NationStates Jolt Archive

Winter began to sweep across the Automagfreek countryside, and it felt like it was ages overdue. The harsh plains had seen its first snowfall in many years, a sign that the turbulent spiritual energies that crossed the realms had finally faded away. It was a time for celebration, and the Freeks did just that...but inside the Great Hall there was never a time for merry making.

It had been almost a year since Azrael the Advocate, most beloved son of Damien had been slain at the hands of his own father. Day and night that decision haunted him, but the boy had fallen under a very deep spell....and his actions were a betrayal of everything Dreadfire stood for and fought for. Night after night the face of Azrael appeared in Damien's dreams, tormenting his slumber and never leaving his thoughts. Many a night he awoke in a deep, cold sweat, breathing heavy and trembling like a leaf in a strong wind.

The Westwind Citadel was the home that Azrael built on the ashes of Dawn's Cathedral, the ancient church that was set ablaze by The Advocate himself. Since then the church had been under reconstruction to return it to its former glory, and things were moving along ahead of schedule. Every once in awhile Dreadfire would leave the Great Hall in the middle of the night and walk to the construction site, kneeling at the altar that somehow had remained intact and praying to the Gods above. He also prayed to his son and asked for his forgiveness, swearing an oath that he would one day find a way to bring him back from the grave.

But there was one problem with that: the last priest that had knowledge of how to channel a soul across the realms had given his life to bring Damien back to life, and sadly he took that knowledge with him into oblivion. There has to be another way... But unfortunately for Damien, there was no other possible way, unless some ancient text could be found or someone who had been passed on the knowledge.

Every night he went to Dawn's Cathedral things always ended the same way: Damien would pray for hours only to be left alone in silence. But with the coming of the first snowfall he decided he would pay the holy site another visit. The sky had turned a beautiful color of orange as the sun began it's decent towards the horizon, and with the air filled with flurries it was a breathtaking sight. For the first time in months Damien actually felt at ease inside, his mind not focused on the war of the day or the family blood that was still on his hands.

Construction on the church had been halted for the day, and Damien walked towards the altar just the same way he had done countless other times....but this time something felt different. He glanced over his shoulders a few times before kneeling at the altar and offering his prayers to the Gods whom he had betrayed many a time. As his lips moved quickly and quietly he heard the freshly fallen snow pack, and this caused him to be on his guard. He slowly moved his hand towards the Relic's Sword that was attached to his waist, and as the footsteps continued to grow louder and louder he suddenly jumped to his feet and drew the shining blade.

He looked around the ruins of the structure and searched for the footsteps, and as he looked towards his right he caught a glimpse of something on his left out of the corner of his eye. He jerked his head over to see what it was that was moving towards him, and as he examined the area he caught something out of the corner of his right eye. This time he saw more, the tail of a long flowing black coat that had a red pattern on it. The figure did not vanish this time, but instead continued its movement through the pillars and construction equipment.

It appeared to be a feminine figure, moving gracefully across the snow covered floors of the church in almost a flowing manner. Damien's face tightened as the figure came within several feet of him, and still clenching his sword he demanded to know what was going on. Why have you come here? Do you not know this is a holy site? My site?

The feminine figure lifted her head and removed the fur trimmed hood that shrouded her face, and Damien looked on in almost a state of awe. The woman jerked her head to the side and freed her long black hair that was tucked inside her hood, and in almost slow motion he lifted her eyes to that of Dreadfire's. In an instant a chill ran through the fiery Lord's body as memories began to play back in his head. The woman looked strangely familiar to a woman he knew long ago, but he dismissed it and continued on with his interrogation.

I say again lass, why have you disturbed my prayers to the Gods? The dark brown eyes of the woman batted several times before turning away, and she began moving towards the altar. Dreadfire cocked his head in disbelief when she turned her back towards him, and he contemplated striking her down right then and there. As he moved forward to go through with the deed, the woman knelt down in front of the snow covered altar and spoke in a sweet and almost entrancing voice.

I come to pray for the soul of my brother, slain at the hands of the man who created him.

Damien dropped the Relic's Sword and stood with his mouth agape, as if a freight train had just plowed into him.

Tag

Definite tag. Can't wait to see more.

Is utterly dragged out of lurkerdom and must TAG!

tag

OOC: Nice. At least I have an idea of what she looks like, even without pic, if her mother is who I think it is.

*TAG*
(I know this is gonna be good...)

As the woman knelt at the altar, Damien picked up his sword and returned it to it's scabbard. After a brief moment of silence, he shook his head with a sour look across his face. Lies, it cannot be. I had but one child, and now he dwells in the house of Automagfreek's forefathers. I should have your tongue for such heresy. She refrained from moving for a second or two, but she then stood and whirled about an almost bitter manner. Azrael and I were maternal twins. Mother left you the day she found out she was pregnant with us, and she fled to...a foreign land. Nine months later she gave birth to Azrael and myself, and at age 10 she left us both to fend for ourselves.

Damien doubted the truth behind the beauty's words, and he snapped back viciously. Why did Azrael not tell me about you then, if what you say is true? My son would never lie to me or deceive me. The woman moved towards Damien and locked eyes with him, no sign of fear or intimidation in her appearance. Because he did not want me to become involved in the...'family business'. He said to me, "Silvia, I do not want you to become wrapped up in war, death and destruction. Once Damien finds out about you....you will become one with the Flame. I cannot have this happen to one so innocent and so pure."

Dreadfire took a step back and leaned against a stone pillar with a tight lip. And where is Xel now? Silvia shook her head. I do not know where mother is now, or if she is even still alive. You know as much as I do....but this much is certain: you killed my brother, my only friend in this God forsaken world. Why Damien, why did you do it? He stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her in close to his face.

Because he became tainted by an animal! A deep spell was placed on him by the demon whore Rayne, and he betrayed both his father, and his best friend in Dayne the Evenstar. This was not like him, that man that I fought on the slopes of the ULE Mountains was not my son. His actions were a disgrace to me and the Empire, so in the name of everything we as Freeks stand for I sacrificed my only son. My line is done, brought to an end at my own hands. Do you think I am happy? Do you think it doesn't hurt to not see his face anymore? Damien's eyes then began to water ever so slightly.

Silvia nodded for a brief moment, then lifted a gloved hand to her eye to wipe away a small tear. She tried to speak, but no sound exited her mouth. Damien the embraced her in his arms, patting her back and telling her that he was in a much better and peaceful place.

The winds began to pick up and whip snow flurries viciously through the air, and the two then made their way back to the Great Hall where it was warm. The fiery Warlord wondered what kind of reaction the nation would have when it heard of this. He decided that there was no other way to do it then to just come out and say it.


+++++++++++++++++++++++

~From the desk of Lord Damien the Destroyer, Supreme Warlord of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek~

My brother Freeks and people of the world.

In light of the sadness that we all feel after the death of Azrael the Advocate, I come to you today to bring you news most grand. By the will of the Gods, I have crossed paths with yet another child of mine, a sibling that was very close to Azrael. I am here today to introduce you all to Silvia. She has taken up the mantle of Dreadfire, and joins my house with open arms.

I pray that those who knew and respected Azrael will embrace her the same way her brother was. She is a most beautiful young lady, most obviously taking after her mother's traits. However, she is a Dreadfire, and the burning spirit inside her is just as strong as it is in me.

http://img193.exs.cx/img193/9893/dreadfireflames4fw.jpg
---Damien the Destroyer---
-Supreme Warlord of AMF-

I do not have much to say, except that I appreciate all the love that Azrael was given by all of you, and I hope that I may find the same place within your hearts. Azrael and I are very much alike, and vow to continue on his legacy in any way I can.

http://img131.echo.cx/img131/9374/silvia1fu.jpg
Silvia Dreadfire


++++++++++++++

Of course now there was the task of going to a certain land and meeting certain people...to prove her worth just as Azrael did. Silvia was ready, and knew that if Azrael could survive such trials that she would be able to as well.

Bravo.. Tag you it.

(OOC: AAA, Automagfreek- Awesome As Always.)

Tag

OOC: As always, excellent, AMF. However excuse me if my nation trembles in morbid anticipation. Something about this screams danger.

Tag

All across the nation bells sounded and trumpets blew, for yet another one of Automagfreek's beloved children had been brought into the spotlight. Word of Silvia's emergence spread like wildfire, and every Freek eagerly watched their TV's as the results of the DNA test were broadcast. Positive! That night there had been great celebration both far and wide, in honor of Silvia and in rememberence of Azrael.

Though Dreadfire was overwhelmed with joy to hear that he had a daughter, his happiness was still overshadowed with sorrow....for every time he laid eyes on Silvia he remembered his son. Damien stood in the shadows as the press interviewed Silvia and took her picture numerous times. Though his thoughts were changing a mile a minute, Damien knew that one thing was certain: it ws customary for each Dreadfire to visit the Free Lands of Pantera and learn the Reaver ways, as well as gain a new appreciation for the bonds that the two nations shared.

But there was also another reason for a quest to Pantera....

An old woman who had seen the passing of many moons would be the first host of the new princess. Her worth would be seen and judged by the mad crone, and a great many prophecies she would spin and rant before leaving her alone and with many questions. But that was the way of the old wench...to provoke thought, even if what she said would happen or not.

After a few days passed Dreadfire finally got a moment to speak to Silvia in private. He pulled her aside into his throne room took her to the famous balcony, the focal point of the entire Great Hall. Look out of the window my daughter. Before you stands one of the greatest Empires in the history of all mankind. Your brother got the chance that many men would kill to have: to sit at the helm of that Empire, to live that dream. With his soul on the Other Side, it is your turn as my child to live that dream.

Silvia stepped out onto the blacony only a few inches, and a gust of wind coming in from the west sent a chill up and down her spine. Her raven black tresses danced serenely in the breeze as she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of fresh mountain air. Damien looked on much the same way he did when he first began to show Azrael the wonders of the world that he had created through blood and fire, and a slight smile crossed his face. Father, if it is glory and fame you seek to give me, I say to you now that I will deny it all. I do not want to shine in battle, and I don't wish to send men to their makers. I am not a fighter, nor am I a diplomat.

Dreadfire bit his lower lip and nodded his head briefly. I understand m'dear, but you have taken up the mantle of Dreadfire, and with that power comes an awesome responsibility. If you seek to carry on in your brother's stead, you will learn to serve and represent the Empire in all of it's glory, and you will go down in history with the rest of the great Freeks that have come before you.

Silvia looked out over the balcony without acknowledging Dreadfire, save for a throat clear. Your voyage begins here, and the first bend you must get around will be that of Pantera. I await the Lord Reaver's word, and as soon as I receive it you will be off on your own. True Freeks are made this way, and those not destined to be will be dashed against the rocks.

ooc: TAG! Excellent! ::excited about what news this could bring::

#tag#

+tag+

Senior Vice President for External Affairs Mark Lorber and President Mike Sarzo were having lunch in Lorber's office after the usual weekly briefing over External Affairs matters. Lorber had the television on and was watching SNN. The usual debates about various local issues came up; only seldom did anything important come on the air.

That was until Lorber reached for his customary glass of apple juice. The announcement from Lord Damien Dreadfire appeared on the screen and Lorber dropped his glass, spilling the half empty glass's contents onto his desk.

"Oh fuck," Lorber said, his face turning a bright shade of red that matched the colour of the binder Sarzo was carrying on his lap. That binder now caught a few drops of apple juice on its way to the floor.

"Shit happens," Sarzo said half jokingly.

"Did you see that?"

"Yeah. Maybe you shouldn't be holding onto juice glasses when you watch the tele," Sarzo said.

"No, I mean Silvia."

Sarzo raised his eyebrow. Suddenly, things made sense to him.

"Mark, you're going to have to overcome your fears of dealing with Automagfreek sometime. This is a different world we live in. We're going to have to cultivate our relationships with other countries in this world. Besides, this is an opportunity for us possibly to join the world stage in a way we haven't previously."

Mark still looked unconvinced.

"Mark, I'm going to have to ask you to issue a statement. Congratulate Lord Damien on the emergence of Silvia. Welcome her. That's why I pay you the big bucks."

"Um," Lorber said in a halting, uncertain tone.

"I expect to see a copy of your statement on my desk within the next hour. Without apple juice stains," Sarzo said with a smirk intended to restore some levity to a now unnerved Senior Vice President for External Affairs.

Lorber sighed heavily, then set to work. He had to pull out a new ream of paper because the paper stock he was used to using got a coating of apple juice.

On behalf of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia, I am pleased to congratulate Lord Damien Dreadfire on the appearance of his long-lost daughter Silvia and we are pleased to welcome her as a member of the Dreadfire family. We hope to have an opportunity to greet the two of you as a statement of goodwill between our two countries.

Lorber sent the message over to Sarzo and he signed off on it, so the message was on its way. One way or another, a new chapter was being written in Automagfreek's history and Sarzonia was supplying the ink.

tag

The first of Dreadfire's brood had come to Pantera, and he had served alongside the Evenstar. He had gained the respect of the Reavers, and had steeled himself to the horrors that the Crone had shown him. And then, after he had departed Pantera and returned home, he had turned his back on his Honor and had sided with that poxy Nazi bitch, Rayne.

And now? Now another of Dreadfire's welps was being sent to Pantera, for Dayne to gauge and for the Crone to rant at. Azrael had been a betrayor, it was true, but he had managed to fool Dayne and Damien, and, cause for far more concern, he had fooled the Crone herself.

And what did that mean? Was it an indication that the old woman knew less than she pretended? Or did it mean that a man's destiny was not set? Dayne felt it was the third, and the most terrible option: The Crone was canny enough to use her Sight for her own agenda.

The old woman had no authority of her own, but that was by no means an indication that she wielded no power, for the Evenstar well knew the horror and darkness her prophecies could foretell. But, there was the problem. Was all her ranting only that, or, in the end, would all her tales of decay and corruption come to pass?

Time would tell, and for now, if Dreadfire wanted this doxy to come to Pantera, who was he to stop her?

"Send the girl, Dreadfire, though perhaps you should warn her of my... appetites. She is far closer to my tastes than the first of your brood. Perhaps, if she is too weak to join us as Lords of the Pact, I shall keep her for myself...

There is another who would look upon her. One whose eyes will see far more than my own. Prepare her for this, Damien. Prepare yourself, as well, for if this one holds the same Doom in her soul as the first of your brood, I shall destroy her myself.

We await this new pup.

-Evenstar"

{OOC: Not happy with this, but it'll have to do...}

Tag for now. You still haven't crossed over completely to NS...

The response from Dayne was one that was to be expected from a man such as himself. As Dreadfire inked his pen and prepared to make a formal response, he thought about what exactly he was getting Silvia into.

Aye, Evenstar, I know all about your cravings for the flesh. But I will have you know that Silvia is not steel and stone as we are, she is of good stock on her mother's side. I believe that she is the gentle soothing light to my darkness, and Azrael was somewhere in the middle. Be gentle with her, she is all that remains of my former lover now, and she is the only family I have left.

I anxiously look forward to what the old hag in the tower has to say, although at this point I am really not sure what she will say. Treat my little girl well Dayne...treat her with the same respect that I hold for you, and for your brother long departed. Our two houses are as one through the Blood Pact, and I expect her to welcomed as family.

I leave her in your hands, Evenstar.

Mere hours after the message was sent a single plane took the the cloudy Gholgoth skies, bound for Toke. Silvia brought with her very little: a few changes of clothes, a journal, and a few other small personal things. she had never been in a plane before, and she looked out in awe as she saw the Automagfreek horizon fade away as the jet screamed the gap towards the Panteran mainland.

In her heart she knew that she did not want to go, for she was not of warrior kind. A gentle and caring lady she was, just as her mother....but in these times, in this world, perhaps a warrior princess could be forged from fresh clay....

Bump

Damien found himself frequenting the church site more often since Silvia made her way into his life. This had been the second time that he had his life turned upside down on this supposedly 'holy' site, and it was apparent to him that there was more to Dawn's Cathedral than what the elders had passed down. It was an almost eerie sight to see the massive shell of a tower standing silently in the wind, garbed in a white blanket of snow.

Thoughts of Azrael and the trust he betrayed had never left his mind, and although it was unfair of him to prejudge Silvia, he could still not forget the past. Although.. He said to himself. Silvia most definatly takes after her mother, and hopefully in wits as well. The similarities between the two were staggering both in appearance and composure, and all he had to hope for was that she would have the same sense her mother had.

Meanwhile, Silvia's trip towards Pantera was nearly complete, and the mighty coastline was now clearly in sight. Toke would only be a little further away, and the first real test would be in front of her in less and a few short hours. Silvia heard little about the Lord Reaver and the Free Lands, and what she had heard was not very comforting. Long tales of Dayne and his lust for women, coupled with Pantera's blood soaked history.

The wheels of the plane hit the tarmac with a loud scream, and moments later the craft ground to a halt. Silvia took a moment to look herself over before stepping out of the plane, for she did not want to look trashy for the Lord Reaver. She straightened her long flowing black dress and sighed deeply as she felt her heart rate increase. Alright Silvia, now is your time. Do this for Azrael.....if he could go through with this, you certainly can.

The Evenstar lounged in the Seastone Chair, a leg slung over one of the intricately carved longships that formed the armrests of the great throne. Dressed in simple black pants and a tight-fitting wool shirt, he was, as usual, without adornment save for the slim iron crown that rested on his brow.

His eyes moved over Dreadfire's daughter, and his thoughts roamed. She was a beauty. Dayne remembered Xel. The resemblance was striking, as was the complete lack of similarity to the brute that was her father. Indeed, Xel had been one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and her daughter was no less than she.

His smile was lazy as he motioned her forward. He was only a few years older than she, but there was an eternity of age between them. The innocence of the girl was apparent, though she held herself well. The long trip had taken it's toll, he could see. Though she looked beautiful, he could see the lines of weariness on her face.

Still, business would not wait,"Sylvia... A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. The televison does not do you justice."

Impatiently, he motioned her forward. Her steps were confident, he noted. She was doubtlessly nervous, but it never showed on her face. Rubbing at his stubble-coated jaw, Dayne spoke again,"Apologies for my appearance. It seems I'm not 'barbaric' enough without a beard. Can't be a King without solid facial hair."

Deciding to toy with her a bit, Dayne pressed forward with his tangent,"Take Hitler, for example. How in the name of the Gods did he think to conquer all he did with such a weak moustache? It's madness, I tell you. All great conquerors have wielded their facial hair like weapons. Barbarossa, Ghengis Khan, Stalin, my father, Valanus Vayne."

Rubbing at his own beard, he suddenly shifted topic,"Dreadfire. You call yourself this? Why, may I ask? It is no surname. It is a Soulname. Your father earned his name. He paid for it with fire and blood.... And yet, his gentle daughter has taken his name as well."

Shaking his head at that, Dayne finally swung his feet back to the floor and rose to tower over the girl,"You are no Dreadfire, girl. You are something else. Something...." Leaving that unsaid, he simply regarded her for a few, long moments.

Hours later, the girl joined the Evenstar at the foot of the Seastone Palace's great stairs. She looked magnificent after a few hours rest and the chance to freshen herself. She had agreed to take to the City with him, for drinks. They would go as regular people, he had said, not as the Lord Reaver and the Princess of AMF. The girl had agreed, though Dayne could not decide if she was pleased with the prospect.

With the ancient fortress soaring all about them, Dayne opened the door of the car for the girl and closed it after she got in. Moving to the driver's seat, he slid in and slammed the door. Lighting a smoke quickly, he grinned at the girl.

Pulling the slim iron band that passed for a crown from his brow, Dayne tossed it into the small backseat and turned over the ignition. The automobile came to life with a soft purr, and Dayne smiled,"Hear that? This is the most expensive car in Pantera, and for good reason. 'Spartan Works' is the largest company in Pantera's mighty automotive industry. It alone employs more than three million Panterans.

"This particular car, a prototype, was given to my by the CEO of the company, as a wedding gift. It will top two-hundred on a mile-stretch, and will turn on a dime. It's called the 'Sweet Leaf', though I donna know why. A fine ride, I say...."

Sliding the shifter down, Dayne floored the pedal and the car fishtailed though the gargantuan gates of the Seastone Palace. His hands deft and sure on the wheel, he sliced through the Castle-Town that surrounded the Palace and out into open country. Along the switchback-road that led down the Cliffs of Toke, Dayne slowed only a little as he applied the brakes and spun the wheel.

His face was alive with excitement as he glanced toward the girl who appeared unconcerned with the break-neck speed at which she traveled. As he entered the outskirts of the City of Toke, he thought This one is indeed the blood of Damien.

As they came to a row of restaurants, whore houses, and seedy taverns, the Evenstar nodded quickly. Smiling, Dayne spun the wheel once more and stepped down hard on the brakes. The car whipped about and slid to a jolting stop alongside a small building, a mug of ale on the sign outside, with a longship floating in the foam. 'The Drunken Cap'n' was a place Dayne had oft visited with Bastien when they were young. The old, crippled Reaver who ran the place had died, though, and he had never returned.

As he stepped from the car, Dayne pulled the ties from his braids and shook them free. His loose hair fell in a golden cascade down to brush at his buttocks as he moves to open the door for Sylvia. He saw her eyes touch on the sign, but she said nothing. He smiled again.

"Give me a moment to go inside. I don't know the owners anymore, and Panteran taverns can get quite rough for the wrong people. Just stand here, and try not to be so...." He hesitated before grinning and turning away,"... beautiful."

Inside, the beer-sign neon lights glowed all about and the jukebox moaned a soft, sad song. Along the bar sat a number of men that he didn't care for the look of, but he shrugged and moved for the bar, intending to speak to the bartender about a table.

Before he could say a word, however, the door opened and there Sylvia stood, her black dress whipping about her. Sauntering by, she gave Dayne a cool glance and slid onto a stool a few feet from Dayne. He was not alone in noticing her, he saw. All along the bar men were turning to stare. Black hair was uncommon in Pantera, especially on a woman as beautiful as this. That this was no ordinary woman was plain, and being where the tavern was located, they naturally came to the conclusion that she was a pillow-friend. A whore.

Whistling through his teeth, one man muttered, too low for Sylvia to hear,"Now looky here at this little ass...."

The comment brought the attention of the bartender who stood up a bit straighter and squinted at her. A huge man, he was, who wore a slim dirk at his hip, and if Dayne was not mistaken, a gun under his greasy apron. His smile was nasty as he looked Sylvia over, and inwardly, Dayne groaned.

"I'll have two shots of Panteran rum, and a coke, please." Her voice was soft and musical amid the gathering of brutes.

The bartender snorted with disdain and shook his bald head from side to side,"We donna serve folks like you here, lassy. There's plenty o' Houses 'round here for whores like ya."

The look of confusion and anger on her face amused Dayne, but he noted it vanished quickly, to be replaced by one of furious defiance,"You -will- serve me." Her voice cracked with authority, and Dayne winced, for one did not speak to men in Pantera that way, unless they planned for combat.

The scowl that stole over the bartender's face hinted at what was to come, and the Evenstar spoke first,"Serve the lady." It was the first time he had spoken and all eyes turned on him.

What they saw was decieving. A large man, seated he did not appear so. His shoulders slumped a bit, and he purposely drew in on himself. His handsome, famous face was thickly stubbled and his even more famous twin-braids had been pulled loose. Intending to 'blend in' as much as possible, Dayne had neglected to carry a sword or sidearm. He regretted that, now that trouble loomed.

What these men saw was a man, a not overly-large, handsome, well dressed man. They did not see a Reaver, nor the Warrior King of Pantera, nor the fiend that the rumours of the smallfolk made him out to be. They saw only an unarmed man, and they were not impressed.

The bartender glanced at the others lining the bar and almost imperceptibly nodded toward Dayne. His voice was rough as he spoke,"We donna serve whores here. Nossir, no whores. There's pillow houses where she could get a drink an' fuck a bunch o' greasy men..."

Dayne had had about enough of his lip, and he reached across the bar and took ahold of the bartender. Slamming his face down against the bartop, Dayne cursed the man for a fool and shifted his grip. His massive hand did not close around the neck itself, instead, his powerful fingers thrust themselves into the fleshy throat of the bartender, around the apple of his throat. The Evenstar began to squeeze with all the power in his meaty, sword-calloused hands.

The man began to turn purple almost immediately, but Dayne held on for a few moments and gave the man a few good shakes. A hand fumbled for the dirk at his belt, but the lack of oxygen was making him clumsy, and he dropped it once it came free. When his beady eyes began to bug out, Dayne flung the man back against the rack of bottles behind the bar. A few toppled forward and broke about him as the Evenstar spoke again,"Serve the Lady." His tone was conversational, but the glare on his face and the blaze of his purple eyes must have warned the man, for he poured the girl's shots, and fast.

As he did so, another of the crew along the bar began to mutter. He was very drunk, and the bartender's lesson taught him nothing. His mind, fluttering slowly due to the ale, was nonetheless working on the problem of this stranger, and the wench. Who was this fool, coming into -their- bar, attacking the bartender? He was nothing, and he would die, the man decided.

Rising, the fool croaked an ale-soaked challenge at Dayne and began to tug at the hilt of the sword that hung at his hip. The Evenstar who simply turned to look him over calmly,"You there. Whatcha 'tink 'dis is, eh? You 'tink you can come in 'ere and star' shi' over 'dis -whore-? Well, 'tink agin', 'cause..."

The rending crash of the stool over the man's head dropped him cold. As he crumpled to the floor, Dayne laughed. Raising the stool again, Sylvia brought it down with all her might on the prone fool, the edge of the seat sending a shower of blood from the man's head across the floor as it crashed down once more, and again.

Spinning from her fallen foe, Sylvia's eyes swam over the remaining men at the bar. Levelling the shattered remnants of her stool at the others, she spoke. Her voice was still soft and musical, but this music had a savage, martial note to it,"That is the last 'whore' I will take from you scum. If anyone else thinks me so, stand now, and join your friend on the floor."

Only silence and awkward shifting in their chair answered her. None seemed eager to challenge the girl, or Dayne, after their fellows fared so poorly. They all dropped their eyes to their drinks, and soon began to slip away, one by one, until only the bartender remained, standing sheepishly behind the bar.

Still laughing, Dayne ordered a bottle of Elaran ale and motioned Sylvia toward a table in the back of the bar. As he sat, he noticed the look on her face and he raised a hand,"I apologize, my dear. I had no idea it would be like this here, but..."

Pulling a swig of ale from his bottle, Dayne wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned,"...but you seem to have done well enough, eh? Have your drinks. Le's enjoy the evening. Tomorrow will be a trial for you. That, I promise."

Although Silvia put on quite a face for the Lord Reaver, inside she was quite shaken. She was not the violent type by any strectch of the imagination, but she did what she needed to do to prove her worth to The Evenstar. She did not want to come across as just the weak daughter of a powerful man, she instead wanted to come across as a take-no-shit woman who would do what it took, but all the meanwhile maintaining her innocence. She was pure at heart no matter what others said about her or the fact that her father was one of the most vile men history had ever known, and she hoped that before all was said and done that her spirit would be her defining trait.

She sipped delicately at her drinks for a few hours more, her eyes glancing to her right and left every so often to see if she was still being watched. The men in the room had pretty much forgotten she was even there, and she was finally able to enjoy her evening without being on edge. As the night went on and the drinks continued to come, Sylvia began to feel the effects of the powerful Panteran booze as their toxins began to set in.

She swayed in her seat ever so slightly as she pushed her drink away from her with the back of her right hand, her face beginning to turn a sick shade of green. She ordered a tall glass of soda and began sipping it down to help dillute the alcohol inside her stomach, and she looked at the Lord Reaver with tired eyes. Dayne, I think we should go. I don't feel so well all of a sudden.....but don't worry, I won't get sick in your car....as long as you don't drive a hundred miles per hour...

Dayne smirked and took her by a shaky arm, and the pair left the tavern and climbed into the mighty Panteran sports car. As they began the ride back towards the Seastone Palace, Sylvia slipped into a drunken slumber and rested her head against the glass of the passenger side door. Dayne smiled in a cool manner as he threw a glance her way every so often, and as they drove down a long straight road, Sylvia's head sifted and rested on Dayne's shoulers. She hummed contently as she made herself comfortable and adjusted herself in her seat and let her hand rest on his knee.

Dayne shook his head and continued on with the drive, his guest passed out and still sleeping on his shoulders until the car took a sharp corner. Sylvia's head thwapped the glass and in an instant she woke up from her drunken sleep and starred at Dayne and attempted to focus her eyes on him. Are we there yet? Mere seconds later she passed out again, and a slight laugh escaped the Lord Reaver. She may be of Damien's stock, but she certainly did not inherit his liver.... he said to himself.

OOC: *shoots thread with a tranquilizer dart, tags it, and drives off in his range-rover*

"He thinks to spy on me, but we'll do this with no interference, for once. Up, girl! Up."

The chill grey of the Panteran dawn had only begun to filter through the blinds when the gnarled, bony finger prodded Sylvia awake. The drink had been stout, and her head throbbed mightily. The only thought in her head was to keep her eyes closed, and hopefully whoever it was would leave her be awhile longer.

The prodding became more insistant, and soon she was forced to sit up and open her eyes, lest her ribs become too bruised. The light hurt her red-rimmed eyes, and for a moment the shape was difficult to focus on. It was still on her lips to offer a stinging reprimand when her sight finally cleared to see who stood beside the bed.

The wrinkled, papery skin of the old woman was spotted with age, and she was slightly stooped. A tiny old thing, Sylvia thought, but there was nothing tiny about the disapproving scowl on her features. Her icy blue eyes flared angrily as she levelled the same finger she had used to prod Sylvia's ribs so painfully,"A princess, mmm? A drunken layabout, it seems to me. I tolerated the jackassery of Bastien and Damien, and now, I tolerate your oafish father drinking with Dayne and that puffed up idiot of Tersanctus, whatever his fool name is..."

The old, bony finger shook about, and her ranting continued,"I tolerate it, because they're men, and they know no better. You, I would think, had more sense than to soak yourself in wine. Apparently, I would be wrong, though. A drunken princess, fathered by a drunken oaf. Your mother, she had a bit of sense, at least. I never met her, meself, but I knew her soul..."

The blue-blue eyes focused on Sylvia's face and soon the wrinkled features lost their severity. Reaching the finger out once more, the girl involuntarily flinched back, but the gnarled knuckle only traced the line of her cheek as she spoke,"You have much of her, in you. More than the boy had. He is too much your fathers son...'

"I think often of your brother. There was no true evil in him, so put your soul at ease. That much of your father he did not inherit. The Darkness is there, do not be mistaken, but there is the balance, you understand? You will be the sun, to hold back his darkness, just as he will be the wild storm, to counter your own calm." Her tone increased tremendously since she began to speak, the Crone tilted her head,"But you know that already. Let us speak of yourself, for that is why the Dreadfire sent you..."

Spitting the word like a curse, the Crone's features harden once more,"Dreadfire. A name you throw about like 'Smith' or 'Jones'. Foolish girl, you are not the Dreadfire. Your father alone may claim that title. There is no other, nor will there be another. Even your brother's fool title of 'Advocate' is not his true name. Such things are only words unless they tie you to the land. A soulname does this and so much more. A rallying cry in times of battle, a murmered blessing in times of peace. Your own name, girl? Sylvia is your name, but your Soulname is your armor and talisman.'

"I have given hundreds, thousands of soulnames, every one unique. I have chosen yours, just as I chose for the last ten Lord Reavers, your father, and even Azrael's, long ago. His own is lost, until he comes to me again. You two, who shared your womb, and even more that you ill never know. Your names are like yourselves, similar, but drastically, blessedly different. Perhaps he will come for his own, someday... Your own, girl... Your own, I shall give you."

Pleased with the dramatic situation, the Crone enjoyed it for a few moments before leaning close and whispering,"You will be the Stormguard. The Iron Princess, though your iron is of a different sort. You will be the one to stand against the furies and failings of your kin. You will be the one to hold firm, and drag your people through the Long Night that they will plunge us into. Your soul is named, and it cannot be undone.'

"Sylvia Stormguard, listen to my words, and know them for truth: Your love and beauty will be the spark in the darkness, and only through you will they rekindle the Flames. Azrael a-risen or Azrael a-rotted, you must remember that. You must leave no room in your soul for the darkness that haunts your blood."

The note of finality in her voice caused Sylvia to blink, and when she did, her head spun. Sitting up, she was alone, and much time had passed. The sun was bright outside, and the wall-clock said it was almost noon. A dream? She wondered briefly. No, it had been far too real for a dream.

Silvia looked about her surroundings, mainly at the hot Panteran sun as it cast its warming rays on the Free Lands below. The image of the old woman was as clear as the day itself, but she could not help but feel as if she was in another world when she was in the presense of the aging nag. With a loud yawn she stretched and arose from the bed she awoke in, trying her hardest to remember the words that were spoken to her.

In a rush it suddenly came back to her, and a chill went up and down her spine as the words Silvia Stormguard echoed through her mind. She ahd been given a real soul name, an honor reserved for only the most worthy. The Bronze, The Evenstar, Deadfire....all were easily recognizable to almost anyone on the planet that didn't live under a rock. And now, such a weighty title had been given to her.

Before her conversation with the crone she did not even know what a soul name was nor did she understand the mystique and privilege behind such a thing. But now she did, and in that moment she understood why the crone had such a strong objection to her using the name 'Dreadfire' as if it were her own.

She changed into a fresh outfit and gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror before starting off for a place that she would have been wise to stay away from....the lair where the crone lived. She knew the old woman would scorn her greatly for intruding on her private quarters, but before she departed for Automagfreek there was one final thing she needed to share with her. After a brief walk she stood outside the musty doors of the nag's chambers, and as she knocked on the door she noticed it was open. Her knocks were enough the cause the door to slide open, and cautiously she took a few steps inside.

Peering into the poorly lit room she saw the faint outline of the woman sitting curled up in a highback chair, peering into the fireplace and paying little attention to the girl's presense. Silvia took it upon herself to stir up the conversation, and with as much courage as she could muster she cleared her throat and spoke to the woman that had haunted the dreams of her entire family.

Before I leave I would like to say thank you for bestowing such an honor upon me. Both Damien and Azrael alike spoke of you as if you were a ghost, and even to this day my father is taken back when you are mentioned to him. I will not bother you, but I owe you thanks for granting me such a title.

Silvia turned around and started to exit the chamber, but she stopped herself in her tracks and asked one final question. She was not sure if it was a wise one to ask, but it was in her nature to see the best in all people, and the aging nightmare of a woman was no exception.

I must ask, and you can trust that I will not share the answer with anyone living or dead. What is your name?

The huddled figure shifted the ratty old shawl about her shoulders and her eyes turned to Sylvia, the flames of the hearth before her dancing in her eyes. The soft rasp that was her voice sounded,"I was once known as the Sight Giver, Burner of the Veil. Perhaps, one day, you will learn why. My given name... That will wait for another day, girl. Go now, and leave me to my rest."

Though the voice never rose above a whisper, it brooked no argument.

In another part of the Seastone Palace, the Evenstar was furious. He had sat in his study all night, monitoring the devices in the Crone's room, waiting for Sylvia's visit, and the prohpecies the old woman would unfold. Instead, he got her soulname, which he had already known. Somehow, the old bitch had slipped through and had already me with Sylvia.

It angered him to no end, and for the thousandth time he toyed with the idea of having the old woman scourged, but in the end he decided against it, as he always did. Fickle and unpredictably dangerous as the old woman was, she had her uses.

Disgusted with the wasted efforts, Dayne indulged himself in a glass of brandy and waited for the girl's coming. She would go home today, and soon the world would know her soulname, but that was only a part of the matter. What did the Crone tell her about her future? Is she as dangerous as Azrael? Was there fire and blood ahead of her, as there was for myself and Dreadfire?

Damn the old bitch. Damn her.