ON MY WAY TO SAY... STARTER CALL !!!

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RMH

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Claire Keane
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@scaleforged
ON MY WAY TO SAY... STARTER CALL !!!
âBad dream? You can sleep next to me. Get in.â
Verdant eyes glanced away, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the mere utterance of the warlordâs gentle offer. She hoped that the nightmares she had wouldnât awaken her curious chambermate, but nonetheless, Ra-i took notice. Gold hues focused on her visage, prompting Mordred for an answer.
  â Fine. If only so you never speak of this again, â the Medjay replied, her gaze failing to meet the smirking advisor.
  They were shameful things; demons who plagued the land of sweet dreams with foul, embittered memories had taken effect on the usually playfully critical attitude of Mordred. She had grown quieter in the recent days, more venomous with her words, and more dismissive of the others. It was a wonder why Ra-i hadnât said anything sooner.
  The Medjay rose from her bed, crossed the gap between, and settled in beside the woman with little more than a quiet huff, but the fangs of her foul mood dared to be bared with a look of detestable regard. Her bed was so warm, and fitted with linen much softer than her own. No doubt Ra-i was one who held the finer things as more important ââ that was evident with the way she preferred Mordredâs more ornately detailed weapons.
With a roll of her eyes, she turned upon her side, bearing a deep scowl as she attempted to resume her sleep. If only she could. She hoped Ra-iâs would cease toying with the hem of her night wear soon and resign to wrap an arm about her waist instead.
@undiesirae  Ď not-so-secret crush; accepting.Â
SADIKI-SEFU.
@medrauts || Starter ~ Chain
âErase the noise⌠Can you hear my voice?â
Tessa speaks as clearly as she can, doing her best to push past the ringing in her ears that has her head spinning. For as off-balance as that explosion just caused her to become, she isnât the only one here for this task. Kneeling before her fellow Medjay, covered in soot and what were probably a few minor burns that she could not feel through the adrenaline coursing through her veinsâThe young woman closed her eyes briefly, as if it might alleviate the ache in her skull.
Iâm going to throw those banditsâ hearts to the crocodiles when I find them. Of all things to do, throwing a torch into that crate from the EastâŚ.
âMordred. Are you alright?â
â Iâm fine ââ â
  Her voice cracked beneath the ache that plagued her head. The beat of her heart roared within her ears as green eyes, narrowed from the stress of the situation, surveyed the scene before them. Scorched debris, particles of emberâd wood, and the cries of civilians were all that she could observe. The Medjayâs teeth grit together as her eyes met the gaze of Sadiki-Sefu.
  Hot blood trickled down the brow of Murdus; a detail that still remained unnoticed by the golden-haired warrior. â Whatever it is: I can handle it. We need to pursue the bandits. Thatâs all that matters. Pick up your blades⌠â
Fingers scrabbled to wrap around the hilt of her sword, one of unusual balance compared to the shorter blades that city guards around them wielded. She would have their heads for that act; and she would be sure to take them.
It was odd to be seated across from someone who just as silent as she, if not more so. She was entirely sure of what her position was within the harem, or whether or not the nameless girl was even a wife of Ramesses. A mistress? Or perhaps a consort? That visage of hers was entirely unreadableâŚ
  â I have knives, â Mordred began in a rush. â Many of them. All tempered bronze. Are you part of the militia? Or perhaps a performer? Iâm sure you can incorporate these daggers into your dances. â
And without further ado, the smithy suddenly set a pile of knives on the stretch of counter between them, allowing them all to clatter loudly against the worn wood.
@toxicmasked Â Ď Â starter call.
It was an unexpected act of kindness, but one she nevertheless was given the moment Mordred fell slack against a lounge. A shallow vessel filled to the brim with cool water caught her eye, and with it, her parched throat seemed to burn ever more. She was no longer able to ignore the desire, nor the offer for it.
  Green eyes lifted up to catch the face of the girl who approached her, but she found it was not a face she recognized. However, if she wandered about this part of the palace, there was no doubt that she was yet another member of Ramessesâs harem. The smith offered a gentle smile before she accepted the vessel of water.
  She lifted it away from the otherâs hands with a rasped, â Thank you ââ â, before Mordred lifted it to her lips. A long and greedy draught granted a silence to form between them before Mordred pulled away, leaving scarcely a drop of water left. Her ashen fingers clutched onto the vessel a moment longer, struggling to piece together what to say to the woman; after all, she rarely spoke to any of the other wives as it was.
â Again, you have my thanks⌠ah ââ what is your name? I donât believe weâve met. â
@grandheiressâ Â ĎÂ starter call.
The lion⌠was a rather interesting objective for Mordred to take care of. He was muscular, proud, and attached to his companion: the lion tamer, as Mordred mentally labeled them. Theyâre name was Eoea; one of the many concubines that took their place within the royal family, much like herself.
  She placed a hand on her hip before she gestured towards her own animal companion: her lithe, red Abyssinian that she called Aya.
  â As long as you two lions get along, I have no issue with your company in my forge. â Mordred commanded with a thunderous presence. Within her own space, she felt more like herself ââ like she was home. â Another rule: never court her. She doesnât need to be swept off her paws by some great king like yourself. â
  With a stubborn cross of her arms, and a feigned frown, Mordred then shifted her attention to the lionâs owner. Her visage shifted in that moment ââ a small smile, as if a they had just walked into the shop.
â And as for you! ââ are you here for a commission? â
@grandumamu  Ď starter call.
What was her name again ââ ? Aurera. Right; the woman with hair like cornflowers who served primarily as a priestess, but was equipped with a flair for smithing. It was a strange combination to possess, but one that Mordred found she could not dismiss so easily. After all, out of all the the individuals who populated Ramessesâs harem, it was likely that she and Aurera may be the only smithies.
  She craved common ground between someone else. If only to ward off the strangeness of her situation, and to feel more like she fitted within this community.
Mordred approached with caution, as it would be her first time exchanging words with the priestess. She wasnât exactly sure what to expect from Aurera, but she prayed that she was a friendly soul among the bunch. â Hello! I ââ uh ââ I hear you forge weapons as well; and maybe tools! â she started with a half-hearted smile. â Iâm Mor ââ sorry, MURDUS. I believe this is the first time weâve spoken, but Iâm a smith as well. I craft weaponry for the militia, and take commissions for a few of the Medjays. â
@aecorus  Ď starter call.
It was strange to be within a temple of a god she did not believe in, but it was of no matter to her. She was called here not as a smith ( she hoped ), but as a Medjay; and it was her duty to answer that call. Mordred stepped lightly along the polished stone, hurrying herself along without causing too much noise from the way her bronzed sword clicked against the metal embellishment of her leather cuirass.
  Once she spotted Queen Nefertari, Mordred hastened her stride to meet her, although, the rush nearly left her breathless once she halted in front of her. The Medjay bowed low, strands of her golden hair loosening to drape in front of her green eyes.
â My apologies, my Queen, â she spoke, her accent prominent. â I hope I havenât kept you long. â
@sandcoronated Â Ď Â starter call.
It was sunlight that filtered through the dusty beams, lighting the little room she called her forge, that stirred her. She woke with a groan, her fingers shading her ocean-colored eyes. Her feline companion, Aya, had already stirred. She watched the smith beside her with wide, yellow eyes, her red tail flicking from side to side with deep curiosity.
  â Arenât you activeâŚ? â Mordred words slipped out before she could catch them. A groan followed as she sat upright. Dust ( or rather, sand ) fell away from the folds of her clothes as she did so, a sign that it had been windy last night.
  Why she slept here was unknown to those who knew her. Isolation was a great problem of hers, but at the very least, Mordred had finally learned to accept sleeping in her own quarters, even if it was with a most fearsome individual who was not a wife ââ but a mistress. A grimace formed on her lips as she thought about her living situations; she was of course the reason why Mordred had spent a second night in her forge with little more sack of grain to serve as a pillow and a ragged blanket to keep her warm. Really, she thought, she should build herself some kind of sleeping quarters in here. Although, that would be an investment, and one she doubt she could spend unnoticed.
  The brush of sunned fur against her hand ripped Mordred from her thoughtful departure from this world. With a yawn, she conceded to award Aya with the attention she sought for by giving her a light pat between the ears. The feline mewled in response before it moved elsewhere, leaping gracefully to the surface that served as her anvil. A sign it was time work ââ if only she wasnât so sore after a night spent on the rough, stone floorâŚ
  Cleaning up was quick work for the smith. So practiced was she at arriving early to her forge and opening before her competitors that it was little effort to keep up. Although, this time, she lacked any sort of breakfast ââ would she have time? She doubted it. After all, Jeanne demanded for a spear, and she had yet to finish honing its edge.
  She moved to open the door, allowing bright light to flood the small shop with a fury no other. Once again, she found herself shielding her eyes for the seconds it took to adjust them to the daylight, and once they had, she recognized a familiar silhouette. Green eyes were wide for a moment ââ
â Oh. A special visitor. â Quick to deal out bladed words, Mordred forced herself to remain of a neutral composure. â Ramesses ââ I have no swords worthy of your hands. â
@sandcrowned  Ď starter call.
" Please put that down! I cannot afford to have the edge of that blade ruined! " ââ Inscription!
Ah⌠The Pharaoh immediately pulled away his armored hand from the sword he was examining. He was calm, but his sudden silence was bothersome to say the least. Murdus was not the type to say âpleaseâ to him. In that regard, he easily acknowledged the importance of the blade, and without effort he respected that it cannot be sullied by any means. Not that he thought himself filthy, more so he could sympathize with that kind of behavior. He wouldnât want anyone else touching his spouse, or his properties.Â
âMy apologies,â softly spoken by the Pharaohâ the arrogant, self-absorbed and haughty man, genuinely admitted that he had made a mistake. âI could not contain myself. The blade is beautiful without a doubt, not that I had expected less from you. Your talents always appease my eyes and heart, OâMurdus of mine.â
AVAILABILITY: Â @sandcrowned & the respective members of INSCRIPTION.
To be born as the eldest child of an ambitious king in a growing kingdom ( approximately modern-day Wessex ) was a tough role to inflict upon a youth, but one that she took with pride, and a smile upon her face. To lead others on horseback among the rolling, green hills of the territory of her House, crowned as prince of a young nation was all Mordred could ever want in her life. However, her life as prince was merely an ephemeral life lived within distant childhood memories.
As her House grew in wealth and avenues of trade opened up between they and the Baltic, to Gaul, and to the distant Mycenaeans, Mordredâs father sought to secure yet another trade partner ââ and one whom possessed astounding power and wealth. An invitation was sent to the great land of Egypt, inviting a shining king named Ramesses II. A pharaoh, as Mordred recalled the foreign word. Their House goal was simple: bargain the pharaoh to trade essential grains for a mixture of bronzed swords and food vessels. But the proposal was ultimately rejected by the pharaoh, much to chagrin of both Mordred and her father. In a flash of unbridled anger at the rejection, Mordred stood tall and challenged the pharaoh for his insult ââ that action alone ultimately sealed her fate. Mordred, the once proud prince, was then offered to Ramesses II as part of the trade proposal. The pharaoh, drawn to the arrogance Mordred showed, accepted the kingâs proposition. A wedding was held for the two the following week. Prince Mordred was hailed as a hero of her people while her spirits were crushed by her newly formed bonds, for her sacrifice served as their bridge to the rest of the world. She was swept away to Egypt aboard a vessel beyond her wildest dreams the next day, bidding farewell to the land she called Briton armed with a single bronze sword she forged before the arrival of Ramesses II. Upon her arrival, she was determined to be left well alone, isolating herself from the other wives of the pharaoh's harem ââ and the pharaoh himself. Mordred presented a troubling obstacle: a stone wall to be overcome by time and kindness. It first started with the gift of a pet cat from the pharaoh, a gesture perhaps to help ward off the loneliness she might have felt. As thanks for his kindness, Mordred named the feline Aya, an Egyptian name meaning âmiracleâ. Her interest in the culture grew, and Mordred soon found herself spending time over a forge that soon became her own. She became a SMITH, smelting weapons of bronze for the military, and in an effort to try and form some kind of bond, became a MEDJAY for both the pharaoh and his favored wife, Queen Nefertari. Since she has arrived in Egypt, Mordredâs fair complexion has morphed to one of golden brown skin. Freckles sprinkle across the bridge of her nose and beneath her vividly colored eyes. Her hair, once light blonde, has turned a marvelous shade of gold beneath the Egyptian sun. It makes for an unusual appearance, and one Mordred hides beneath a tawny shawl when she ventures out in public.