{{Dreams_are for_|Dreamers|

[tristan]

Tonight was almost touching for the man. There were many times-- some instances providing a more jovial sense of obligation-- that a contract simply could not be declined. There were times in which the employer rang just as high a praise in the mercenary’s mind as he did in theirs. In such instances, Oran Creed almost felt proud that his name had gone so far, and yet never in his wildest imaginings could he fathom being called upon by the Light Queen, herself. She must have been getting desperate. Or, perhaps, her own help and advisors had failed her where she knew someone of the Bard’s effect would not. For, surely, that was what name had reached her. Many tales had been spun around such a name that flirted between the lines of infamy and stunning repute. It must have been quite the gamble for her to call on him.

Oran was quite used to these sort of things. Meetings that never happened; between people whom never existed; in places that no one has ever heard of; in times that could never have permitted their happening. Yes, the very nature and delicate manner in which these things must be done left Oran Creed with the suspicion that her advisors would have never condoned Pandora Veryn to lower herself to actually consort with a mercenary of all things. What an utter outrage, no? It is what she had soldiers for, armies to her command, powerful sorcerers, some noble elves, and even the backing of the human king! To what end did she require someone as low and base as the Bard all the soft whispers and rumors so eerily spoke of? To some valid extent, it intrigued Oran. So much so, that he had accepted such an interview. After all, what harm could come of it? There was a high chance that a good sum of gold could line his purse, and it wasn’t everyday one was brought the chance for an audience with whom this entire war had been gravitated around.

At that end, Oran thought the woman the lesser for her role. What would she be queen of when all was through? Would she win the hearts of vampire and necromancers? Would there be mercy and pity brought to those who failed to win the glorious fight? Did she somehow expect their enmity to change to good will? No, Oran was no fool. The “righteous” victors would bring further war and oust their old foes. Vampires would become hunted as a sport (which Oran would not rightly mind), any who bore Panthea’s emblem would be put to the sword, and the world would be cast into the same plane of existence as it had always been: tiresome and haunted. Justice had no place in the world, for it only mattered which side of that battle you fell on. It mattered not of your character, heart, earnings, and struggles. All that mattered was who wore the crown of victory. It was why Oran refused to choose. He would walk the narrow line as he had always done. He would do that which few could do and display himself as a symbol for the world to follow. Not that he ever expected anyone to. It was a fool’s hope.

Everyone seemed to have this grand scheme of thought. There was good and there was evil; right and wrong; fair and unfair. Yet, when did one ever become the other? At what proverbial point could one draw to forever label any action thusly against another’s own heart and deciding? Moreover, when did one become the juror and executioner for such a decision? Was that justice? Was that what good was over evil? If it were so, Oran would have no part in it. Fairness was not found within the deeds others were often forced to commit. Who chose what family they were born to? Who chose what foul blood ran through their veins? Should Pandora Veryn be born from any other woman, made in part by any other man, would she be considered a queen? Was she queen by nature, or merely by blood and rite? In Oran’s mind, it mattered little. She was the subject of her own doing and deciding, and it was her decision to carry on with a war that tore the world into itself. Whether or not her decision was made with a mind of greed, Oran would just have to see for himself.

Tasegara slept peacefully, now, in such a late hour. The small community had regarded Oran well. The work he had been known for around such a humble place was nothing less than honorable. He’d been given food and shelter for the night by a kind family, and he’d even treated their younglings to stories of battle and mystery. The Bard was not a name granted without its tales told in such a fashion as a minstrel would do. He actually found it refreshing. Their youngest, a boy around the age of seven, swore to his parents that, one day, he would be “just like Master Bard! Strong and brave! Just like a hero!”… It almost made him laugh. If only they knew.

When the moon had set high in the night sky, the ranger left, shrouded beneath the hood of his cloak. Tasegara faded behind him as his steps carried him well out of the limits of the small village and into the surrounding woods. A part of him was highly apprehensive. It was very true, Oran Creed had done many things in his life-- some for good, some for evil, as others would see it. He wasn’t above the suspicion that the Light Queen’s desire to speak with someone so uncaring for the nature of his contracts was merely to draw him out and allow her paladins to run him through. One less unpredictable sword to have cross against her plans to see the war to a quick end…It could be easily managed. Thus, as he made his way slowly through the trees, his hand stayed to the hilt of his longsword, the other resting gently on its pommel. He would be damned if they didn’t think him capable of bleeding a score of their numbers before they brought him to his knees.

Then again, if they followed only what the rumors might tell them, they would think him eight feet tall with the mane of a lion, his eyes fierce orbs of hellish flame, with the strength of ten men and the quickness of an elf. He doubted that, should their intent be in his slaying, they would come unprepared. Still, when had Oran Creed ever frowned upon a challenge? Perhaps tonight would be the fight his entire life had been accounting for? It would have made him smirk, yet his nose had caught something on the air. Something subtle, yet sweet. Alluring, almost, if he were the type to be drawn to something so little as a scent. Was the woman really so foolish as to step into the woods smelling of roses and lavender? If there were gnolls prowling in the darkness, they would surely note her coming, as well, and Oran wouldn’t think the creatures smart enough to stay their blades against a woman-- queen, or no queen.

A sigh parted his lips as Oran began to step through in her direction. One could always hope that the nights were never full of surprises, eh?

[PANDORA RUE VERYN]

The countdown to the meeting with the star of all the stories Pandora heard was slowly coming around and with each passing moment, her mind wondered as she waited quietly within her Queen's chambers. What would the man of legend look like? Was he handsome? How tall was he? Would he smell of death and dirt? It was hard to place a picture in her mind simply from the stories she had heard, hard to try an imagine the man that she would soon come face to face with while giving him the offer. The Queen sat silently on the edge of her bed, already dressed for her journey to the village of Tasegara. She was always comfortable in the city, always welcomed but she still chose to do this in secret. She would not risk anyone finding out about her going to see a mercenary of all people. The rumors that would start troubled her mind and she knew she had to keep anyone, even her dear fiance from finding out about it. Her heart raced as she heard the door at the end of the hallway click shut, a sound that she was use to hearing each night as the last of the servants retired to their room for rest. And the moment the sound hit her, she was on her feet, pulling her dark cloak over her slender shoulders.

Quietly, the Queen tip toed out of her chambers, her blue eyes darting around the hallway to make sure that there were no slaves waiting to catch her in her escape attempt. Seeing the hallway was clear, she took no time to make a beeline to the end of the hall, stopping directly in front of one of the statues of a past relative. She eyed the imprint of a symbol in the eye of the man and rose her delicate hand to press her ring into it. With the slightest of sound, the statue opened up to small opening of stairs leading down, a passage that she had taken many times before when she needed to meet secretly with people. Closing the wall behind her, the Queen hurried her way down the stairs and entered the underground tunnel that ran under the Castle. It was dark, damp, and cold but she was use to it by now. "Majak ve mitne," she spoke in the ancient Draconian language, the old torches lining the walls instantly becoming alive with the sight of dancing orange flames. Comfort swept over the petite blonde and she quickly made her way down the tunnel she had been venturing in since she was a young child, her mind still lingering on the man that she would be seeing within a short time.

It did not take long for her to reach the end, the familiar wooden doors above her just waiting to be pushed open. And without hesitation, they were and the Queen climbed her way out into the wilderness. The doors were always kept hidden, the opposite side of them blending perfectly with the grass around it. She could not afford to bring a horse with her tonight, the sounds of the hooves being much too loud to risk. Being caught was not an option for the child like Queen and traveling lightly and under the cover of darkness was her only option. Being out of the city was the first step of her escape. Now she only needed to find a proper place to open her portal. Call her lazy but they were her preferred method of travel. Tasegara would take a good while to reach on foot but with a portal? It would only take but a moment to reach the village.

Darting into a line of trees, the young Queen steadied herself up against a large oak, the leaves providing enough coverage for her to open her portal without being seen by anyone in the distance. Closing her eyes, Pandora took in a deep breath, summoning her near God like strength. "Si relgr sia obsule," the words rolled off her tongue and as soon as they did, there was a flash of light as a silver portal opened up just a few feet in front of her. Blue eyes opened to stare into the swirling mass of great magic. "Ekess Tasegara." With those few words, the teenage Queen stepped into the portal, being engulfed in another flash of light before the portal vanished, with no trace of it ever being opened in the mass of trees.

Miles away, inside a dark cave, another flash of light flooded the formation as the portal opened again with the Queen stepping out into the damp cave. The portal, once again, vanished as quickly as it came, leaving the Queen alone in the darkness of the old bunch of rocks. "Mitne," she spoke in a whisper, a small but bright ball of light forming in front of her, giving her just enough light to see where she was walking. She briefly glanced around the cave, admiring the shimmering wet walls that almost appeared to be sparkling like diamonds. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold but she had not come to sight-see. She was on a mission. Reminding herself of that, Pandora quickly made her way out of the cave and into the forest, the familiar scent of sap teasing her senses while letting the ball of light fade away and the moon become her new guiding light. She truly did love the company of the forests, completely understanding why the Elves and Fairies were so protective over them. If she had things her way, she would have taken strolls in the forests daily but being Queen and the target for the followers of Dark, it was impossible.

The sound of a small twig snapping caused Dora's attention to dart to her left, watching as a small squirrel ran up and into the cover of a nearby tree. It had only been a small animal, but the sound of the twig was enough to cause her fingers to tingle, gentle swirls of gold moving around her fingers as she was obviously ready to summon her powers of legend, powers that were only bested by the Gods and matched by her wench of a sister. Simple creatures would have been very unwise to test their skills against the young woman as they would quickly find themselves being roasted from a ball of fire or a lightning strike. She had no need to carry swords and arrows and even if she did, she would not have been much use in them. Her strength was in her magic and blood, not in brute strength and force. Yet she still carried a small dagger tucked within her gown, in the rare occasion that she actually had to engage in up close combat for her own protection.

Quietly as she could, the hooded Queen moved through the forest though when she caught sight of another bit of movement, she quickly found herself ducking into the shadows of a large tree, blue eyes piercing the darkness to try and catch a glimpse of what had caused the sound. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust but she saw the faint outline of a man moving in her direction and a gut feeling told her that she would very soon come face to face with the man that she had ventured out for. Swallowing down a lump that had begun to form in her throat, she stepped out of the shadows, fingers still tingling with the shimmering gold. The sight of his hand clearly ready to draw his sword amused her but she expected no less of him. "There is no need for violence tonight, Bard. For I come alone and with no ill intent." She stated quietly, her words no more than a whisper yet they stemmed from a source that was wise beyond her years.

[tristan]

What measure of a man was Oran Creed, exactly? Most who knew him did so only by reputation, and there were few who could honestly say they knew the man for his heart. In all essence, he would seem nothing more than the common man. He stood tall and proud, his chest broad and thickened from years of a rugged lifestyle and his lower frame matching to a slender, quick physique. His eyes were a pale blue, and would seem just as any other man‘s for not many had the grace of opportunity to study them for long. Within their iris, a golden ring was etched about the pupil, the yellow peaks rising and settling as they made their full circle to match symmetrically. From a distance, the blend of that subtle effect to his gaze almost made his eyes seem a soft forest in hue. His face was neither gentle, nor unkind. Oran Creed had always held a countenance of judgment, his features taking on what expression it may need to present to anyone person based solely on what he had gauged from them. His long, sandy blond hair fell in waves just to his shoulders, and the lightness of his goatee matched the locks perfectly.

In truth, Oran was no less a man than what could be expected. To some extent, Oran preferred it that way. His appeal wasn’t something overly expressed, for what good did it do a wanderer to attract a heart? Still, he supposed that, for a lot of women, the attraction held within the discovery of the man within. Something about Oran spoke volumes about the novel that had become his life. It was as though you were staring at the cover of a dust-ridden book, bound and kept shut by a key only he held, and such a story as his had not been read in a very long time. So, why then, did the world speak so cryptically against the Bard? Was he not a man, a mercenary who did the biddings of those who had the gold to afford him? Surely, no man was so great in practice as to earn such high praise, even at Oran’s prime age. And, yet, it was all very true…

Rumors often spoke of the slaying of the dreaded Nightwing, a vampire whose lust for the blood of children terrorized many remote villages, the indiscrete entering into Petrov Manor, abducting the only daughter of the elder Peter Petrov, and even something so grandeur as to breath word that the fall of the criminal ring of bandits and dishonest merchants in Blackrock had been entirely this man’s doing. Some thought it impossible that one man could be capable of so much. For, surely, such things were impossible. Oran, however, could merely chuckle. When one had some purpose to live, they were inhibited by the risks and measures in which they would take to see any task done. Oran Creed lacked such inhibitions. His life was his own, granted and given unto none. He would do what he must, in whatever means granted to him, and in a fashion that spoke true to the strength of men.

Even now, as his steps carried him so close to that sweet scent he knew could only belong to a queen, Oran’s stance was testament to his confidence. He did not sink low, did not hide his sword, his eyes showed no sense of fear or caution. He stood proudly, his eyes pivoting to the world around him. Then, his steps ceased. He’d come within ten yards of the woman. ”There is no need for violence tonight, Bard. For I come alone and with no ill intent.”

“That, m’lady…” a voice spoke low, the accent that slipped through the still night being one of the high desert nomads, should one have ever been graced to hear it, “remains to be seen…”

It was then that his eyes found her, and much easily than had been expected in the deep of the night. The woman before him almost seemed to…glow…ever so faintly. The soft pale of her skin contrasted fiercely with the black of her cloak, as did the long strands of silver-white hair that flowed like water within the confines of her hood. Her features were delicate, inviting to reason with her age, but, amidst it all, the eyes that pierced through the night were as the finest of crystals. Whatever measure a woman he be confronted with, Oran Creed could easily see the depth of the woman before him. Yet, Oran was no subject. He was not a man of the court, nor did he adhere to its customs. Pandora Veryn was no queen in his eyes. She was merely a woman, however beautiful.

Oran’s hands slipped slowly away from his sword, raising and lowering his hood to reveal his features entirely. His eyes were set on hers, his gaze solemn and observant. His lips bore no sign of discontent, though they parted slightly as he began shortly. “You risk much to call on me, Pandora Veryn.”

His hand reached to allow his fingers to run through his hair, his fingertips massaging his scalp, here and there. A name was powerful, that much was to be sure. Oran knew hers, as well as did he know a great many other things concerning the woman before him. The Bard was not without his ears and eyes, even within the Imperial capital, and even the White Castle, itself. But, what could be found was only little more than what the general public might know. Save for a few…careful details. Still, Oran knew that the queen was at a disadvantage when it came to him, for information was power. She neither knew his name nor his character. Anything that could be said about the man was uncertain as to its truth. She had no grounds by which to call him, and no words of assurance would place her at ease to the fact that this mercenary could even truly be trusted.

“What is it you seek? Some artifact of great import? A weapon that might help to end your silly little war? I would feign to think that you were merely curious as to whom the Bard just may be…”

Some swore insolence, others swore bold confidence, but Oran swore only to the fact that he owed no man or woman any amount of respect based on title alone. He would speak as he would to any man or woman, be they of high birth or nothing less than a common barmaid. Oran held no lord, no king, no duke or duchess, nor teryn or bann. He was a man all to himself. It would be a wonder to see how the queen would react to such a man, for he doubted she had met any of his sort within her high walls. Any she had, surely, would have been on bent knee, offering praise and homage to her station in life. No, Pandora was now dealing with the one man with whom your name did not truly matter.

[PANDORA RUE VERYN]

"That, m'lady...remains to be seen..."

The accent that he spoke with was just one of the many things that caused Pandora's interest to spark in the man. She was not familiar with the stories of the nomads from the North and she knew that eventually, if the Bard stuck around, she would ask him of them and their ways. There was never a moment that the Queen did not thirst for more knowledge of the lands that she had never witnessed with her own eyes. There were many of them, which saddened the young queen. Her world was full of rules and limiations, certain ways to dress and certain food to eat. She ruled the Land of Light, yet she felt as if the kingdom ruled her at times. Never did she speak of it to anyone, but there were times where she wished she did not have such responsibility thrust upon her.

Keeping her blue eyes locked upon the man, she slowly reached her delicate hands up to lower her hood, just as the Bard did. When his face came into view, she was a bit startled to say the least. From the stories she had been told, she expected him to be endlessly scarred, 7 feet tall, and terrifying to look upon. Yet the man she saw was none of those. In fact, he was rather handsome, in that rugged sort of way. It actually felt quite strange to be around such a person, as she was use to the men in court, clean shaven, freshly bathed, and well dressed. Despite the momentary awkwardness, it was strangely refreshing not to be surrounded by people with their noses turned up. Still, there was a great sense of danger being alone with a man of such reputation. She hadn't a clue how he would react to her request though she was willing to take the chance.

"You risk much to call on me, Pandora Veryn."

There was much truth in his words. It was not a safe move but it was one that she felt neccessary. Aleris was much to precious to her for the job and as awful as it may have sounded, the loss of a strangers life was worth the information that she needed to have. Her lips parted to answer him but for a short moment, no words came out. "What I need is worth the risk," she stated quietly, her eyes slowly moving from the man in front of her to flash quick glances to the forest around them. There were reasons she chose such a strange place to meet. Eavesdroppers were too much of a risk anywhere else. Before she could speak again, his unfamiliar voice filled the area with questions. She couldn't help but to feel slightly offended at the mention of a silly war. Naturally, she wanted to defend her own country and remind him that it was Panthea that started the war with her bitch fit, but for the sake of the conversation remaining civil, Pandora refrained.

"I have all the artifacts that I need. But there is something of great importance that I need done," she started, her face serious yet still gentle as ever. Casting one last glance around the forest, she felt comfortable with her proposition now, as she didn't get the feeling that they were being watched. "The others fit for it are much too precious to me to send out." Not only that, but their faces were known. One could not simply sneak into Panthea's realm and gather information. They would have surely been caught and used as blackmail. No, a stranger was needed. An expendable stranger that could easily be forgotten if they fell.

A deep breath filled her lungs as she sucked in the cool night air."I need...information." She stated slowly, her eyes once again locking onto the man in front of her. "Information that is vital to this silly war." She trailed off. She would not simply divulge everything she needed on the spot. If he showed interest, he would get everything. If not, they would simply part ways and continue with their lives, most likely never to speak to each other again. It was strange the way things worked. People faded in and out of Pandora's life so frequently now days that there were few that she actually trusted. And here she found herself about to give vital pieces of information to a complete stranger.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.