NationStates Jolt Archive

The Great Hall had been decorated from top to bottom for days. Thousands of candles filled the massive dining room, and through the corridors rushed dozens of servants. Great platters of boar and large vessels of the strongest whiskey were taken with great care to the large oak table. There were several bowls filled with the finest herb that were placed next to the glasses of fiery beverage, ready for smoking. The black and red ceremonial curtains were drawn ever so slightly, and dark music played quietly in the background.

Damien had felt a pain in his bones as of late, and his urge to meet with Bastien grew everyday. It was as if something big was to happen, and he knew it would involve these two. For now, he would put his worries in the back of his mind, and enjoy a bountiful feast with his greatest brother, Bastien the Bronze, Lord Reaver of Pantera.

(OOC: This is for me and Pantera only.)

Bastien arrives in AMF without fanfare, in an unmarked jet which he flies himself. Putting down on a darkened airstrip, he meets with a driver who speeds him to the feast, and Dreadfire.

The past year or so had been hellacious for Bastien, with precious few moments alone. He still wandered his Kingswood regularly, to cleanse his soul and pray to the Three Gods. Aside from that, however, his days were a smear of inane drivel and the occasional hour of raging at cowards. Most were too craven to accept his challenges, however, and he was left to rule Pantera's day to day affairs. It sickened him. He was a warrior, not a politician. Though he had brought Pantera years of peace, prosperity, and victory, his life and his rule had become stagnant. It was his hope that his visit with Dreadfire would provide a refreshing change to the monotonous drivel of recent months.

Eager to speak with Damien, Bastien declined the chance to refresh himself and ordered a servant to lead him immediately to the Great Hall. The servant eagerly obeys, and soon the great doors of the Hall are thrown open, and Bastien strides into its candlelit depths of the cavernous hall.

He stops and allows his eyes to adjust to the change in light before calling out,"I come, Dreadfire. Where is my Brother?"

Bastien's words filled the quiet hall, and though in the other room, a smile formed on Damien's face. He had not seen Bastien in ages, and his presense would do him good. He wore no special attire for the occassion, for this was nothing formal. Tonight would be a night of discussion, feasting, smoking, and maybe a little swordplay.

Damien entered the main hall, throwing his arms up beside him and shouting with a gri on his face, Bastien! It has been too long since your presense has graced the Great Hall. It has been too long my friend, and the days both linger and vanish. Damien had paused, trying to think of what to say, but he just shook his head and let out a howling roar, his torso shaking as he laughed loudly. C'mere you son of a bitch! While still laughing, Damien threw his arms around Bastien and embraced him in traditional Warlord fashion.

A short, thin servant gestured towards the room on the left and nodded his head slowly. The servants had finished making the preperations, and now they stood in a line outside the dining room door, waiting for both men to take their places.

Bastien embraces his friend fiercely, his laughter deep and rich. The servants looking on can not help but notice the deep bond between the two warriors. Reaver pounds Sentinel on the back and pulls back, a pleased grin on his face.

"Damn, but it is good to see you my friend. Still scoffing at Death, I see. I appreciate the invitation. My life is so dull of late, I truly savor chances such as this. I was almost forced to decline, however. As we have another child on the my Queen Reaver was unhappy with my decision to leave, but she sends her regards. You should have seen her when I told her, Deadfire. She would have put any of my Reavers, and your Sentinels, to shame with her fury..."

Bastien laughs, his bearded face pulling into a broad grin once more. Eyeing Damien for a moment, he shakes his head and seems to sober slightly,"But enough of my prattle. I see you've prepared a... feast of sorts, eh?" He grins and moves to the table, taking up a large tankard of thick, dark ale he takes a long pull and nods his appreciation,"Let's not let it go to waste, eh?"

Remind me not to get on the Queen Reaver's bad side! said Damien in a matter of fact tone as he sat in his highback chair. He picked up a large glass of whiskey and downed a few gulps, and as he finished he cocked his head off to the side and tightened his face abit. After letting out a refreshing sigh, he slid the container of herb closer to him, and bowed his head down to sniff it's fragrance. He took up his bowl and began packing it to the top, occassionally flicking away a seed. He then raised the pipe to his mouth and with a skull shaped butane lighter, he set the herb ablaze. He inhalded extremely deep, taking in the herb's intoxicating vapors. He set the bowl down and held his breath, and he could feel the smoke tickle his lungs. He opened his mouth and blew out a large cloud, and he smiled as he watched it dissipate.

He took up a leg of boar and began ripping the flesh off the bone with his teeth. As he chewed, he began discussion.

It's wierd, when you're in Pantera going about your business, it seems like there are a million things I must tell you, but when we're face to face it seems like I can't think of anything.

He took another long drink of his whiskey, and after whiping his mouth clean with his hand he spoke again.

In case you didn't hear, the 8th Age of Automagfreek has been declared, and so far things are pretty good. My people are living like kings, the economy is going up, old friendships have been renewed....but there are still those in the world that test my patience. I swear Bastien, I wouldn't be surprised if one of these days I blow a fuse and end up exterminating some bastard nation...

Damien stopped himself because he knew he was starting to ramble. He began to partake in the suculant fruits and other delicacies laid out on the table.

Tell me Bastein, how goes things on the Panteran front? I'm confident the war with Troy will end quickly, for he finally stepped on the wrong toes. Oh by the way, some 10,000 Sentinels stand ready in Greece, and should either you or Dayne need their assistance, tell Zander to move in. He awaits your word...but I'm sure the Reavers will have things under control.

Speaking of Dayne, I pray you keep an eye on him. His aura seems.....tainted as of late, and I fear treachery is afoot. I've seen his face in my dreams, and...I fear you may be in danger, wether by Dayne's hand or not. I cannot slumber Bastien, for I am troubled greatly.

Damien trailed off abit, and he glanced down and casually chewed his food although he had suddenly lost his urge to eat. Then, as if lightning struck his brain, Damien looked up with wide eyes.

Have you ever used the skull I presented to you? You know, the one made from red obsidian? Red obsidian is a holy stone in our culture, and under the light of a full moon it glows a deep crimson. Should your heart ever be troubled, take it atop a high peak and gaze into it's redness....

Damien caught himself trailing off again, and he decided that he needed another hit of herb.

Bastien arches a thick brow, his face showing a slight flicker of displeasure as he regards his old friend. After a long moment he again pulls from his tankard of ale, as if to gain a moment before speaking. When he does reply, his voice is low, rasping,"The Evenstar is the truest Reaver who has ever lived, Dreadfire. My Blood. The only other son of my late Lord Father. None can know of the bond we share, not even you, Dreadfire. Know that, and know that I will forsake every vow I have ever sworn, that the earth will burn and the seas boil before my Evenstar betrays me, or Pantera."

The conviction in Bastien's voice is so thick he almost chokes, his emotions warring with one another. A different man, other than Dreadfire, would have been dead for even suggesting treachery by Dayne. Any other man but Damien.

"Gods, Dreadfire. He is the only man alive I trust more than you, and I know in my soul that trust is not misplaced. Of course you feel the change in the Wind. We all do! Light! Since your visit to Pantera and that bloody Crone's incessant prattle I've thought of nothing but doom and horror. Winds be praised that worry is all that has come of it. Tide-Fires and Shining Princes. Phaw!"

With a snorting grunt to show what he things of that he reaches into a bowl and snatches up a bud of seagreen marijuana. Tearing it in half, he stuffs it into a waiting glass pipe and raises it to his lips. Lighting a taper from one of the candles atop the table, he touches it to the contents of the pipe's bowl and pulls heavily. After drawing deeply he nods slowly, his exhalation a sigh of deep pleasure, his anger subsided.

Clicking his tongue softly, Bastien regards his companion for a moment before waving a hand and saying,"As to your skull, truth to tell I've rarely thought of it. A queer stone, a curiousity. Nothing more, or I thought..."

Trailing off, Bastien seems to war with himself before shaking his great head and banging a fist on the table. With a growl he leans forward, eyeing Damien,"Gods be damned! What's happened to us? Sitting around a table, whining about the strangeness of our lives. Is this what we're meant for?" A great scoffing laugh reveals BAstien's thoughts on this matter, but he continues furoiously,"NO. No... At least not me. I'm made of a harder stuff than all that, eh? I should be with the Evenstar, on the shores of Troy, or anywhere else, as long as it is not...

Sighing, he finishes with a groan,"Where my life is now. Peace is a curse Dreadfire. Not a blessing. Too long without the heat and hate of War and men like you and I go to rust. Well, I can tell you that I am Steel and Stone to this day. Believe that!"

Damien was taken abck abit, a slight embarassment across his face. I'm sorry Bastien, I meant not to accuse Dayne of treachery, heavens no. I only say what my dreams are telling me... Damein looked down at his food, his urge to eat now gone. He took his glass piece up again and took an even bigger his of his bud, and he cleared his throat as he blew the smoke out.

I do agree with you, things are dull without the sting of battle. But the thing that burns my ass is how nobody can fight like men anymore. Blowing up innocents, talking shit when they're a fraction of our size, and bringing in countless allies when faced with the likes of Reaver and Sentinel. Perhpas the latter is more of a compliment to the ferocity of our soldiers.

He rose from the table and took up his glass of whiskey, stirring it gently in his hand. He glanced at the weapons rack in the room, and sighed abit. Without blood, those blades will gather dust and cobwebs. Without battle, they are usless.....same goes for us Bastien. We were born for war no doubt, but who's left to fight that is worthy? Fucking politics....

He turned his back scoffing abit at himself. Listen to me, carrying on like some whiney child....I don't know if I still have it in me Bastien, I don't. Politics is killing me.....you're not supposed to tell a man you're going to kill him more than once! I'm fuckin' tip-toeing through the tulips with these assholes...

"...And you hate it." Bastien finishes his friend's thought with a knowing grin, his face relaxing into a smile once more. The feast momentarily forgotten, he places his hands atop the table and leans forward, his eyes hooded by shadows and flickering candlelight.

"Aye, Dreadfire. I can see it in your eyes you hate it as much as I. I know youwant to take up that old Relic Sword of those Warlords of AMF's past. Tell me you would rather sit here with a pen in your fist, politicking and plotting, and I will tell you you are a liar." His voice gaining conviction, Bastien gestures forcefully with his free hand, the other still occupied by the forgotten tankard of ale.

"Aye, I would call you a liar and know I had the right of it. But Dreadfire.... It's never too late to take it all back, eh? Once we spoke of reclaiing glories long forgotten, did we not? We dreamed of living lives that would once again inspire songs...." Clearing his throat, he takes a swallow of ale before continuing,"Well, I'll admit that I've lived a life worthy of a bawdy song, fit to be sung in whorehouses and taverns across the earth."

WIth a snarling roar he pounds his fist on the great table, causing cup, plate and platter to jump and rattle,"Well Gods be damned, that is not the song for me! Winds Damien, I want men to sing of my exploits in battle, not bed. I want these craven dogs to tremble at my fucking name and crumble at my coming. I want my father's father and all the Reavers of my line to Sing my Songs when I finally lie down my sword and take my place among them in Valhalla."

A strange, fervent light begins to burn in Bastien's eyes, a hunger that seems to shine through from his very soul,"But how, Dreadfire? How will we live the lives meant for us? Need I remind you that we are both pawns of prophecy, no matter if we like it? How, Damien? In a thousand years, when men speak of our rule, what will they say? Will they say we lived as politicians and mediocre rulers?"

Lifting his purple eyes from Dreadfire, Bastien raises them to the ceiling. They catch the orange of the firelight and for a moment, he seems only half-human, a warrior-god come to earth, his eyes burning with flame and ferocity,"Will they say all of that, or will they say we lived as the Kings, Unifiers, and Warriors?

"I know What I would prefer, Damien. The question is, how?"

The easy, confident smile of the Lord Reaver has returned, and from the look on his face he knows how.

Bastien eyes his old friend for a long moment before laughing and singing out in his deep bass,"Swayin' to the rythym of a new world order...

Bastien had read Damien's mind, and all he could do was nod. Aye Bastien, as always you are right. And to your questions, I have no answers. I know not what the path ahead where take us, I cannot see past the thick haze that clouds my vison. Gone are the days when the word "Dreadfire" shook the very sould of men. Gone are the days when Reaver and Sentinel stood above the rest, ready to topple the first heathen to back talk us.

Damien turned around again and faced the weapon rack, and after a few seconds of pondering, he turned back awound, a devilish smile forming on his face. Or are they? Could this very well be the calm before the storm? Aye, perhaps fate has been biding it's time, perhaps the Waters of War are beginning to stir....

Damien picked up his half finished glass of whiskey and downed it in a large gulp, and some of the fiery beverage ran down his face and throat. He slammed the cup down with great force, and while exhaling hard he lifted his head high. Our chapter has not ended Bastien, not by far. If you had not come here tonight, perhaps I would be wallowing in sorrow, remembering the glory days of old. You've made a believer out of me yet again Lord Reaver. If the Gods did indeed place us here with intent of spilling blood, must we be ashamed of that? We must ask ourselves Bastien, why are we still here?


Damien came closer to Bastien, and as he did the light from the candles danced wickedly across his face. Perhaps...the Gods want something.... As he said this, he starring into the purple beyond that was Bastien's eyes. He could feel the heat of the fiery Lord Reaver, and in Dreadfire's heart he knew that before the sun would set on both Pantera and Automagfreek, there would be a great change in the tides.

[Tag... 8) ]

Basten nods his approval, glad his friend agreed. Now, he thought, came the hard part. Both he and Damien had tweaked the strings of the Tersanctan regency, and now that Tersanctus was free, they had blossomed into a mighty nation.

"Now, Dreadfire. We have another who seems worthy of our trust. With this matter in Troy yet to be decided, I would advise we wait to approach him, but I would hear your thoughts on Dantes, Tersanctus, and the possibility of a union between his Templars, and our own Reavers and Sentinels. Your own thoughts?[/i]"

OOC: Groggy today, my apologies about the bunk-ass post.

Damien nodded in agreement, and his answer was quick and to the point. I think a Pact with Tersanctus would be a wise maneuver, for Edmund..Kunshao...whatever... has been trying for years to earn our favor. Ever since the Templar incident, Edmund has been yearning to stand alongside us. Damien tilted his head back abit, and after a quick glance about the room, he nodded once more. Yes, I think that we should make this official as soon as possible. Any more delay and I fear Edmund may burst from the suspense!

Damien left out a dry chuckle and licked his lips. He swirled his drink in his hand for a second or two, then decided that he had drank his fill. He placed the large glass down on the oak table and shuffled more towards Bastien. One of my fears Bastien is that by either tide fires or the tides of time, we may be lost in the drift forever. With all these renegade factions running about, banding together, it's making it difficult to operate. I know you care not, for to you they are nothing more than unsuspecting lambs awaiting the slaughter. Damien moved abit closer to his friend, and placed his hand on the table and began leaning slightly. All we seem to do nowadays is talk. Talk about ourselves, our armies, our might. Too many moons have passed since we've laid waste to the heathens. I yearn again for another New Spartha to rise up. I yearn for the sting of battle.

Damien's face tightened in a near snarl, and his voice had more comtempt in it. I pity the man that thinks he can match blades with me. This....Trojan Empire you are invading...let us make an example out of him. Let the world witness our brutality and may they never forget it.