Voll jostled his way trough the gathered crowds. He was met with despising glances and whoops of merriment in equal measure. He was known in the city as a local rebel, a truthsayer and humour vigilante. Peers slapped his back and offered him swigs of ale, while some spat at his shoes cursing his presence. He had entertained and offended for so long now, that he may well have left the city divided. He was happy to be despised though, it meant his act was working. Both the praise and the mockery were evidence of his success. He found himself a table not too far from the stage's front, and sat himself down with some well wishers, who shoved some cheap wine his way for the occasion. He thanked them and tilted the cup to his lips. He looked about him, the people had come out in droves. And why not? It was after all a King's address. The square had been set up as one might expect, a stage, guards, stalls, jugglers, peddlers, singers and all manner of foodstuffs were carefully planted about the place. Almost half the city were here, the other half being those that had to work, and the town guard. Luckily enough, the weather had smiled down upon them that day with sunbeams and a clear blue sky. The cheery weather made for cheery moods, and looking about at the children playing could probably soften even the hardest of hearts. Voll smiled to himself, a rare thing to witness. He was in good spirits. He planned to heckle his brother. Being on the receiving end of a good heckle many a time, Voll felt very qualified to be the crowds chief heckler; and he didn't doubt that they would surely allow him this pleasure.

Voll supped at his wine for a time in silence before being unwillfully embroiled in his peers banter.

"Ey there Voll! Wharraya think this parades all about then eh?" Said one.
"Aye, ain't you the baby brother? Spill the beans our kid!" said another.
Voll turned with a playful look in his eye, "Despite my lineage, I have no beans to spill my dear fellows. I am just as curious as yourselves. And I daresay, despite me and the king being peas in a pod, it seems the beans we had went sour some time ago." The two men laughed aloud at this word play, and Voll's making light of what was otherwise a toxic relationship.
"What happened there then lad? If you'll pardon my prying?" vied one of the men.
Voll raised an eyebrow. It wasn't often someone inquired so deeply into his life, "Oh, you know," he began, flippantly, "the classic sibling sour grapes. He couldn't take it that I could thrash him at boxing." He began to jovially punch at the air in an overly animated pugilistic stance, a stupefied look coming over his face. The two men laughed again, knowing of Voll's inadequate fighting skills.
"Not planning on giving us much are ye?" Said one.
"Not a thing to you ruffians!" Voll replied in mock outrage, " why, what would the noble's think if they saw me cavorting with you two destitutes? The court would be in uproar!" The two men laughed again, knowing that if anyone was a beggar here, it was Voll. The conversation waned, and Voll returned to supping his wine and waiting patiently for his brother to finally show face.

Aedrick Carter was nervous as a great many people were gathered at the Kings summons. People of influence and power. People who would recognize a slave's demeanor if he showed even a trace of weakness. He silently thanked whatever gods were out there that he could lie to anyone and get away with it... well, almost anyone. If he had been a slave at the moment, lying would have earned a quick yet painful death. But then, that was why he escaped in the first place. to avoid death. he looked over the drunken folly of the men with less than tolerable alcohol tolerance and sighed.

"Can I get you anything to drink, sir?" a servant of the King asked, bringing Aedrick out of his thoughts. "I'll just have water." he mumbled. he had bad memories of his own masters coming home in a drunken stupor, so he steered clear of things like rum and mead unless they were absolutely necessary. The servant was a bit surprised, as were the women who had brought him here after his recovery. One of them decided to speak up. "It won't look good to the King if his subjects aren't being merry."

Aedrick calmly thought up a lie on the spot. "My alcohol tolerance is very low. one glass, and we'd all be on the gallows for something I said that wasn't to his majesty's liking."

The lie was actually a truth from a certain point of view. although ONE glass wouldn't kill him, around three mugs of ale would cause him to react just as violently as a Dark Elf during a temper tantrum, which meant he had another good reason to not be drinking wine, despite the occasion. He received the water shortly after this exchange and like Voll, waited for the king in silence. He was more secluded than most, leaning against a stone column as opposed to sitting at the table. He felt more protected that way. he wouldn't need to stand in order to defend himself if someone recognized him.

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If you RP with me, read This Notification

Shoulder Demon: (Looking at controls of train) "Let's see how many times we can wreck this thing before we're all dead."

Shoulder Angel: "Are you crazy?!?!?! you'll get us all killed!!!!!!"

Shoulder Demon: "That's the idea, Moron!"

Thistle awoke to the sound of a rooster's crow. The familiar cockle-doodle-doo was a pleasant sound to her ears, unlike most people who would curse at the flamboyant bird from which the noise eminated.
No, it was an alarm clock that the young nymph had grown fond of, waking her up at the perfect time each time. She didn't know how Reginald (the currently crowing avian in question) did it, but she always awoke refreshed and cheery to his sounds. If his call was ever absent, Thistle would awake in a foul state indeed. The wrath of a fatigued nymph is known well across the lands.
Her name was not strictly Thistle, but Silybum. An atrocious name to humans perhaps, but a common name to nymphs. The wily creatures, due to their deep love of nature, named their children after the 'true' names of plants and animals, which is to say, the Latin. Silybum found both her true name and English name perfectly acceptable, but the true name was more personal, best spoken upon by friends. Such is the way of the fey-like creatures.
She awoke in her usual posture on the bed, coiled in tightly upon herself, pillow held firmly in spindly, gold-tinted arms. She had, it seemed, retained the skin hues of her field nymph mother, and kept none of her forest nymph father's green underhue. Her fins, however, gave away her mixed breed plainly.
The sheets were untangled, going over her head and staying in the standard position from when she had tucked them in the evening previously. The warm pocket of air was pleasant, and Thistle let out a soft sigh, hugging the pillow slightly harder and gazing through dark eyelashes admiringly at the kaleidascope of colours from the sunshine pouring through the colourful quilt atop her. This was the type of tranquility she so desired, for all the rest of her days. But, unluckily for her, it was not to be.
Reginald crowed a second time, as if he had been set on snooze and was now simply insisting that his master got up. Thistle let out a sniffle, breathing in the scent of clean sheets, dirt, and warmth. Nymphs are known for their extremely fair sense of smell and touch, heightened compared to that of humans or even elves. Their eyesight is also stronger than the common race, though not nearly as such of the keen elves.
Closing her eyes for one last tranquil period, Thistke's left hand slowly began to reach up over her head, curling around the lip of the blankets. Gripping the quarry, it began its journey back down like a curious spider, leading down the bed until Thistle's body was in full contact with the fresh morning air. Giving one last stroke of the soft, white cotton pillow, she arose, sitting straight-backed with her toes touching the natural wooden swirls of her cottage's floor for a moment before rising.
She swept her mousey brown bangs out of her line of vision, letting out a large yawn, surprising in size for a creature so small, hardly 5'3" by our measure. The perfect average for a nymph woman, with the same slender body and little to no bust to speak of. This gave her the appearance of a human child, though her face was easily recognizable as one of a young woman's, with deep, pale green eyes, a sloped nose, and full, pale lips. This was where the gold undertone of her skin was most prominent, across the brudge of her nose and cheeks in the form of freckles.
Thistle wiped the morning tears and congealed gunk out of her eyes demurely before gazing out at the contents of her humble home.
It appeared in disrepair to our standard, with moss and trees taking over the walls and floors. Barely a semblance of man-made structure remained. Even the furniture was wild, not carved nor cut, but tamed, right from the ground. A perfect example was the bed, four living, breathing oak trees that had intertwined themselves together in a fantastical lattice. All part of Thistle's skills as a nymph.
Various things hung upon frayed cords tied to the ceiling, contents ranging from dried garlic to loose feathers. In the corner was a table, formed through the taming of a creeping, twine-like vine. Atop it sat an alchemy kit, along side potion bottles. Some were full, while others were empty, simply reflecting in the morning sun, waiting for their purpose to be achieved.
A sort of half-step separated Thistle's bedroom from the rest of the house, which was an open, single room, except for a closed leafy door in the farthest left corner. The door to the outside, right beside the counter that divided the kitchen from the rest of the room, was wide open. Wild creatures that wandered in would not harm her, but make their piece in the shelter of the hut before leaving. Other people rarely ventured this far away from the road that wound its way through the main cities, so she held no fear of robbery.
She wound her way through the hanging ingredients to the kitchen. Cupboards lined two walls, the third outside wall only occupied by a window. a small chest, rising to Thistle's knee, sat on the floor, formed from a plant that dispelled heat, and constantly remained a cold temperature. She popped open the lid of this special container, face sliding into dismay as she realized she had no bread, the main staple of her diet. While her communication with plants caused aversion to pointless destruction of them, she still felt it acceptable to eat those that grow from the ground.
I'll have to go into town, she thought in distress, closing the lid, I know I'm missing a few other things as well. She mainly avoided town, finding the sheer amount of people overwhelming, but this was a common case. Things that she could not make, she had to buy.
The girl swivelled for a moment before realizing she was not dressed for a jaunt in a public place, and neither did she wield her coin purse. A thin white chemise was simply not appropriate. Her bare feet were of no consequence, seeing as how nymphs had strong skin on their feet, and preferred to walk closer to nature. She turned back to her bed, walking to the foot of it, where a little alcove resided. In the alcove was a tall dresser, that held the handful of items she wore on a daily basis.
Folded upon themselves was a pair of brown trousers and a green tunic, with a somewhat decorative dark green belt, shaped like a layering of red mulberry leaves. the chemise was slipped over Thistle's head, careful not to get the easily rippable fabric caught on her ears.
She decided to clean herself before getting dressed, walking over to the closed leafy door. It opened to a small room with walls, but no roof. Instead, a curved leaf blocked most of the sky. From the shadows, Thistle could tell it was full of water. Closing her eyes, she focused upon the faintly pulsing energy of the leaf, giving a simple request. Tilt. The plant in question already knew the nymph well, and quickly complied with the request, bending its stem so the watery contents of the leaf sloshed and poured down its spout-shaped tip.
Thistle washed herself, humming a common nymph nursery rhyme, before requesting the leaf to tilt back up to its original state. It complied once again.
Now clean, Thistle began putting on the outfit she had selected. She paused, thinking for a moment, before reaching back into the dresser, and grabbing a bright red ribbon. In an oft practiced motion, she flipped back her bangs, tying it into her hair with the ribbon. It kept her bangs out of her face, and also looked quite pretty, the perfect colour to set off her eyes. While Thistle had no mirror, a small bit of vanity crept into her, asking the ever-common question: am I pretty? She shook her head to get rid of the thought, jumping down the half step and grabbing her satchel, which held her money and other useful items.
She gave energy to her garden as she passed. The variety of vegetables and fruit to her right were rsther extravagant, brightly coloured and healthy. They fetched a good price at the market when she was in town and in need of money, but now was not the time to harvest. Normally Thistle would stop by each one, but today she felt strangely rushed. Reginald surprised her, fluttering in a flurry of feathers from the roof of her cottage down to walk by her side. He clucked plainly with each bob of his head, satisfied that she had woken up to his crowing.
Cows piled up on the fence to Thistle's left-hand side, mooing plaintively. She patted each on the nose lovingly. While she couldn't communicate to them quite as well as she did with plants, she did still feel a connection to the creatures.
The dirt path continued down, the scenery changing into that of tall, golden fields on either side. Each plant reached to Thistle's neck. The grain swayed in the light breeze, as if to dance in the sun. She sighed happily, taking in the scent of her home before she led herself far away.

Twenty minutes later, and Thistle could smell the town. She wrinkled her nose in displeasure, smelling little freshness, only hard, relentless stone. Mountain nymphs supposedly enjoyed the cities, but she did not feel quite so at home there as that branch of her kind did. The front gate was in sight, and surprisingly wide open. Unusual, seeing as how it was usually snapped tightly shut, with guards letting in only those who had the correct papers. Thistle's mind was brought to the papers in her bag, all in order to proclaim her proud citizenship of the country. While nymphs were a very wily race, not strictly fitting under anyone's control, they still payed their respects to the king, though they were unwilling to share their magical skills and were not very useful in a fight. Nymphs rarely served in the king's armies, Thistle's spindly legs and arms a perfect example. She could barely wear armour, let alone wear a sword.
There were still guards at the gate, Thistle noted, but their attention was turned to inside town, where raocous cheers could be heard, wafting along the mild breeze. A royal address, perhaps? the young woman mused, walking along the now-cobblestone ath, inclining upwards ever so slightly. As she passed through, one of the guards, a dark-skinned human that looked fairly miserable with his lot in life, stopped her, a lazy question of, "papers?" falling from idle lips.
Thistle nodded, flipping the round sack from her back to by her side, rustling through until she found the proper indentification. The man barely glanced at it before flicking her through with a gesture of his fingers, looking thouroughly disappointed that he wasn't with the fanfare above. Thistle considered turning back, twiddling her hands together in a display of unease, but it felt too late now, and the vibrant energy of the crowd drew her curiously forward. She weaved her way through curved, empty streets, the dead wooden abodes causing her to shiver. If only all had the skill of nymphs, then perhaps not so many would be felled. She passed the bakery she went to often, pausing at the window, though she knew it was fruitless. As she suspected, it was empty. The shop owner and his family were part of the ever-growing crowd she could smell and hear.
Bright banners were waved high, while children weaved among adults' feet, dressed in vibrant blues and yellows. It was almost like a party, with the aearance of free ale and drink. She found an elf woman with a platter of bread, and managed to sneak a few into her bag for later. She would return to her home later, but this crowd had the appearance of something interesting. The nymph was normally not an adventurous person, detesting any kind of contact with Quests or anything of the sort, but she felt as if she had to be here. So, she waited for the king's address with slight trepidation. Her nervous energy seemed to spill out of her, the dandelion by her right foot opening and closing in a beautiful yet strange display. Yellow had always been Thistle's favourite colour, being akin to sunshine and growth.
A voice brought Thistle crashing down from her vague thoughts. "Wine?" A serving girl asked politely, attempting to hand her a glass.
No tha- Thistle began, starting a mental communication that was the large part of her life. She caught herself, realizing this girl could not hear nor understand her thoughts. She began to blush a deep gold, shaking her head nervously, "no thank you," she managed, shaking her head and looking down at her bare feet. Her voice was scratchy from disuse, but had the pleasant, rich accent of her forest homeland.
The serving girl didn't seem to listen to her reply, shoving the full goblet into her hand anyways. Flustered, Thistle took a sip out of politeness, but found it vey distasteful. She was grimacing as she looked back up to return the cup, but he serving girl was gone. Thistle sighed and gazed down at the cup, as if willing the disgusting, bitter liquid to slosh away into nothingness. She rarely drank anything but water, and only needed the barest amounts of food to survive, finding three meals a day too much for her stomach to bear. It was quite a useful skill in the wilds and for travel, but ironically the nymphs rarely strayed from home. Thistle turned her attention back to the podium, where Thistle assumed the king would make his address. She abruptly realize that she'd mever seen the man before, and was suddenly curious as to what he looked like.

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Voll had been spying on the guards and organizers of the event for some time, waiting for any hint of his brother's arrival. He waited in rapt anticipation for some time, his eyes darting to and fro manically like a lunatic. His impatience to get underway was peaking, and, as his tolerance reached it's pinnacle, he saw the first signs of the workers beginning to panic and become frantic. Ah, this is it! He thought excitedly, He's here! He gulped down the last of his wine, and after belching with the uncanny force of a blast of the royal trumpet, stood to make his way to the wooden barricades at the front of the stage. He waved his thanks to the folk who had supped with him as he went, being met with nods and the rising of tankards.

As he walked he checked the insides of his hip-bag, making sure his ammunition was still in tact. And indeed it was, three wonderful over-ripe, stinking, rotten tomatoes. Though he knew himself to be fool-turned-beggar, but in that moment, he felt closer to being a god with rods of lightning. He closed up his hip-bag and simply let the joy of impending nonsense wash over him. Filling him with a giddy energy, only barely contained. A trumpet blared in the distance, some ways away from the square, but echoing through the streets nonetheless. The congregation of milling people suddenly became alert, all knowing the sounds meaning. In a flash, hoards of people flocked to the barricades, whooping their enthusiasms and murmuring their curiosities for such a gathering. Voll struggled to keep his place, waves of limbs tugged and pushed at him, jostling him along the barricades and dragging him deeper into the current of human flesh. Soon enough he was squeezed into a spot deep in the crowds, too far for anyone stood upon it to be able to clearly see Voll's face. Voll began to curse to himself. He was out of range to use his ammunition as well.

Another lot of trumpets sounded, this time closer. The vibration in the floor that usually proceeds a company of horses could be felt rumbling beneath. He was upon them. People began to cheer, guards became tense, political activists shouted damning slogans about the monarchy system, and drunk folk reveled in all the splendor. Voll might have been able to enjoy the atmosphere if his plans were still in tact; but instead they had been foiled by those very same people that create it. He despised this situation. He began to try and jostle his way through the thick backs of the poor, but his slender frme would not squeeze through. Another blare of trumpets. This time from behind the stage and it's luxurious curtains and drapes. A Kingsman popped through the sheets, and after clearing his throat cordially, announced, "Here here!" the crowd went silent, "his majesty, The King!", the crowds erupted into a roar as they watched The King emerge from behind the curtains.

He waved and smiled as a good King might do. He looked slightly disheveled though, something that seemed peculiar to Voll. The King was normally a well put together man, streamlined, symmetrical and with a hint of grand royalness to his style. Here, he looked similar, yet his clothes hung slightly off, as if they were a tad too big for him. Even his face seemed clammy, and perspired much. Voll knew instantly, the King was ill. He was indeed old, and for a human, he had lived long. But it seemed that indeed, as it did with most humans his age, death was beginning to touch his heart. Voll suddenly became slightly disjointed from himself, the realization sending a shock through him. He didn't know quite how he felt about his brothers situation. Should he be sad? He did after all grow up with this man. But, this man had also gone to some extreme lengths to ruin Voll's life and career. Also, it wasn't as though Voll didn't have a good claim to the throne either. He could, by all means, campaign for his sovereignty after his brothers passing and perhaps even win. But, the question was, did Voll even want such a thing?

Voll was lost in his emotions for a time, insomuch that he nearly forgot that his brother was talking to the crowd.

"...I know it has been some time since I last held such an event. There is so much one has to do when he becomes king, that simple gatherings like this become rare occasions. I wish it did not have to be so, if it could be the reverse I think we would all indeed be a damn shot happier," He smiled that regretful smile one does when accepting or admitting an irrefutable truth, "It's all well and good to wish well though isn't it? But it isn't real life. We have wars, starvation, politics, revolution, abominations, rogue mages, uncertainty on all levels. We must confront those issues if we are ever going to find ourselves round the fire sharing stories as our chief pass time. I am doing my best, and the mighty Lord knows that peace has reigned in our kingdom for longer than it ever has, since my father, and expanded on by me. Something I m very proud to admit. However, this peace is being jeopardized. I am dying. My physicians have confirmed it, and I have long suspected it to be true. I am dying." This was met by hushed murmurs from the crowd, their shock palpable in the air, "when I die there will no doubt be havoc in this kingdom. Tis well known that many vie for power here, some within the kingdom, and others from outside. I have no offspring, I have no kin, the throne shall be empty," Voll spat on the ground in disgust, "I dread to think of the blood spilled after my passing, something I know to be almost a surety. That is not what I want for my people, it is not what I have fought for my entire life! I will not stand for it!" The King was impassioned now, "which is why me and my mages have gathered you here today. In our bid to find a cure for my illness, we discovered scrolls relating to an artifact of ancient magic. It is said to have been held by the generations of old, a tool of the Pharos, the original gods to expand lifespan. We are currently searching in all reaches available to us. However we have had no luck. And as more and more issues pile up, my searching capabilities become depleted. I have decided to reach out to those of you whom live in our capital, who would vouch to assist us? Who would lay their life down, for their King!" He barked the last words, almost looking healthy as he said it.

It was of no surprise that the crowds were silent. Not many of the folk gathered were any sort of adventuring gallivanter type, in fact he could barely see any of that type at all. Many were families, immigrants, ex soldiers, merchants and aristocrats. The people were soft, not the hardy, hilly type folk you get in the wilds.

After what seemed like an age, Voll raised his hand. Heads whipped around to view the first volunteer. Some laughed instantly, others gasped wondering if it was a bad joke. Bodies began to shift in front of Voll as he moved forwards through the crowd, hand still raised. Soon enough he was the front and vaulted over the barricade neatly, as a master tumbler might. The guards looked at Voll with panic in their eyes. On one hand, they were their to protect the King, on the other, Voll was a beloved folk hero to the town, that had been a well known bastard child, and by default, of royal descent. Voll made it clear he would not go any further, and looked up to his brother, who looked back in distaste.

"Let him up on the stage," the King relented, his desperation for help overriding his pride. Voll nodded his thanks and passed by the guards, and skipped up onto the stage, "Speak, ye first of the volunteers," The King spat, his words implying they were strangers, his tone implying the opposite.

"Yes, I will speak thank you. After all this is the King's address, is it not?" he turned to the audience in a jaunty manner, presenting himself as a parody of the King, "I m of course, only joking. After all, I am only a Fool, nothing more, nothing less. Not human, no, not elf. A horrid creature who does not feel as you feel. I am lesser. Only a sideshow, given only pity and the laughs of easily amused. And why am I this way? Why do my clothes smell and my breath reek? Why do my feet swell and my back ache? Why do my pockets seem to be vacuum for coin? I can think of nothing that I did to make this happen. I have been as I have always been, myself."
"All you've been is a bloody hindrance, thorn in my side of sides!" The King shot back to the audience's amazement, and belying his feigned ignorance of Voll's person.
"You destroyed my life Fredrick!" Voll screamed suddenly, pointing in anger at his brother.
"You stole my father" The King roared.
"How could I steal the most powerful man in the kingdom? He could decide for himself who he loved! And he chose well! You were always conniving Fredrick, always your needs before anyone else's isn't it? You treated your father like ****, and and like anyone else would, he turned away from you. And here we are, you're dying, and you're still at it. It's pitiful." Voll spat.
"You dare to speak to the King that way? In public no less!" The King blustered, hurt in his eyes.
"I dare to speak to my brother that way," Voll fired back, ferocity in him, "But," Voll chimed, "despite all this. I still love you. And that is why I hurt the most Fredrick. I expected better from a loved one. And I am going to show you what love means. I am going to find this artifact, and cure your illness. You said I could never be a real man, even father said that to me. I am going to show you both that not only am I a man, but I am a far superior man than either of you. Do you hear me?" Voll said. The King was visibly stunned by Voll's words and the crowd watched on in rapt awe.
"Do or say what you want Fool, the proof will be in the pudding, not in the words," The King replied curtly, his pride still guiding his sails. Voll sneered and listened as the King shouted, "Who else would join this new company? Which of you loves your King enough to lay his life on the line in the name of the peace of his country?"