window, and scream for help, but the storm would muffle anything I say and I have nothing else to make myself noticed except if perhaps I threw my desk out the window...and I no longer have the strength for that. Besides, this door would not stop someone that skilled for long. The only chance I have if this is what I fear is to go on the offensive...and hope it is just one beast. I can manage that. Maybe, if they are slow or wounded.
Bracing himself, he ripped open the door with one paw and prepared to spring with the wakizashi with the other as he rolled forward in what would be considered an “unorthodox” offensive, but, to his surprise, there was no would-be assassin. No, as he turned his wheelchair around, only the limp body of Arta. Concerned, yet seeing no obvious wounds or blood, he rolled his wheelchair next to her, then barely managed to reach her neck with his paws, then felt for a pulse. It was there, and still strong. He put a paw over her muzzle, briefly, and felt warm, regular breaths. She was alive, just sleeping, and apparently out cold as his attempts to shove her awake did nothing.
What in ‘Gates…? Did she drink something?
Deciding to continue forward down the main hallway of his interior apartment, he hoped perhaps he was wrong, that it was just her having some kind of condition or some other cause, but it was as silent as a crypt, even as he called out a few times. He soon discovered why-the entire squad of guards, nearly a score, his clerks, and even Lieutenant Matas were out cold similarly, bodies arrayed in chairs or slumped along the walls. To his credit, the young arctic fox seemed to have been the last to go down, and had even managed to draw his sword, though there was no blood open it. No deaths on his side or the other, however many there may be, or, perhaps one beast, but he could count on one paw the number of those skilled enough to pull this off alone.
This is either a message job, a way to kill me and only me, or perhaps both.
Talinn glanced down the stairs into the first floor of the apartment, toward the door that led down the many steps to the main barracks. It was bolted shut from the inside and locked in addition, and Matas had not had the keychain on him. He was stuck in here, and even if he were not, he suspected the guards outside were dealt with and even if he could get through the door the only way down was a massive flight of winding, narrow stairs designed to be easy to defend in a siege that even when he was able to walk was an exercise-suicidal in a wheelchair.
He sighed, gripping the hilt of his dagger, and headed toward the bedroom. He had a feeling that is where whoever this was would be, and, increasingly, an idea of who it would be as well. He was tired, both because of the hour, and because of the effort to propel himself, but either he saw it through or that beast would, and if they had to, he suspected it would not be nearly as pleasant for him.
Opening the bedroom door slowly to a room illuminated only by the occasional burst of lightning, he quickly checked both sides of it as his decades of training prepared him, knife at the ready, but saw no one. Puzzled, and letting his guard down for a moment, and that was all it took. The beast who had somehow contorted and by means of some substance attached themselves to the ceiling dropped down, pushed the blade out of his paw, and held cold steel to his neck. A metal he was all too familiar with as he looked at one of the Dark Judge Brushes.
“Tanya...it has been some time…”
@Tanya Keltoi
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