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 Vardenfell Keep

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PostSubject: Vardenfell Keep   Fri Aug 04, 2017 11:43 am

Biird: Patsy, who was basically no more than a functioning pile of scraps, labored up the hill to the long structure before him. His hinges squeaked in protest of his bad hygiene as of late and the cart behind him rattled and rumbled over rocks. "Pasty thinks it's time the master started to see other people." The android complained. His flat metal foot then took a stone into the heel and his unoiled legs went out from under him. With his arms rotated back uncomfortably, yet still holding the arms of the car, Patsy face-planted on the dirt path. "Pasty apologizes for his rudeness." A muffled, staticiky voice came from the dirt. To whom he was speaking much have been some sort of divine presence he believed was responsible for his sudden mishap in the face of his cross comment. At least a minute ticked by before the bot mustered the urge to get up. His metal exterior clanged and jangled as he righted himself, having to remove his arms then push his joints back together before pulling the cart the last few kilometers to the castle of his master. Behind him on the cart, sap and silicone legs of a doll dangled. The crush purple velvet dress she were was bunched around her thighs from the haphazard way she'd been tossed around in the cart. Her father had propped her up nicely and neatly but her posture hadn't lasted the grumbling, rumbling trip with Pasty. She was leaning over on a sack of potatoes, her head angled downward, and her arms were hanging loose at her sides with her wrist bent back so her palms were up behind her. For days down, sounds had been fading in and out of her hearing. Halfway up the hill with Pasty she could now very clearly all of the robot's complaining and even the shift of breeze through the trees. Her vision was still fuzzy around the edges and everything was in black and white, but the castle seemed so much more lonely than the little village at the bottom of the mountain.


Artorias
: Cobwebs, dust, mice, spiders, moss and any other form of creation that screamed to ones senses that a structure was as good as inhabited, being reclaimed by nature echoed from the halls of the Vardenfall Keep. In the middle of a large lake, accessible only from a dock located at the north side of the island, the keep lay seemingly dormant. Those living along the shore and forest that encompassed the lake could see only faint glows of flickering candle lights, the eerie groaning of nonliving creations. Ghost stories were rampant amongst the folk of the mainland, stories to keep children in line of a monster that turned kids to machines if they stepped out of line and a mad dark figure that roamed the halls. The elder generations of the humans knew who lived within the keeps borders, they knew his story and his misfortune and with them fables came the legends, the tall tales. Some were, oddly enough, created by the elders of villages so he who roamed the halls could be left in peace, though from them sprouted even grander tales. Yet they were not so grand that adventurers came questing, but just enough to keep nosy folk in check. The truth of the fables was this, a Dark Elf Prince, whose name was so lost he was only referred to as Shard, a fitting term as one would come to realize, was the last of a noble kin. Dunmer was a more apt description of his race, ' The Dark Ones'. As all Elf, Shard was old, older then any human but still young among his kin. At the height of their success, the Elves of Varden fell were not always the most liked of their brethren. Cruel to those not of Mer, or, elven blood which included humans. Often keeping them as slaves, the Dunmer were in all respects to their name, a Dark species. Now however, only one remains, Shard or Nevos as he was named at birth, is the only remaining member of the Vardenfell keep. Wondering around, muttering to himself and the status that littered the grounds, Nevos was an odd soul, content, at least from outward appearance, to his solitude. As patsy, his longest 'living' creation, pattered his way up the keep path, Nevos came walking down one of the many hallways. One hand resting across his lower back, fist clenched, the other hand raised to his chin, stroking it as if in deep thought. The pace at which he walked also indicated some matter of emergency and rush to his appointed destination. Low unaudable whispers fluttered from his lips as his obsidian skin and was illuminated only slightly by the dim candles. Glowing red eyes lay hidden almost completely beneath black locks. Around him fell his dark robes cut with strips of brown leather and strapped boots. His appearance was well kept as if always expecting company or perhaps the only lingering remnants of his days as a known Prince. But now he was just another stuttering loner with no semblance of a normal train of thought. "Yes yes, perfect, maybe. No, not if the butterfly wings don't hold the strain against the rough sandpaper...." The only audible words that fell from his lips as he passed the door Patsy would enter from, but as usually they made no sense. Then again, he was gone down another corridor, his pace always quick and meaningful, never one to dally.
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PostSubject: Re: Vardenfell Keep   Fri Aug 04, 2017 11:44 am

Biird: Pasty parked the cart and tried to store in his limited memory the notion of taking the horse next time instead of being the horse. Without so much as a glance toward the doll he'd acquired, the bot lumbered up the few stairs to the main entrance an raised a rusted arm as his master passed by. "Ma..." he was gone,"ster..." The android huffed but let it go. He knew the man only did laps of the castle and would soon came back around . Grumbling internally, Pasty turned and went back to the cart, shifting the doll over to one side and slinging her limb arm over the fencing. He took what looked like a potion bottle of oil out of a burlap sack and greased his hinges before climbing up onto the cart and taking things down. When the last heavy sack was labored into the kitchen, Pasty sought his master somewhere in the castle. He'd done two laps of the lower levels, only hearing his master's voice off in the distance but never able to catch up to his pace. So the little man-machine went back to the front doors and just waited patiently.


Artorias: Up the stairs, down the stairs, though the garden, stopping only to say good morning to one of the many statues that made up the courtyards eerie essence. To most they would simply be garden ornaments, but to those that knew the truth, these were all the members of the Vardenfell keep, Nevos' parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, at least 20 statues in all decorating his otherwise dead garden. To Nevos, they were as much alive now as they were 300 years ago when they actually roamed these halls. "Morning morning, much to do, no time to dilly daly" Nevos waved to one of the statues of an elderly elf sitting under the large tree, the only true living obsticle other than himself. With a twirl he passed by two younglings, his twin cousins Savos and Zavos. He was sure his aunt was joking when she named the boys this but there was a reason behind everything elves did. Finally Nevos made his way into the keep again, through the kitchen and around to the front door where Patsy was waiting. "Are your joints rusted stiff again Patsy, or are you just going to stand there all day boy." There was no difference between Patsy or any other living child that one would encounter in Nevos' eyes. The little mechanical creation was as living as he was and Nevos never really made too much mention of their difference. Wthin him mind, Nevos would have said the same thing to any child he saw sitting around doing nothing, possibly a fall back to his centuries surrounded my machines. "I hear the butterflies are active and the silk sheets are pressed. Not long now till the die is cast and breakfast is ready eh, boy." Nevos never looked at Patsy while he spoke, glancing towards the sky and marking his finger in the air as if he were writing. "Savos and Zavos are active as always, good good. Too young to be still it seems, indeed, yes"


Biird: There had been a time, when Pasty would have flinched to hear his master reference the fact that he was not doing anything, but after centuries in his stead, Pasty knew he wasn't upset nor would his fleeting attention span last on the subject and of course before the bot to muster sound waves to answer, Nevos was off again verbally. Meekly, Pasty tried to interject a "Sir." here and there, trying to get his attention. Finally, he raised his volume. "Sir!" He waited a moment for his master to acknowledge the volume was enough before going on. "You've already eaten breakfast, the twins are always like that, and your aunt is off to get new roses for the garden. I've come back with the provisions you asked for and ... well... the other thing. It wasn't easy to get. He didn't want to give it up, but it's his best. The very best." Truth be told, Pasty couldn't tell the difference between the living people in the village, the doll on the cart, or the statues little through out the keep. He'd spent so long with the prince that it was all the same thing. "Shall I fetch her for you, Sir?"

Artorias: Nevos continued to write his memories into the air with the tip of his finger, stopping only once to lick it as if it were an inked quill before continuing again. Patsy's words were lost on him until the little mechanical construct increased his volume enough to snap Nevos for a moment, to the present reality. Flicking his tongue against the inside of his teeth, the obsidian elf chuckled as he recalled the taste of breakfast still lingering on his palate. A few nods followed at the mention of the boys and then his aunt. "Yes, yes more roses, very good" But again Nevos' mind was on another train of thought baring no semblance to anything mentioned, hinted at or possibly segued into by random objects. "But the mines need more workers if the dirt is to be reshaped for the salt hills" Turning around to walk away he stopped again and nodded and just as it seemed he would walk away, ignoring the little constructs final words, he pointed his finger forward. "To the basement my boy, bring our guest and don't forget the wine" Red wine was one of Nevos most favored rinks, though the particular vintage and year was so hard to come by, it was almost impossible to accumulate any form of stock of the liquid. With his hand back on his chin and the other against his lower back, Nevos lowered his head, his mind enveloped in on itself once more, and he was off again. The elves journey to the basement would be a lot more meandering then Patsy's for he often forgot where he needed to be the moment he decided he needed to be there. But his laps often brought him to the point previously desired and his train of thought on the matter at hand picked up as if he came straight to the location.
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