In the Name of the Thane! (Fantasy RP) [Inactive since 09/02/2013]

[WolfHeart88]

(( No, I want to avoid confussion, so I'm not going to change the times xD
And sorry everyone, I was busy all day, and I didn't have time to post. My schedules' been crazy lately with the new semester in high school tomorow and everything.
Ugh. I have my first bloody gym class of the year tomorow too :c

And my teacher's dotty.

Note: For guaranteed emerssion, I would recommend reading posts slowly, and with the same tonation and diction you would use while reading out loud. Remember to savor the words.
So anyway, without further ado, this RP is now fully active! *cuts red ribbon*
))

Rushed first post D:

Nary the whipping gales of the east, nor the ambience of the streets below could wake the slumbering Goatman.
His lean form was obscured by rich satin covers, blocked away from the sun bursting forth from the wide windows over his large bed.
Baubles of gold- his preferred metal, gleamed on the noble bed-stand by his side. 

When he opened his eyes upon Kem's call, he first felt the heat accumulated by his heavy sheets. He shoved them off and stretched lazily.

Just then, a servant entered the room, greeting the Jarl with a deep bow and a warm, "Good dawn, my liege."

"Emil." A sleepy smile followed the acknowledgement. This was one of the Jarl's favorite servants- a young man with ebony hair and matching eyes. He was a sly individual, an aspiring merchant or salesman. 
Emil gathered the satin sheets off the floor, folded them, and set them aside. He went to work choosing a suitable outfit for the Jarl, and once that was done, he ushered the Jarl off the bed, set the sheets in order, and then dressed the Goatman.
Admittedly, there was usually some flirting while this took place. But not today, for the festival occupied Blasphemious's mind.

Once dressed, he admired himself in the golden mirror hung upon the marble wall at the far end of his living quarters. 

Today, his garb consisted of a robe trimmed with black fur and woven from gold string. It was unfastened, revealing his well-sculpted chest coupled with wolf-hide pants- kept in place by a bejeweled, silk strap.
On his fingers, he wore golden rings, three emeralds on each one, coupled with three diamond bracelets on his left arm. The three piercings in his ears were golden spheres today.
But upon his head lay the greatest asset to this Jarl- a majestic crown, pure gold, the purest in all the lands, lined with rich gems, shining like the waters of Bess's lake itself. 

Emil ran a bone comb through the Jarls fur again, arranging it nicely. 

Today, the Jarl was simply stunning.

---}

Outside on the streets, the festival was still being prepared. Crowds of people, all rich and well-dressed, flocked to the Main Road under the light of Kem's dawn. The mighty palace cast a black shadow over most of the land here, it's golden pillars and marble walls as incredible as the fence surrounding it. Pure gold, tipped with sharpened spades. Goats and other animals decorated the gate with never before seen splendor.

[SoaringAway]

[Karakuri]

<sub>Although he was not a priest, or even a member of the sacred order of Akavi, there was another soul asking for his graces on the same morn that the Priestess Cloudguard and her troupe has departed. Sulza Brock was leaving for the fabled Kingdom of gold himself that morning, and as he slipped on the familiar tarnished breastplate over his aketon, he was indeed praying. Though not a religiously devout beastman by any means - he enjoyed his pleasures and drink a tad too much for that sort of thing - he needed all of the luck he could get on his journey. Flat yellow optics scanning his 'room'...couldn't call it much of a room, more of a cupboard, really, he took what would be the last glimpse of his home that he would get for a while. Having already said his farewells to his family, he fastens his iron buckler across his shoulder blades, and attaches his trusty ax to the rough leather belt around his waist. Shouldering his rucksack, the traveler wet on his way, hardly taking more than a glimpse at his surroundings at first. The slums of Cenu were all too familiar to the lad, and he wasn't exactly nostalgic about them, either. For too long, the young hyenaman had been surrounded by the dirty cobblestones, the sinking, sad looking buildings, and the hungry faces of the human children and the beastly children alike. The heavyset brute just tries to get out of the kingdom as quickly as possible, even dashing at some points. This place was not suitable at all for his family, and he was going to make sure it didn't become so.

--~

Outside of the city, and at the border of the "Fabled Land", Sulza takes a deep breath, almost relishing the cleaner air. As he was still close to Cenu, the air was not necessarily cleaner, but it felt to be so to the young mercenary. Full of hope and promises. Sitting for his umpteenth stop that day, the pilgrim takes out a battered skin canteen and raises it to his snout. Much to his despair, it was close to becoming dry, and with water probably being a long way off. Rationalizing there was not much left he could do about it, the soldier-for-hire just staggers to his paws with a plaintive grunt, his body starting to rebel against him in it's want to rest. Ignoring this fact, he merely plods on, the gleaming Kingdom already in his sites, and perhaps a half a day's journey away. If he could make it before nightfall, he would be fine. Perhaps he could even find some water along the way? Spirits lifting once more at the prospect of a better life here, he continues, chewing on a small bite of maslin bread to stave off hunger for a while longer. Not having much, Sulza Brock had to watch his consumption of his rations.</sub>

[I feel like a fail. Everyone else's post is so huge, then mine's just like "meep". I apologize for my lack of detail, it is almost 1 AM, and I must be going to bed for school tomorrow morning.]

[RavenShai]

((All of your posts were marvelous!))


What was left of the wood cackled and popped as the flames ate what they could, dying away in the morning mists. A lone mouseman stood before the flames, eyes reflecting their light in a golden hue with a fire all of their own, but these flames were strong and only growing. There were no more logs or sticks to add to the flames but it was alright, because Azgul didn't plan on remaining for much longer. No, his sights were set on something else that morning rather then more wood collecting, though he saw it more in his mind's eye. Gehana. Cities made of gold... He mused to himself, drawing patterns into the dirt between his feet with the tip of his sword. What to suspect from a place such as that... I've heard great warriors come from there. I wonder if they'll accept me as one of them?

Az had lived around Haafiner, where he learned most of his skills and gained his inspiration. He didn't want to brag, but he was pretty savvy there, talented among his peers and friends and eventually drawing his wish to perhaps join the military, though there haven't been any wars in a long while. But that may take some time yet, he felt there was still things to learn and eventually he decided to leave his home behind. How could he know if he was progressing if he remained in the same setting with the same people? He needed to put his skills to the test and challenge others, to make sure that he was, indeed, growing stronger and earning experience. He did miss home, but sitting there now after weeks of travel he didn't regret a thing. His destination was specifically chosen for it's grandness and rumors of talented folk being there, especially about Blasphemious. Maybe someday he'll make me a Captain, with my own squadron... The idea had his chest puffing proudly and fur lightly bristling, but it was short lived when he shook his head. Now now, Magyle, don't be foolish now. Know your limitations and current situation, don't rush head long into a dark forest when you know little about it.

Azgul rose from his seat, kicking dirt to douse the remaining flames. The mouseman turned to his next destination, a path that led straight there (or so he was told). Straightening coat, belt, and sheathing weapon, he was on his way.

~*~*~*~*~

The sight was breathtaking, unlike anything he had seen before. The stories and tales he had heard were nothing in comparison, there was simply nothing that could of brought this place justice. The mouseman was practically rooted to the spot when he first laid eyes upon the city, and so caught up in it he failed to take notice of the gathering on the Main Road in front of the castle. When the spell was finally broken, his amber eyes eventually did settle on the tents and carts, his brows furrowed in curiosity at the sight.

I wonder what's going on down there?

Unfortunately for Az, he had gotten lost for a few days during his travel. It didn't phase him as it wasn't anything he couldn't handle though it did delay him. Even now he was standing upon a hill, off toward the right side of the road when going in toward the castle instead on the actual road. However, he was a bit hungry and thirsty and faint smells of fish and bread could be caught from the wind, sending his stomach to complain to him. He gave it a firm tap and stern look, which seemed to quiet it down enough, but looking back to the festival he was still puzzling over what it could mean. His days spent in the nearby forest had not told him word about the annual festival dedicated to the earth god, Akavi, nor did he really know much about the festival since he'd never paid attention to such things. Not out of disrespect, oh no!, but his mind was usually preoccupied with other things.

Well, standing here staring isn't going to give me any answers, he decided. With a resolved nod, Azgul began his decent toward the activities, excitement bubbling within him though he kept a leveled head and confident stature.

[WolfHeart88]

The halls were dull today, barely bathed in the light of a few lit torches, mostly because dawn was still too young for beast eyes too see clearly. The Goatman straightened his collar, standing higher than his servants in the corridor before the main hall. 
Like the hum of a hive, his keen ears could already sense the commotion in the streets, the voices, merchants calling, priestesses in mid-prayer, all the telltale signs of a festival.
The chefs within the royal kitchen were almost done preparing the feast. Blasphemious knew that they had slaved over the food for most of the night. But still, he crept into their quarters.
As soon as he set his hoof onto the tiled floors, he was sent out with an apology and a bow. 'Ahhh, they irk me so.' He thought. Another day without a breakfast.
In fact, Jarls were forced to fast on festivals- no breakfast not dinner, for twelve days, only a small lunch. Blasphemious usually did not obey this regulation. 

A handful of servants greeted the liege once he entered the sunny main hall. The entire room's architecture had been composed of great arching windows and diamond chandeliers, preserving its traditional splendor and optimistic flare. Spread into rows were twenty tables bathed in silk cloth. Neatly placed on them were golden eating utensils, and rare Dea flowers from the heights of Hafinner itself.
Upon the marble walls of the hall had been hung curtains of red and silver silk, the rich cloth flowing freely, like massive waterfalls draping around the tables. 
Thirty massive golden Halfman statues occupied a great deal of space around the stage- the centerpiece of the room. It was covered in beads and jewelry, and emanated a feeling of importance and grandness. 
Finally, a smattering of servants anxiously waited before the massive door leading out side. They flocked to either side of Blasphemious when he entered the hall, holding trays of deliciously smelling appetizers and spiced wines- the specialty of this land.
 
The Goatman sighed, preparing himself once more, as four doormen pulled open the giant door to the outside world.

Instantly horns blared, announcing his royal presence like some sort of madness accompanying an ill heart. He smiled when he heard the thrumming of drums after the horns. They had included them, to his surprise; they were not part of the festival's traditions. A few good friends must have arranged them for the Jarl knowing that they, along with the Cenui Guitar had been his favorite instruments ever since he had been given his title.
Kem's warm sunshine dazzled Blasphemious. It's basking glow paired with the rush of the streets, the pattering of drums, and the golden power of the Jarl's empire had leveled his heart with the sky. 
A warm smile, bright as Kem had made its home on his black lips.
His maroon eyes flew over his fellow Beastmen, lowering themselves to ground in a bow. A sense of pride filled him, and he clapped his hands, letting the bow break.

[Wolfie_Lover]

I'll post later. My phone sucks.))

[Kasai]

Bojana Nacimiendo

A quiet little farm sat less than half a day’s travel from the grand land of Gehana. It was far off the regular path taken by travelers to the city, but its current guest wasn’t exactly a regular beggar on their way to the land of gold. Her dark eyes scanned the room and found the farmer, the head of the house. Scaled hands traced the side of his face gently and he stirred, his drunken eyes revealing no true sense of reality. A smirk played on the lips of the beastman as she analyzed her most recent prey.

His age was placed somewhere in the range of late forties, early fifties. The hair on his head was thin and had moved to his chest and his back. Bojana’s eyes flicked to her left to the nightstand there. In this quick look, she saw the family picture of the farmer, his wife, and his three children. A man like this was her perfect victim. He gave her a bed to sleep in briefly and she would satisfy his needs since his wife was too busy caring for the children. Slipping out of the bed, her foot touched the cold wooden floor. The man then seized her wrist and she hissed at him, her head snapping to him fast enough to have given a typical human whiplash. “Where do ya think yur goin’,” he slurred out, trying to pull her closer.

The alcohol in his system weakened his strength and Bojana knew this, quickly yanking her wrist from his grasp. “I am going to the festival, as you well know,” she told him smoothly, her back to him while she dressed in her fine black and gold dress. This was the most revealing out of her small wardrobe. It covered the parts that needed covering, but her abdomen and lower back were only lightly veiled in a thin, black material. This outfit, as it had last night, turned on the middle aged man behind her and he moved to grab her again, but the creaking of the bed gave him away to the beastman. “If you would rather your wife and children not find out about my being here, I would advise you to not lay a hand on me,” she remarked, her back still to him as she finished dressing. This remark seemed to stop the farmer. Thankful she wouldn't have to truly threaten him (as such behavior could get her in trouble), Bojana didn't look back as she exited the room. Silently getting out of the old house, she was back on her way to Gehana. The golden land sat just out of her reach, only a few miles away. Hauling her black makeshift bag over her shoulder, the beastman continued her journey.

___________________________________________________________________

The sun lit up the sky in a variety of warm colors, touching the face of a sleeping Bojana, curled up on a beam of a building near the palace. As the first golden ray hit her eyes, they flashed open. On a usual day, she would continue sleeping, preferring to sleep during the day and prowl by night, but the current festivities brought her attention to the palace, the main reason for her being here. She wished to get a position training under the maginficent Blasphemious himself in the art of assassination. It was a long shot, she knew, but she was getting tired of amateur hour in Cena. Getting paid only a coin or two didn't please Bojana in the slightest and she sought out the best of the best to help her with this problem. Surely the ruler of the land of treasures could understand the love for gold. An hour or so passed as Bojana watched the palace for the opening of their doors. Horns then began to blare, encouraging her to come down from her perch on the high beam. Returning to the ground, she joined the people rushing over to the palace.

Drums then sounded through the crowds, hearts thrumming along with them. The mighty Blasphemious appeared in the doorway to the palace. The people fell into their usual bow, Bojana along with them until the clapping of Blasphemious’s hands broke the bow. Bojana had worked her way to the front before the bowing commenced, her quick movements and fluidity assisting her in this task. Her height caused the human behind her to want to speak up, but she tilted her head in his direction and glared, threatening enough to silence him. The beastman then returned her attention to Blasphemious, her dark eyes reflecting the gold and black that covered his body. A smile played on her lips as she looked to his face, awaiting his words. 

Marcellus Ancelli

The blare of horns awoke the scribe, previously asleep at his desk. Jolting from his sleep, he looked around frantically, a piece of paper attached to his head for having slept on it for the past hour or two. Marcellus was a worker for Blasphemious and had been for the past ten years or so. Despite his anxious and clumsy tendencies, he was well educated and had a great mind. This fact was not proving true at the moment, however, as the human tried to collect his thoughts as he frantically searched the room for what he was supposed to be doing. The roar of the drums then made some of the items in his office tremble. “The festival,” he whimpered in realization, freezing in his steps as he stared at the closed door of his office.

Coming to his senses, he began searching for the financial records he had been working on, trying to update the files on the cost of the festival. Jotting down the last few numbers, Marcellus rolled up the scroll and placed it on a shelf nearby. Flipping through some of the other papers on his desk, he retrieved Blasphemious’s schedule, papers the Jarl needed to sign immediately, and a copy of Blasphemious’s speech. Despite Blasphemious’s wonderful speaking skills, a copy of the speech was usually created for record. This forced the Jarl to have to know his speech by heart, an easy task for a mind such as Blasphemious’s, and it forced his secretary (or scribe, in Marcellus’s case) to have to correct the written speech should Blasphemious choose to alter the planned words. Picking up the papers, the scribe closed them in his book of finances and went for his door.

Marcellus’s office was located on the second level of the palace. It was hidden away towards the back of the building and one had to take many hallways in order to get to the center of the palace from the office. It was a maze of sorts and the architect who designed the building seemed to know what he was doing. By making many of the palace’s rooms hard to find, fewer assassins could attack the servants or the Jarl. These hallways used to be an obstacle for the scribe, his anxiety levels increasing to the point of a near panic attack when getting lost. After living here for so long, Marcellus had found the logic behind the hallways and soon memorized his routes.

Running at full speed, a great risk for a human with Marcellus’s walking skills, the scribe weaved through the hallways and reached the staircase in record time. The drums pounded outside and the scribe held on tightly to the materials he carried as he rushed down the stairs. As was predicted, he tripped, thankfully, towards the bottom of the stairs. Despite his previous tight grip on the book, the scribe had dropped it with an echoing thud, the papers previously inside covering the floor. Unfortunately for the scribe, the thud of his body, the book, and the sound of the papers echoed through the hall the second the drums had stopped.

The servants in the main hall looked over at the collapsed scribe. Most suppressed their groans of annoyance and a young female servant glanced over to the servant beside her and smirked a little. Nodding her head towards the scribe, who was hurriedly picking up his things, she whispered, “It looks like Marcellus is making his usual entrance this morning.” The servant beside her, not wanting to distract Blasphemious, only smiled and nodded in response.

Picking up the book and papers, the scribe scurried way from the staircase to the side of the room, wanting to be positive he was out of the public eye. If anyone had looked behind the Jarl at that moment, they would have likely seen the human trip, drop his things, and scurry away. Straightening his red coat that covered his white shirt, he now stood to his High Lord’s left, hidden from the public by the door. Removing the speech with shaky hands, Marcellus placed it on top of the book he carried and bit his lower lip, his head dipped as he waited for Blasphemious to begin. He hoped the Jarl didn’t hear or notice the fall he had. With the superior senses of the goatman, however, Marcellus doubted he escaped Blasphemious’s attention.
 


[I hope these two are approved. I don't really know if they were x.x Also, I don't know if the palace was supposed to be multiple levels, so I hope that it's okay that I added a staircase...
Everyone has such beautiful posts and they are pretty intimidating! XD ]

[IlLupoItaliano]

Thorek BlackBlood

Thorek sat atop yet another roof of some poor stout's house, kneeling on one knee with his dagger laying across the flat surface of his thy and a wooden bucket filled with musty water sitting to his left with a small cloth hanging over its side. He had just finished polishing his favored blade, fingers franticly pushing the excess water off of the blade's tip. It was still quite dark outside, though the faint sight of morning light was beginning to peak over the great gates of Gehana, as he swiped the small formation of sweat under his hairline with the back of his hand. Today was going to be a busy day in the city's center, and what a perfect chance to find his next victim when everyone's attention would be focussed on the festival. Sheathing his blade into it's pouch on his bandolier, he kicked the bucket off the roof sending it tumbling down the side with a clang, seeming to only disturb a child who sat upon the house's door step. All that was heard was a tiny shout of alarm but the assassin was long gone, sliding down the side of the house and blending in with the sea of people that walked the streets.

His pace began to pick up as the crowd began to thin as a forked road appeared up ahead, half of them departing into a side street leading to the main street of the festival and the others taking the road the led to where the vendors set up their 'family made' goods trying to persuade the growing crowds to by some as the adjourned to the festival. Keeping his head low, he slipped away into a tight narrow alley that was now dimly lit by the rising sun. Thorek adjusted the bow and quiver on his back by hooking the bow's string to the bandolier and pulling the quiver closer to his body. climbing buildings was not easy in Gehana, but what had to be done must be done. He lifted his right foot to the face of the stone wall infront of him, while the other was positioned at the crevice of the wall by his left foot. Carefully he pushed off with his right foot, then with his left, following the same pattern until his finger tips reached the edge of the building's roof. A sigh of relief escaped the assassin as he shaded his eyes from the shimmering sun. Thorek began to crouch on the roof carefully sneaking across its surface to reach the other side.

Once reaching it, the assassin stared below at the crowd that had formed in the city's center a building away. The woman who had given him the contract said his target would be here, and if not on his way. Bellow a royal blue cloak caught his eye as the gold tassels shimmered in the sun that seemed to hide a short plump beastman, otherwise his target. His quick fingers drew his bow and a single arrow laced with poison, carefully aimed at the target. Jutting his chest, he lift his arms ready shoot just when the jarl took his place amongst the ledge above the the crowd below. Silence filled the air as every single head averted their attention to the goatman. Thorek sighed in frustration, putting his bow back along with the arrow. Now was not the time anyways, as that would have been severely noticeable. Lifting his hand to readjust the mask infront of his face, he leaped off the side of the roof landing in a well practiced roll joining in with the crowd. He would have to find his target later.

He pushed his way past the hostile bodys standing in the center, approaching a vendor stand that was off to the side of the growing crowd. Flicking a coin into the vendors hand who seemed to thank him with a slight nod, he reached down into the stand picking out an apple from the wooden crates. He would wait, for now at least. His target would apear at sometime, but as soon as the crowd began to break up and head into different ends of the city's center, then perhaps then he would find him. He leaned on the pillar that held up the tent over the vending stand, tossing the apple up and letting it fall into the palm of his hand repetitively as his eyes scanned the crowd again, hopping to find that blue cloak once again.

[WolfHeart88]

As expected, he heard his scribe implode somewhere. 

Pretending not to notice the momentary inconvenience of gravity, Blasphemious turned lightly and smiled keenly at the hiding Marcellus. His mind began to drift to the great many years he had spent with his favorite scribe. While it was true that the man was a bit clumsy and clueless at times- his intelligence impressed the Jarl, and he even knew how to make him laugh during periods of strain within his kingdom.

From somewhere off in the distance, the loud call of a bird refocused Blasphemious. That was also when his attention was drawn to someone in the crowd. She was a newcomer, among several others, but by far the most peculiar... A butterfly in a beehive.
The scaly hide of a snake stretched tautly over her pleasant features as she issued a smile in Blasphemious's direction. 
He could decipher the predatory gleam of an assassin in her eyes from a mile away, for he himself had it in his mismatching maroons. The woman's vivacious curvature inspired a wink from the Jarl, as he began to address the crowd.

"Citizens, and newcomers. Welcome to Gehana, Land of Gold. I am honored to host today's festival- it is an honor to have so many people attend. 
Gehana's charms and baubles hold value- but the people are priceless.
But speeches are tedious, especially on such days when excitement is boundless. So, with the rolling manes, wind-bringing breaths, and the sea-blue eyes of Akavi- may the Festival of our Lady begin!" His voice held the reverb of one well-versed in Speechcraft. And though it was short, and one of the Jarl's much weaker speeches, the crowd scattered into an uproar and a "Hail Akavi! Long live Blasphemious!" as they rushed onto the sidewalk and to the bars and bazaars, but mostly to the temples in the bright gleam of daylight.

Most new comers are unfamiliar with this- but the main attraction of such festivities are the caravans- enormous slow-moving platforms led by oxen through the wide streets. Each one has something on it- weather it be babes in low-cut dresses, dancing and singing praise to the gods, or some kind of enormous monster, tamed and put on display for the crowds amusement. 

Blasphemious observed the festivities from the front of the castle, watching Flower Maidens sell White Cups, Dea and other flowers to people and Beastmen.

Indeed, it was a glorious day. The caravans would be arriving soon, and a feast would follow shortly.

[SoaringAway]

"Pardon. "A thousand apologies, sir." "Excuse me." The priestess apologized under her breath as the streets of Gehana were soon growing dense wit an array of beastmen, usually consisting of goats and horses to her surprise, and a rare few of her kind but they were more preoccupied with the face of the Jarl appearing from the castle. Unknowingly, she resumed being resilient towards the crowd as she parted her way inward towards the castle in which she assumed that the Jarl was (as she hadn't figured out he was already out.) As she pressed the door slightly against her elbow, hearing the large doors creak softly in the instilled stone building, her breath was taken away from the beauty of the architect. Her arms soon slipped into each of the sleeves as she pressed the door behind her, as the crowd was growing more excited by the minute with someone speaking outside. A rather good speaker, at most a novice, as he at one point didn't even thanked the others gods for allowing Akavi to have her day. 'Novice mistake,' she thought towards herself as her ruby eyes was appreciating the column structures of the throne room but she wrinkled her nose with curiosity. Where in Akavi's name is the Jarl?

With very few servants paying her little attention, she stood quietly and respectively so she wouldn't harass them in their daily routines but several noted her attire but spoke nothing, just glanced about in confusion. The priestess glanced downwards in embarrassment for several seconds, it wasn't her original intent to bring herself in such folly. She wasn't originally suppose to be the one that confronted the Jarl either, it was suppose to be the main leader of the covenant , Lio'na'i. The head priestess that remained in Haafiner was going weary of age and was presumed the oldest human that actually did have influence over the land of Vikkal. However, those that were located within the walls of the temple noted that having two humans on the council was quite supernatural as most of the hairless beings were usually beggars or lower titles under the beastmen. She ran her hand throguh her black hair, keeping a watchful eye over herself and her actions until one of the female servants, who seemed to be amused by some ordeal approached her from behind. "Excuse me!"

Anya Cloudguard almost felt Bess dragging her soul towards the land below and she could've sworn to the highest degree that no being was even capable of from that sudden fright as she pressed her hands against her chest and turned her head head around. With a deep breath, the priestess reconfigured her stature back towards its elegant self and glanced down at the servant lass who was just gazing at her with silence. The maid chucked again, muttering of the similarity between the priestess and another being, possibly one that was present in the castle and had a notorious reputation of being spooked quite easily. "A thousand pardons from Akavi above for the intrusion of your daily routines," the priestess began as she bowed her head softly towards the maid, often rare, but in the temple fo Akavi, everyone was no higher despite rank or title as only Akavi was. The maid blankly stared at the female, not even sure as to how she should introduce herself or respond but Anya resumed speaking. "I, Piper Tully of Haafiner and fourth Priestess of the Temple of Akavi, would be needing a co--"

There was a rude snort accompanying her introduction as she raised an eyebrow towards the arrogant maid as she allowed the insult to slide through, maidens were taught never to hold a grudge towards those below them (despite being taught that no one else was higher or lower) as she calmly bowed her head. "Yes?" Her voice showed that of authority and order as she glanced downwards towards the maid who hushed up softly as she frantically rubbed her hands in nervousness. "Have you per chance noted the Jarl's appearance..? Or possibly a lackey?"  The maid was cleaning her hands with her apron, still nervous from the mere word that the priestess spoke, as she softly spoke, "Upon the tower ahead throguh the stairs, the Jarl would be.." "Thank ye' kindly," the female nodded her head at the maid, with her handing going through hr satchel. She placed a Dae flower behind the maid's ear which severely surprised her and before the servant could speak, the gift giver was gone.

Anya Cloudguard pressed her hands against her face, mourning in self pity as to how she already stained the reputation of her Temple. She certainly had a high expectation towards everything to go right for the Festival but the stakes were higher for herself. Her hands picked up the edges of her dress skirt as she went up the staircase rather slowly to hear the calling of the people outside but her eyes caught the backside of a man. Possibly someone of the Jarl's personal services.With a soft touch extended out, she tapped the hand's shoulder with much care to avoid any calamity as her eyes glanced upwards to the back of his head. "Pardon me, sir.. " She noted the heavy red of the man's coat, finding that it suited well for the kingdom of Gehana. "Perchance, are you familiar or acquainted with the Jarl..?"