NationStates Jolt Archive

Me and my girl,
We got this relationship.
I love her so bad, but she treats me like shit.
On lockdown like a penitentiary,
She spreads her lovin' all over
and when she gets home theres none left for me.

The words of the song echoed strangely in Dayne's mind as he wandered up the stairs of his SeaDragon Tower. Silly song, he thought. He'd heard it long ago and couldn't even tell you who wrote it, and for some reason it gave him an ill feeling.

He had woken to find his young wife, Richenda, gone. He had called for servants, but they had all been dismissed, so he had dressed and went to find her. He doubted that she would have ventured out into the Palace at night, so his search led him to the serpentine steps of the Tower Bastien had gifted him, styled SeaDragon for the curling beast that crowned the cloudy ramparts.

Thinking on the lyrics of the half-forgotten song, he pushes open the broad doors on the upper flight of the steps. The oiled hinges swing soundlessly open and he steps out into the crisply cold air of the Panteran morning. Pausing to look out across the Bay, Dayne smiles, pleased with the way his breath frosted in front of him and the taught warmth of his heavily muscled arms inside his bearskin. He was a man made for winter, and the chill set itself deep in his bones.

Stepping around the curled tail of the granite Dragon, Dayne hears a breathless laugh that makes him stop, cocking his head thoughtfully. The lyrics of the song drifting eerily back to him:

Oh take this veil from off my eyes,
My burning sun will someday rise...

There in the small glass garden atop his tower, their tower, lay his lady wife. Sprawled languidly on a mound of bearskin, her flesh pink with the cold and her red hair a fiery contrast to the stark stone of the tower-top. Atop of her was a man Dayne did not know, but for a moment, he prayed he would.

Inside him a fiery blossom of hate and fury withered and dies in infancy, and is replaced by a searing sense of dread. Stepping forward, he reaches for the man's black hair, done into a fistful of fanciful braids. Snatching the man back as Richenda gasps, Dayne spins him to his feet and spins him about. Snatching a double fistfull of the man's braids, he draws him into a sickening headbutt, the impact destroying the man's nose and cheekbone with a hollow crunch.

Dayne lets the man fall limply to lay twitching as he rounds on his wife. The terrible fury he had felt for a moment is completely gone, and all he feel was hatred, and the desire to damage that which had hurt him. His purple eyes glitter with unshed tears as he speaks, his voice cold and dead,"Harlot."

As the wife he once adored and worshipped opens her mouth, Dayne turns and lifts a foot. His stomp is short and swift, but the effect is all the more effective. The head of the whore's lover goes soft with the first stomp, and bursts with the second, spilling gore and shards of brain out onto the grey-green stones of the palace.

Richenda lurches forward, crying out desperately but stops short of Dayne, sobbing hysterically and wailing for her coward Gods that he had never accepted. He looks upon her in sadness and disgust for a moment as the jerking of the corpse subsides.

The whore's shrieking is silenced by a curt backhand to the teeth that slams har back against the stones of the wall. Naked and scraped, her face covered in blood and tears, she was indeed a pitiful sight.

Though he looked, he would never remember what the man had looked like, aside from the horrible ruin his boots had made of the man's face and skull.

"Best you get out of my Palace, whore. I'll have no part of you now or ever. You are lucky I don't cut you open and feed your entrails to my hounds." He snarls at his wife.

Sighing, he turns and strides down the serpentine steps, his thoughts awash with grief and hate. Dispatching servants to tend to the corpse, Dayne wanders off to find Bastien, hoping someone would take the filthy **** in.

The last lyrics of the tune echo in his mind, and his blinks back the tears once more:

Evil, I'ce come to tell you
That she's evil, most definately
Evil, ornery-scandalous and evil,
The tension is getting hotter
I'd like to hold her, head under water...

Me and my girl we got a relationship.
Ohhh, my girl...

He had to get the f*ck out of Pantera.

I never thought that when I grew up I would be in a band and travel to all the best spots in the land...

Bump? Indeed.

He'd found the CD just as Bastien arived. Sublime. He laughed at that, popping the disc into his player and moved to the Painted Table. Carved into a beautiful representation of the nine-kingdoms of Pantera as they had been in the day of the Iron Lion and the Conquests of old, when the Reavers were first casting across the oceans.

Bastien said nothing as Dayne sat and dumped the contents of a small bottle onto the table. A bud of sea-green marijuana, veined with dark orange hairs and spotted with dark and light patches. Tearing it quickly apart he takes up a beautiful blownglass bong and fills. Glancing at Bastien out of the corner, he grunts and gestures to a chair before touching a flame to the bowl. Pulling deeply, Dayne groans in pleasure as he pulls the small glass bowl and clears the chamber swiftly.

Nodding his pleasure, he offers the piece to Bastien who shakes his head and reaches for a bottle of brandy, set alongside two glasses, filling these, he tilts his head, listening to the music coming from the player.


I don't wanna go and party,
I don't wanna shoot the pier,
I don't wanna take the doggie for a walk,
I don't wanna look at naked chicks and drink beer.

I don't wanna do a bong-load...

Snortig a laugh at this, Bastien finally speaks,"Well, Gods be damned Dayne you've made a mess. What do you plan to do?"

Filling the glass piece once more, Dayne pulls deeply and nods his satisfaction, blowing out a frothy white cloud of sweet smelling smoke. Clearing his throat and reaching for the glass Bastien had filled for him.

Keep on skankin' Ronnie,
Skank the night away,
but the time is coming, for us all to pay...

Dayne mouths the words of the song, and Bastien clicks his tongue in irritation, his brow creasing into a frown. Taking a deep swallow from the glass, Dayne raises the bong to his lips but hesitates before saying,"I've been thinking on that, and I honestly don't know. One thing is sure, I must leave Pantera. And fucking fast. I'm going mad here Bastien. You held me from punishing Imitora and those other fools we spoke of. Now this? I need a break, Bastien. A time to reflect and clear my fucking head."

Bastien grunts and gestures as Dayne once more touches flame to the green dust, saying,"And this will help? What will I do with Richenda? Like it or not, she's your wife..."

Dayne, coughs ciolently and slams a fist down onto the table, snarling."NO. Not any longer, damn you. I'll have her gone or I'll have her dead. I'll not look upon her again."

Bastien nods slowly, his scowl softening as he gazes at his younger brother, the strange music blaring in the background.

Finally he nods and pats his brother on the shoulder, saying,"As you will Evenstar. But where will you go?"

Dayne mouth moves along with the words of the song, and he smiles, his eyes a glassy red.

I ain't gettin' I ain't gettin' out of bed today...
I ain't gettin' no headrush cause I ain't gettin out of bed today..."

Bastien grunts softly and stands, determined not to throtle this young whelp. He would find a place for the wench, and for Dayne. Away from Pantera.

I never thought that when I grew up I would be in a band and travel to all the best spots in the land...

Bump? Word up.

You need coolin', baby, I'm not foolin',
I'm gonna send you back to schoolin',
Way down inside honey, you need it,
I'm gonna give you my love,
I'm gonna give you my love.

Wanna Whole Lotta Love....

Dayne beat against the steering wheel of his car. Sleek and coal-colored it was, a shadow among shadows as Dayne raced through the Panteran night. Through rolling hills and back out into a stretching plain he shoots, the music loud and lovely.

He'd left the Palace early and had't stopped driving all day or night. On and on, his hands thumping against the steering wheel as he sang along with the mournful wailings of Robert Plant. He'd always loved the bluesy sound of Led Zeppelin, and it more than fit the days mood.

You've been learnin', baby, I bean learnin',
All them good times, baby, baby, I've been yearnin',
Way, way down inside honey, you need it,
I'm gonna give you my love... I'm gonna give you my love.

He slows as he enters a small town, the light of the morning sun turning the snow-capped peaks to the east a rich orange. The sight warms his grief-sodden soul, and he pulls to the side of the road and gets out of his car. Pulling a joint from his shirt pocket, he touches a flame to the tip, leans back against the glossy black hood of the car, and pulls deeply from it.

He holds the smoke in his lungs for a long moment and runs a tongue across his teeth before exhaling slowly, his head bobbing in time with the wailing of the music.

You've been coolin', baby, I've been droolin',
All the good times I've been misusin',
Way, way down inside, I'm gonna give you my love,
I'm gonna give you every inch of my love,
Gonna give you my love.

The door of a house on the far side of the street bangs open and Dayne grunts as a young girl storms out, raging about his music. Lithe and dark-haired she is, maybe nineteen years old, and fiery mad. Her curses cease as he rises to his full height and takes another pull from his joint, the fragrant smoke spilling from his lips and vanishing in the light wind blowing down off the distant mountains.

He is sure she knows who he is, for her fury vanishes and she looks shyly at the ground. Dayne cocks his head curiously as she takes the last few steps toward him and curtseys, offering him a M'lord as he looks her over.

When her eyes raise again, Dayne thinks I should leave...

But with her hungry eyes on him, the sight of the mountains, and the glossy warmth of the marijuana, he shrugs and sings her the last lyric of the song:

Way down inside... woman... You need... love.

Shake for me, girl. I wanna be your backdoor man.
Keep it coolin', baby.


Laughing softly, he follows the girl into the darkened house, and for the first time in awhile, he was almost at peace.

{TAG}

Dayne slips his arm from under the girl, leaning close to plant a small kiss on her neck before he rises and gathers his clothes quickly. When he is finally dressed, he takes a jewelled chain from the inside pocket of his shirt and places it on the girl's nightstand. It would fetch a fabulous price, but he was sure the girl would keep it for herself, as a reminder of the night she was loved by a prince.

Leaving the small house quietly, he gets into his car and starts it again, the mournful wailings of Led Zeppelin echoing around the silent street once more.

If it keeps on rainin', levee's goin' to break,
When The Levee Breaks I'll have no place to stay.

Mean old levee taught me to weep and moan,
Got what it takes to make a mountain man leave his home,
Oh, well, oh, well, oh, well....

Away he sped, his mood approaching melancholy as he thought of the girl, and the night they had spent together. The lovemaking had been fierce, almost violent, but at times touched by moments of tenderness and soft caresses.

Don't it make you feel bad
When you're tryin' to find your way home,
You don't know which way to go?
If you're goin' down South
They go no work to do,
If you don't know about Chicago.

Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,
Now, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move.

The words of the song cut through his somberness and he smiles, raisig a hand to touch the small mark the girls teeth had left on his neck. A saucy little wench she had been, and Dayne was ashamed to say he'd never even asked her name. Well, she knew his, sure enough, for she'd screamed it often enough. And, after, as they lay entwined she had questioned him on his life in the Seastone Palace, and of the fabled members of Bastien's court.

He had silenced her with a kiss, crushing her breath and words with his bearded lips and seeking tongue.

All last night sat on the levee and moaned,
Thinkin' about me baby and my happy home.
Going, going to Chicago... Going to Chicago... Sorry but I can't take you...
Going down... going down now... going down....

The girl had been a welcome diversion, but he still felt crushed, contained. He hated that feeling and would not tolerate it much longer. Perhaps the Reich, or even a trip to one of the elven lands. Menelmacar was said to be beautiful this time of year, but there was no love lost between Siri and his own House Vayne.

Grunting he gives a shake of his head and reaches for a smoke.

And if I say to you tomorrow. Take my hand, child, come with me.
It's to a castle I will take you, where what's to be, they say will be...

Catch the wind, see us spin, sail away, leave today, way up high in the sky.
But the wind won't blow, you really shouldn't go, it only goes to show
That you will be mine, by takin' our time....

Dayne had shaved, and he felt a damn fool for it. He had not been clean of face since his fifteenth nameday, when he had won his first tourney melee, and his father had decreed him a man in clan and council before his time. It had been one of the crowning moments of his young life, and his beard had been one of his most distinguishing features, along with the twin braids that hung almost to his waist. He had given thought to cutting them as well, but had dismissed it as a vulger thought.

Now, bare faced and sporting a crimson bandana of the finest silk tied about his head, he looked his age, of twenty-one, rather than the Reaver Prince, called the Evenstar, who had been a man grown for almost ten years.

And if you say to me tomorrow, oh what fun it all would be.
Then what's to stop us, pretty baby. But What Is And What Should Never Be.

So if you wake up with the sunrise, and all your dreams are still as new,
And happiness is what you need so bad, girl, the answer lies with you...

The song made him laugh. The answer lies with you... That was horseshit if he'd ever heard it, for he definately didn't know what to do with himself. He could stay in Pantera, win tourneys, fight Bastien's wars, and whore himself out to commoner wenches, or...

Oh the wind wont blow and we really shouldn't go and it only goes to show.
Catch the wind, we're gonna see it spin, we're gonna...sail, little girl
do do do, bop bop a do-oh, my my my my my my yeah.
Everybody I know seems to know me well
but they're never gonna know that I move like hell....

Now, that was a good lyric. The wind wouldn't blow, and for the moment he had no way to catch it. He was mired deep in the intrigues of Bastien's court, the destroying of Rich... No, that whore's lover's, her betrayel, and Bastien's insistence he get his 'shit' straight, as he'd put it.

The knotted muscles of his jaw work furiously as he grinds his teeth angrily, thinking, A thousand years ago I would have taken up my blade and sailed off across the seas, to reap what I would and destroy those that chose to defy me. Or I might have taken that same blade and went to the wars. The Sellsword Prince Hah. I like that... The bards would have sang songs of me for a hundred generations...

Now Bastien sits, tittering with Traiden, Roland Meridius, that great buggering oaf of a Dreadfire and those assholes from the Allied Powers. I am sick of peace, of war, and of the whole matter. I crave the glory that the crone once told me I would have. My name emblazoned across the sky in starlight upon silver, and colored crimson with blood and flame...

{{EDITED slightly...}}

{TAG}

{{OOC: Time for me to ramble a little. One day I didn't feel so well to begin with, and my RL life went straight down the hole, so I sat down and wrote the opening scene to this RP. I had a chance to do something with Dayne that fell through, but I had already been thinking on a 'different' kind of RP for me, so it tied in very well. The Evenstar is to be my 'main' character, and I wanted to make him real. The more I write in this thread, the more certain I am that this is going to be the beginning of the biggest Panteran RP to date, and my masterpiece RP. Since this is such a big one, I'm going to be spending a long time on it, and doing whatever I can to make it better. So, any constructive criticism and comments are welcomed, applauded, and encouraged. Anyone? Are you enjoying it? Do you hate me? Are you naked? Is Dayne believeable?

My spelling is atr0shus tonight. ;) }}

"Today, a young man on acid realized that all matter was merely energy condensed to a slow vibration that we are all one conciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death. Life is only a dream and we're just the imagination of ourself."

Bill Hicks would have wanted this thread to be bumped.

Feel privileged Pantera... this is my first ever... :wink:

[tag]

(this time with the right nation) :roll:

{Still working on my character!}

{{OOC: Bloody hell. The forums eat my badass post, so A BUMP will have to do. Open your third eye.}}

The news on the radio was all about the oaf, Dreadfire. Dayne himself has not spoken to Bastien, but he was sure his brother would be hosting the longships even now, in preperation for the power vacuum that would be brewing in AMF. From the sound of it, Dayne figured this new wench had offed Damien and taken his place as Lord of the Sentinels. A shame too, thinks the Evenstar, great bellowing aurochs that he was he was also one of Bastien's truest friends, and an implacable ally. With a loyal hand guiding the Sentinels, the great alliance of the Blood Pact was all but unstoppable. With a stranger, a possibly unstable and disloyal whore at the helm of Pantera's greatest ally, Bastien would be even now plotting and readying for the worst.

Dreadfire had left Pantera with a good many enemies, but his own legend had always made up for it. Such a hard man he had seldom met, and with Bastien alongside him they could have been the mightiest kings of all time. Now all that was gone to dust and decay.

Still, Dayne was leaving Pantera, at least for the time, and there is nowhere better for him to go than Automagfreek. If it comes to war, or Bastien decides to put one of his own, possibly Hartman, at the head of AMF, he would be well placed to raise some of the Sentinels against this new wench...

Or he might just lurk around Freeksburg awhile, drinking and whoring. Yeah, that sounded much better, but he would go nonetheless.

Dayne was not happy about Bastien's decision to go to AMF, but it changed his plans. He wouldn't put both of their lives in that woman's hands.

Shit. The thought of staying in Pantera any longer was galling, but there was nothing for him to do, other than wench. The prospect of the funeral was interesting, but that was gone, and once more he was forgotten, left to rule in Bastien's stead.

I want to f*cking kill someone.

The farmhouse was a ratty affair, but Dayne's need was urgent. Without a Vayne in Toke, Pantera was all but leaderless. Bastien in AMF, Dayne himself on the run, Gaise at Brightwater with his new bride, and his Uncle Rhaegon somewhere the Gods only knew... Damn you Bastien...

His knock was loud and long, the sound echoing around the otherwise silent farm. After a few moments a roared curse is heard from inside and the door swings open to reveal a middle aged man clad in a pair of greasy jeans and a torn nightshirt. The man's curses continue until Dayne steps into the light, tossing his braids back over his shoulder and growling,"If you know what's good for you, old man, I would shut my fucking hole and let my liege Lord use the phone."

The man bowed quickly, muttering foolish courtesies and begging the Evenstar's pardons as he lead him inside. The interior of the house was filthy and gloomy. A herd of small children lurk in the shadows, and it was not until he had already dialed the phone that he noticed all were girls. Not a boy in sight.

This made him wonder, but the voice from the other end of the phone cuts through his thoughts,"This is the Seastone Palace. How may I direct your call?"

Hurriedly Dayne orders himself connected to the castellan who informs him of Bastien's wish for his return to the Seastone Palace. Needless to say he was not pleased.

....{{{{{OOC: Damnit. I have to split my scene...}}}

The man lurks as the Evenstar speaks to his brother's castellan, ordering what Dayne assumes are his daughters to get food and wine for the Prince. Though he has no intention of eating the man's fare, Dayne does not miss the way they all cring under their father's stare, or the way the one with the swollen stomach wraps her arms about the swell protectively. It does not smell right, and though he has more pressing business, the hovel has caught his interest.

Soon he ends his call and motions to the man, saying,"These your daughters, old man?"

The man clears his throat and begins to speak, but closes it quickly and simply nods.

Dayne scowls but only asks,"Aye, an' where are the mothers?"

A small smirk tugs at the man's mouth as he says,"These is most o' me wives, I gots a few more. The rest is daughters. No boys. Me cock jes' refuses 'em."

The pregnant girl makes as if to speak, but is cut short by the man's curt backhand. Dayne snarls and levels a finger at the man,"Hold your hand, bastard, or lose it. I'll hear the girl."

Sullenly, the old man glares at the girl, but knows it is his death to defy the Evenstar. The girl whimpers under his gaze, but looks to Dayne mournfully,"Please M'lord... Please help us. He's a cruel one, me father is. He gives our boys to the Drowned God, an' keeps the girls 'til they's old enough to marry, doin' as he pleases with the young'un's as well. He starves us and beats us and... and..."

The old man's punch was short and solid, the hollow -thud- of his knuckles meeting the swell of the girl's stomach audible.

Dayne is shocked into immobility for a moment as the girl falls to her knees, retching, and the man lunges for a side hall. Snapping into action, the Evenstar scrambles after the man, latching onto the back of his greasy undershirt with a massive hand just as the man darts around a corner. Jerking him backwards, Dayne curses and slams a thumb into his eye, gouging and tearing.

The screams of the women cut through his rage, and Dayne slams one crushing fist into the mans head before letting him drop, limp.

As he rises, his battle-lust fading, Dayne finally looks at the body of the man, and realizes the reason for the women's screaming. His thumb had ripped a great hole in the man's face, breaking loose a large chunk of skull and dislodging the eyeball, the dead man's one good eye was rolled completely back in his head, and in his pain he had bitten through part of his tongue, which lolled from his mouth.

Dayne had seen much in his day, war and rape and a thousand atrocities, but he knew that scene would haunt him forever.

Dayne phones the police and waits silently as the women wail or rejoic. There is a bit of both, and it tear at his nerves. A few of the women cry over the man's body, but most seem more than glad to be rid of him, especially the pregnant girl, though he could see why as she finally stops retching blood and bile and calms enough to answer his questions.

She alone speaks to Dayne, and the story of the man's cruelty slowly comes out. Twenty three women above the age of sixteen, and some twelve more below that all live somewhere in the ratty little home, living as servants and slaves to the whims of the old man, and eventually becoming his brood mares as they came of age. Rape, molestation, torture and murder are all commonplace, but these seem to be the least of his crimes.

The girl, Dacey she says her name is, tells Dayne that the old man would murder the babies born male, drowning them in saltwater in an offering to the vile Drowned God of the mountain tribes. Hundreds, Dacy claims.

When the police finally arrive, Dayne is sick with rage, wishing the man could be killed again but eager to be rid of the scene. His orders to the man in charge are to keep his involvement a secret for as long as possible, but he was sure the story would emerge soon. He planned to be as far from there as possible when that happened.

Finally he makes his way to his car, his thoughts in turmoil as Dacy runs up behind him, her face twisted in a grimace of pain as she holds her stomach, still tender from the man's blow"My Prince... They say you are a just man. Honorable and staunch... I beg of you, take me with you... Somewhere. Anywhere but here. The babe is like to not survive, but if he does I would... I would have a better life for him."

Oh, this is fucking great... Dayne thinks, though his smile is not unkind as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of Allied Credits. Counting out a stack, the girl's eyes wide as saucers all the while, Dayne offers the money to her and nods,"Aye, lass. Take yourself to the Seastone Palace with this. You'll serve in my Seadragon Tower when I return. Until then, see my Lord Brother's Castellan and tell him I wish you to have all the comforts fitting one so lovely, and he will tend to you until my return."

The girls jaw hangs slack a moment and Dayne grins, ducking into his car and firing the engine. She is still standing there as he speeds off through the evening light.

He is gone perhaps an hour when the radio sings,"The Sword and Shade of the Evening, Reaver Prince Dayne the Evenstar seems to have killed a vile heretic and freed the harem he kept..."

More and more praise is heaped upon him, naming him Hero and a thousand other courtesies he would like to piss on. Nothing he does can just be for him. The world is watching, and waiting.

I hate them all.

{{OOC: Yet again, the FUCKING FORUMS have eaten my post, so I'll BUMP. Shake for me girl... I wanna be yo' backdoor man... Ugh...Wanna whole lotta love...}}

The group of men at the bar stared at Caval, with obvious ill intentions. But, he had no desire for trouble, only to wait until Dayne came, as he knew he would. Six years earlier, the Hound had taken his young ward south, and it was in this very bar that Dayne had kissed his first girl. Many times they had returned here, and for the past week the Hound had waited, sure that the Evenstar would arrive eventually.

Now, he was beginning to doubt it. The buxom wenches he remembered from previous visits were not readily apparent, and the servant today was a foul old woman with no teeth or courtesy. The Hound was -not- pleased. As if that wasn't enough, now the sheep at the bar thought to harass him?

When they finally muster their courage, they rise as one and approach arrogantly, sneers and smirks painted on their ugly, commoner faces. Their leader, a gaunt man with a bushy mane of reddish brown hair leans his fists against the table and clears his throat. Looking down at the Hound, his cursed eyes can only see a grizzled old Reaver, the spring of his youth long gone, and dresses in rich silks and silver chainmail. Easy pickings, surely.

What the man does not see is the fabled dogshead helm of Caval the Warhound, Sworn Sword of House Vayne and Lord of the Blacktides. His helm was his herald and friend, but it is much too noticeable, so he had left it in his car. The only thing to distinguish him from a hundred thousand other crusty old Reavers is the longsword hung from his hip, hidden by a fold of his burgundy silk and samite cloak.

The leader's face iss stupid and smiling as he leans close, stinking of wine as he sneers at the Hound,"Who be you, old man? And where such an old fuck get him such fancy duds?"

Caval's eyes remain passive as he looks up at the man, his head cocking slightly to the side as he says,"I fucked that pig you call a mother, an' she paid me well."

The man's eyes bulge in anger, and he darts a hand for the weapon under his shirt, but the Hound is quicker. The neon lights of the tavern flash brilliantly upon steel, and as sudden as that he his on his feet, his sword out and leveled against the apple of the ugly fool's throat. The man's friends, stunned into immobility only stare, dumbfounded by the old, seemingly feeble man.

The Hounds face remains passive as he steps out from behind the table and speaks, his cool, grey eyes searching his foes curiously,"I could kill you here, now. You might think these buckets o' shit you got behind you would get me after in a rush, but you're wrong. Old I may be, an' a bit tired, if truth be told, but I would still cut through this rabble like an axe through cheese. You remember that, eh? I am the Warhound, and I won't be troubled again. Now, you get the fuck out of my sight before I kill you all and your children as well."

That is enough dismissal for the would-be robbers, and they stumble over themselves in their haste to be free. All men in Pantera knew of his legend, and even at his age few would be eager to test him.

He sits once more, raising a cry for more brandy. When it comes he doesn't look up, only reaches a hand for it. He tugs at the bottle but his servant holds tight. He'd had enough. Snarling, he tosses his head and springs to his feet.

The eyes he meets are not those of the feeble old woman, or the stupid stare of the robber. Indigo colored irises stare out from the young, handsome face of the Evenstar, his beard gone now. The sight warmed Cavals weary old soul, and he clapped his young friend on the shoulder, gesturing him to a chair and calling for another glass.

Daynes smile is easy and cocksure,"You still think you coulda taken all five o' them? Those is never good odds, even for you, my faithful Hound."

Caval's snort is filled with disdain,"Aye, I woulda scattered them that would run, killed the others, found their women and buggered their arses until my fury subsided."

Dayne roars with laughter, as he always had when his Hound told that joke. It was good to have a friend close, for both of them.

The news on the radio is of Dayne's encounter with the old man, and Bastien's return from AMF. The Hound sits in the pasenger seat of Dayne's car, brooding silently. A glance at his old friend was all he needed to tell him that Caval is troubled.

"Come now, Hound. Tell me what eats at you." Dayne says, keeping one eye on the road as he watches the grizzled old Reaver.

The WarHound's face remains passive for long moments before he sighs and says,"Dayne... The Crone... She speaks of nothing but blood and fire to come. Bastien never told you what she said to him, did you? After that Templar business when Damien was in Toke?"

Dayne shakes his head, reaching to turn down the volume of his radio and pulling a roach from his ashtray. He would not allow Caval to know his words were shaking him so. This Crone was a vile old woman, always lurking about the Seastone Palace. It is near impossible to carry on a conversation wth her, as all her ramblings smack of prophecy, and doom. However much he disliked her and her fucking advice, more than a touch of it turned out to be true. No one spoke of it, for the Old Ways were forbidden by the Gods, but everyone knew, and a few even whispered she was a Priestess of the Wind. He doubted that, but all the same, his Hound's words brought a chill to his already heavy heart.

Taking a pull from his now-lit roach, Dayne chuckles cooly,"Nothing new there. That's just her. I always wondered why Bastien kept her about after my Lord Father was slain. She serves no purpose and I've never heard Bastien go to her for help..."

The Hound grunts in irritation, saying,"I'm talkin' boy. You're not, eh?"

Dayne laughs and waves a hand, wondering what the old bitch had told him to rattle him so, after he had seemed so unshakeable through the years.

"I remember it perfect, Evenstar. She was jest a'sobbin'. She tole 'em the 'The tide-fires are born again, and the ravens feed at the coming of the Shining Prince. With the Dawn they come, to plunge us into the Long Night, and to drag us through its depths. Shore to Shore the wicked will reign, while flames of wrath scour us clean. The seas boil and the mountains burn, with sword and screams, He comes. Smiles turned to stone, nations razed and peoples raped, He comes. Tremble with the Dawn, for it heralds the night as Dusk never could, He comes."

The Hound's rasping recitation has drawn Dayne's attention, and his roach has burned to nothing in his fingers. Angry now, and shaken slightly, Dayne flicks a hand, trying to sound dismissive as he says,"A senile old bitch's rambling. Nothing to it, my Hound. Nothing to it. We'll return to Toke, and that will be that, eh? We'll stick close to Bastien, and be his Shield. With him on the Seastone Chair nothing can touch us, and you know it.[/i]"

The Hound grunts, nodding as if in agreement but Dayne can see the doubt in his eyes. It troubled the young Prince, but he doubted it was anything more than the bitch's raving. He would show her what for when he returned to Toke. He would, and nothing would come of it.

He comes...

Grinding his teeth, he pulls to the side of the road, ordering Caval into the drivers seat so he could roll himself another joint. He would need it, for the more he thought on his friend's words, the more he dreaded returning to Toke.

I should have gotten the fuck out of here...

As Lord Defender of the Saryn Marches, Protector of the South and Prince of Sunspear, Jace Godsgrace was not a man who was used to being ordered to do anything, unless it was the Lord Reaver himself. A threat upon his person was unheard of, and almost obscene... He thought, that as the most powerful Lord in Pantera, that he was above being threatened by any man, much less Dayne, ragged from the road, smelling of booze and unshaven for three days.

It had started out well enough. Dayne and the Hound had been passing through Sunspear when they stopped to call Bastien. His order was to raise the Saryn Banners and host all of Godsgrace's ships and men in preperation for a 'large-scale' campaign. Bastien would say no more on a line he wasn't sure was secure, but he had been vehement about the need for the Saryn Banners and their attending might.

Godsgrace, however, had not proved cooperative. He made excuses, claiming most of his fleet was in dry-dock for repairs, and his remaining garrisons were needed for a pending Clan-Feud with the Lord of the Burning Gate of the Vale. Dayne had persisted until nightfall, when Godsgrace had called an end to the discussions for the night, and had retired.

Dayne however, remained awake and walked the walls of Sunspear, glancing over at the towering crystal thrust that the great citadel tooks its name from. Some eight-hundred feet high, its depths even now reflecting the few lights that remain alight brilliantly.

A fine scene, and he was enjoyng it immensely when the girl appeared. Thick of breast and small of waist, she boasted the golden hair and chocolate eyes of House Starshade. Dayne had never met the girl, but he knew her story, and of her beauty. Last blood of a dying House that had held the South for eight-hundred years until Godsgrace had wrested it from them during the Redeye Rebellion that had claimed the lives of so many. Bastien himself had killed the girls father when he refused to bend the knee after Dayne had put down Redeye's rebellion. Aye, Dayne knew the story. All men did, and it was well known the girl was a 'ward' of Jace Godsgrace. Hostage more like... Dayne thought as he looked on the lass before jerking from his revelry back to the present.

Her smile is almost shy as she curtsies and her voice is melodic with the accents of the Tribal tongues, still spoken in Starshade,"My Lord Prince. I am Eshara Starshade... Long have I waited to speak with you, and now you are here."

Dayne smiles but taken slighly aback by the girls manner, her breasts pulling tightly at her bodice as she arches her back and tilts her head, allowing her thick mane of golden hair to cascade over a shoulder. Whore. Is the first thing that pops into the Evenstar's mind, but she was there, and it would be a fine distraction. Besides, the thought of his Bastard in this girl's belly would sour Godsgrace's attitude somewhat when Starshade's lands and title did not fall to him upon her death, likely not far away.

Reaching a hand to cup the girl's cheek, Dayne leans close and plants the lightest of kisses on her lips and whispers,"I know who you are My Queen of Beauty. I have long awaited this moment as well..."

The Evenstar wasn't quite finished, but the girl suddenly broke into sobs and threw herself at him, showering him with wet, tear sodden kisses. Her wails were loud, and he thought to clamp a hand over her mouth, but was shaking and wailing so... "My Lord... I knew you would save me. The old woman told me so long ago that you were the one... Take me, My Lord. Take me from this place and away from that beast of a Lord. PLEASE! He beats me, and does such... *sob* Terrible things to me..."

Dayne strokes the girls hair reassuringly andsays,"Aye lass, all will be well. You'll come with me and Bastien will set things right. You'll see. Come. We'll get my Hound and we'll be gone before that pig of a Godsgrace knows a thing..."

The shadows sweeping in around Dayne are silent but for the scrape of steel and the scuff of Jace Godsgrace's heels. Men swarmed out of rooms, alcoves and out into the yard below from the great double doors of the citadel.

Thrusting the girl behind himself, Dayne jerks his dagger from its sheath on his hip and sneers, placing himself between the armed men and the girl. The click of a hammer on a pistol stops him from launching himself at Godsgrace, but it did not silence him,"You'll burn for this, craven. You think to bear steel against me and not go unpunished? Bastien will have you flayed for this."

Godsgrace's smile is painted with contempt as he speaks,"I think not, boy. I think your brother will have his hands full soon enough. And from now on, you may adress me as Lord Reaver Jace Godsgrace. A nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Dayne spits and curses them, but as they close he has no choice but to lower his dagger. Some twelve to one they have him on the wall, with a dozen more below, all armed and at least one with a pistol.

"Cowards..! Was all he had time to roar before the first blow landed to his face. The world becomes a haze of pain and burning fury, but through it he hears the wails of the girl...

"You're mad Godsgrace. I've eaten your salt and you've violated my guestright. Cursed by Gods and Men alike you are." It was hard for Dayne to speak through lips smashed into pulp, but he continues to spit obscenities as they haul him to feet. One eye is swollen almost shut, his nose has been broken and at least one tooth was chipped.

Snatching one of Dayne's braids, Godsgrace pulls him close, leaning in to leer in his face,"Keep your threats, Dayne. You are yet valuable to me. If you conduct yourself proper-like, maybe I shall let you live in the Great Tower once the Seastone Palace is mine."

Snarling, the traitor Lord thrusts Dayne to his knees and turns, barking orders at his Captain of the Guards,"Have him thrown in one of the Black Cells. DO NOT let him out of your sight, understood?"

The man nods quickly and Godsgrace turns on his heel to stride off down the hall, his grossly fat body swaying beneath the great orange and black cloak draping his shoulders. The sight made Dayne sick.

A sword prodding him in the middle of his back starts him moving, and soon he is lost amid the twists and turns of Sunspear, though he knows they are heading down, ever downward into the bowels of the great citadel. The bowels, he thought. Fitting for the smell was that of a privy.

Dayne glances uyp at a torch, set in an iron sconce. No electricity this low? He wonders numbly. The blows to his head had numbed his wits, and his senses seemed wrapped in wool.

Coughing lightly, he lurches into the wall, scraping his face against the stone and leaning down to retch uncontrollably. A familiar roar reaches his ears, but all he can do is retch, and retch and retch...

When his stomach has emptied itself Dayne raises his eyes to a scene of carnage. The half-dozen guards that Godsgrace had sent with him were scattered about the hall, and Caval the Warhound sweeps among them, a red-rain flying from his longsword. A few of the guards tried to fight, but the old Hound cut and spun, the silvered blade of his longsword flicking in, out, always finding purchase against flesh or bone.

The rest of the guards, seeing the demon that has fallen upon them turn to flee, but the Hound is then upon them. Showing no mercy, he hamstrings the first and plunges his blade through the back of the second. The final guard is almost to a set of large doors when the Hound bears him down, dropping his longsword and jerking a dagger from his sheath. Sawing viciously at the man's throat, Caval rears back his head and howls like the beast from which he takes his name, the sound sad and rage-filled at once as the blood gushes from the terrible wound over his hands.

The entire time, Dayne simply stands, dumbfounded and befuddled. When the Hound rises, drenched in his foes blood and a wild look on his grizzled face, Dayne chuckles and weaves on his feet before pitching forward awkwardly onto his face.

The world is soon dark, and for awhile, nothing matters but that warm, soft blackness.

He comes...

The tide-fires are born again...

The Evenstar's lover thrashed beneath him, a shadow whose face twisted and melted even as he watched. Something was wrong with that, but lost in ecstasy, he did not care in the least. Harder and faster he thrust into her, rivulets of sweat cascading down his face and bare back. Her moans only increased his passion, and soon his seed was spilling forth.

Head thrashing, Dayne continued to thrust, but the sense of wrongness continued to build. His lovers head raised to kiss him, and he bends his neck to receive her, but his passion turns to dismay as the full, waiting lips turn to a mouth of fangs. Rearing back, he tried to pull himself from between her thighs, but realizes there are teeth above, -and- below. The gaping maw below savaged and worried at his manhood, while above her teeth rend his face.

Screaming, Dayne wrenched himself free and rose.

The Ravens feed at the coming of the Shining Prince...

Clad in silver chased armor, Dayne strides the length of the Great Hall. Bastien and his Lord Father are seated upon ether arm of the Seastone Chair, a slim iron crown perched between them on the worn, grey-green stone of the seat.

His heart swells at the sight of their faces. Bastien, his brother and his hero; Valanus Vayne, the mightiest Lord Reaver since the Iron Lion himself.... No... Bastien was Lord now, his father long slain... It did not matter, his father's smile was proud, Bastien's as well.

He had reached the foot of the dais when his father's smile began to slip, and Bastien's disappeared. Both reach down and take up the slim crown. Together, they offer it to Dayne, but he stumbled back, refusing it.

The skin of Valanus Vayne's face crumbles away, leaving a leering skull, while Bastien's eyes are wreathed in flame, his cried piteous and terrible...

With the Dawn they come, to plunge us into the Long Night, and drag us through it's depths...

Ten thousand Reavers roar their defiance upon the shores of the Blood Bay. The crimson waves crash and swell as if a mighty storm raged, but above the sky was a dead, leaden gray.

The cheers washed over Dayne, and he raised his mighty broadsword, it's length inscribed with silver runes. His own screams drown out the surrounding Reavers, and for a moment, he knew that the coming enemies would dash themselves to pieces against his might.

When his own screams subsided, he was alone. The darkness loomed on the horizon, terrible and impending. He was utterly alone.

Shore to Shore the wicked will reign, while flames of wrath scour us clean...

The stones continued to pelt Dayne's face and back, though he had long since become a huddling mass of sobbing hysteria. Filth and curses flew along with the stones, but death's wings were stayed for what seemed an eternity.

The seas boil and the mountains burn, with sword and screams, He comes...

Women he had once known raked at his eyes with talons of fire. Friends he had drank and whored with plunged swords of ice through him. Loved ones and men he had never wronged all waited, sharpening blade, talon, and fang while others tended fires to scorch him. The more he wailed and raged, the more came from the darkness to join the horde of waiting torturers.

Smiles turned to stone, nations razed and peoples raped, He comes...

Falling. Ever falling. The crows swooped about and pecked the eyes from his face, but flail as he would, they never ceased. Down and down he fell, praying for the bottom of the chasm, terrified it would come.

When it did come, he was grateful. The shards of iron and bronze thrust through his soft flesh, and the impact shattered his bones, every one...

Tremble with the Dawn, for it heralds the Night as Dusk never could, He comes...

The seas were boiling, and he had caused it. From his perch atop the Seastone Palace, he could see for hundreds of miles, and as far as he could see, fires raged and explosions rocked the earth. Try as he would, he could not remember if he had set the fires himself, or ordered it done. It mattered not. In the end, the world would curse his name.

He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes... He comes...

Laughing ruefully, Dayne wiped the blood and filth from his face upon a banner of fiery silk. A thousand voices screamed at him, but he knew what they did not.

He is here.

{{OOC: Wicked BUMP, to let those who are following along know that I'm still working on this. Things are crazy at home, holidays and all, so bear with me. Expect BIG tings to happen in my next posts. I may get one off tonight, but I'm short of time, so... Rock and Roll.}}

"Dayne! Dayne, stop this! EVENSTAR!" The voice of his friend calling his soulname calms Dayne, and he stares about, his purple eyes bright with fever and hate.

The worn face of the WarHound looms over him, alongside that of a dark-eyed girl. His friend's face is creased with worry, but the sight of it sends Dayne into another rage and he snarls, reaching for him.

"Go easy, Evenstar... All is well." Caval rasps and grabs at his hands. Weak with fever and madness, Dayne relents and slowly he distinguishes reality from the horrors of the nightmare... He comes... Moaning softly, he struggles for the words he cannot grasp.

Dayne's mouth works wordlessly for a moment, before he croaks,"Water. Now."

The girl hurries off as the Hound continues to speak to Dayne, his gruff voice almost kind,""You took y' a nasty whack, lad. All is well now. You just be easy and we'll sort things out, eh?"

The girl returns with a cup of water which she holds to Dayne's mouth. He gulps at it greedily, the cool liquid seeping into the fever parched skin of his throat. When he drains it, he looks again at the girl. Eshara... He thinks as his eyes drink her in.

Pulling his eyes from the girls chocolate colored eyes, Dayne 's wild gaze takes in Caval and he groans,"How long?"

The look the girl gives the old man trails a light finger of fear across Dayne's soul, and he struggles to rise,"How, long, Damnit?!"

"Sixteen days." Caval admits as he raises a hand to scratch at a long, half-healed scratch running up his neck.

Gods, that long? The cloud of drugs still hovers about his thoughts, but Dayne fights through it, and gradually pieces his last moments of conciousness together.

"Godsgrace." The name was almost a curse as remembrance came. The thought of the man's smug, pampered face fill the Reaver Prince with fury as he looks around the room, scanning his surroundings with glazed eyes.

Wooden walls, threadbare hangings.... Not Sunspear, then...

"Where, Hound? How am I come to be here, and alive? Godsgrace had us dead to right's." Dayne asks.

The grizzled old Warhound snorts and offers a wink at the girl, Eshara,"Bah. You should have seen the rabble he sent to guard you. A half dozen of them, all armed, and not a one had the courage to face me. They broke, ran, and me and the lass here took you from Sunspear. Godsgrace has closed the South, Dayne, and all of the Saryn Banners hunt you. I've tried to get in touch with Bastien, but... For now is enough you're with us again."

Dayne grunts to show what he thinks of that and rubs at his eyes the haze that clouds them,"Bastien first, eh? We'll see how well Godsgrace fares against me with an army at my back. By the Gods,"

Evenstar... The Hounds face creases once more as he sighs,"I don't think Godsgrace means for us to leave. The Marches are closed, Dayne. From Sunspear to the Bloody Gate. He has closed the South, -completely-. From the few news broadcasts still running, it seems they think he's preparing for BloodFeud against Lord Mas of the Blood Gate."

The worst was yet to come, he knew, but already Dayne felt sick, with grief, pain, and hate,"He told me, Hound... Bastien would soon have his hands full... Styling hmself Lord Reaver... He thinks to take Bastien's throne? Madness. All the power of the Vale and the North will be behind him."

Caval arches an eyebrow, as if he wasn't sure, but Dayne hardly noticed.

It is the Redeye Rebellion come again... Gods, what do I do? Godsgrace commands as many Reavers and fleets as Bastien, but to threaten Toke he will need to breach the Vale, and there he will err.

For a thousand and more years, the Vale's Bloody Gate of the South and the Shining Gate of the North had been the stone upon which a hundred armies had dashed themselves to pieces. Still they held, fortified and manned, they could possibly be the most unassailable positions in Pantera, if not the world. Lord Mas of the Bloody Gate was loyal, he had no doubt...

"DAYNE!" The Hounds bark cuts through his reverie, and he gives a start,"Seven Hells, lad, listen. He will have the Vale. It is BloodFeud between Godsgrace and Mas. Bastien cannot interfere in that, even if he wished. Godsgrace will take the Bloody Gate, and then the Vale...."

He left the horror unsaid, but Dayne knew well enough. Without the Vale in hand, Bastien could never hold the North. Resin would fall, the Arbor and the Seven Cities of Shine. The Lord Reaver has to be warned, and quickly, else all will be lost.

I come, Bastien... I come...