Saturday, August 19, 2017

Remnant of the Kyorl (III)

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[153] Nymaya: Remnant of the Kyorl (III)
Tue Jun  6 03:56:45 2017
To: All Verminasia Ashtiel Telthian ( Imm Necrucifer RP )
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She had bruises on her bruises. 

The men and women of the royal guard were well trained but, unlike the troops of New Thalos, many of them had met her in the ring with a cockiness she had been pleased to knock a shade off of.  Control though... 

She lowered her silver hair beneath the fall of the water and sucked in a sharp, pained breath when it washed over the long bruises on her sides.  It had been years since she had trained others so vigorously, or in certain aspects of Kyorl drills.  Her anger was why she had the bruises, the pain was entirely her fault and she embraced it before she left the shower. 

The manor was quiet, the servants scarce as she made her way through the empty upper floor and - towel drying her hair along the way - slipped into a private study.  The room was masculine, with dark leather furniture, dark wood shelving and bookcases - but it smelled of old parchment and tomes, a hint of bourbon and vallenwood.  She made her way to the desk and, setting the damp towel down on a vacant end table, spread a series of parchment out before her. 

The Kyorl are a breed apart, ruthless and dedicated to their duties. 

She stopped on the old manual.  She had had to have it copied and encased in magic to maintain it through the years, but it had become relevant again.  Setting it down, she passed her fingertips gently over its surface and drew her robe closer, her features falling a little as she re-read the passages.

A member of the Kyorl is aware that he or she shall become an immediate target to all members of the Kyorl if he or she chooses to leave the City without the above mentioned permission. 

Did they know that she had not chosen her fate?  If she had been given common courtesy, Da'shal's blade would have impaled her heart over a century ago and she would have knelt for it willingly - regardless of her innocence. Not even a trial though. 

That particular anger was as an old friend.  It rose, shifted beneath the still surface and settled again.  She was not there in that moment to rehash the past with herself though and pressing on, she moved around the desk with her parchments.  Ink and quill followed and the definition of the Kyorl, as she had brought it with her, began to shift appropriately. 

Her daughter, son-in-law and Necrucifer's kingdom at least would have the best of her; The last of what she was, of what she had been and perhaps had to offer.  If they were lucky, what she would pass on here and to the royal guards might linger and be further honored by grandchildren. 

It was not going to be luck that would keep them safe or alive though, and so she wrote.

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