The Emissary of Veritas Pt.1

I like to consider myself an artist. Or a creative person, when self-identifying as an artist seems to bourgeois. Yet honestly, between my work, volunteering, traveling, and this NJL life, I wasn't getting to create enough.  It's why while working in Asia I was doing a lot of baking and creating recipes from scratch. Or taking more pictures, as ways to engage even a little bit my need to create.

Luckily enough in October I was able to do the #Inktober2018 challenge, where every day I had to draw something. For 31 days I was given a theme and drew something from that. I really loved it, and I don't want to stop creating so I decided to do another challenge for November. This time it wasn't a drawing challenge, but a writing one. Specifically to write a novel or 50,000 word equivalent. That's when the idea of "The Emissary of Veritas" came along.

Sir Chesterfield Winthrop the 3rd. A character in the story "The Emissary of Veritas"

 For the next month and maybe longer if there's real interest for it, I will share a chapter or two of 'The Emissary of Veritas". It isn't going to be perfectly edited, but shout out to the few who do help do some light editing and insights. The characters and story are one's I have been wanting to bring to life for a while, intertwined with the NJL itself. From main characters, inside jokes, or even story beats, there's a bit of the League everywhere in this story. Hopefully I am able to write a novel in the next month, but if not at least enjoy this story from a humble heart. Strong language and  adult situations below.

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Emissary of Veritas

“Oh I am completely tired of this bullshit.” sighs Chersei, as she sits up in her bed. Queen Chersei actually, and the way she is feeling right now, would likely hang someone for forgetting that. Truthfully, even on good days she isn’t one to play with unless you’re looking for her to vindictively play back.  Today was not a good day. She stretches her arms and rolls her neck, in an effort to relieve the tension in her muscles, before closing her eyes in concentration. “CHESTERFIELD!” she yells in her mind, more out of annoyance of her current state than anything else. Before the thought is even out of her mind and her eyes are fully open again; she feels the presence of her Head of House and personal butler, Chesterfield, as he stands bowing at the foot of her bed. “My Queen.” he says calmly coming out of the bow. He looked directly at Chersei waiting for her to speak. As an Onyx Elf (Onyxians), like his Queen before him, he is taller than humans yet average height for most Elven races. His skin is as smooth and  deep in color as dark caramel sauce. His hair is faded closely to his head with a clean shaven beard. He wears an immaculately monochromatic black suit, royal blue tie and perfectly polished black shoes. He pushes his thin framed glasses on his nose with a solid black gloved hand and waits.     As a testament to his calm demeanor, Chersei feels her attitude slowly dissipate just from his presence. “I can always count on Sir Chesterfield to calm me.” she thinks to herself, though she would never mention it aloud. Even with the lack of sleep she has experienced this night and her grumpy demeanor, no one would deny that Queen Chersei is as pleasing on the eyes as she is powerful. And by the Gods is she powerful. While not a beauty, as one would expect to see as trophy companions to some of the nobles or the fantasies in flesh form found at the many brothels throughout the kingdom, she catches all eyes nonetheless. While sitting in bed, her junoesque frame is evident, that if she was standing she would be taller than even some Onyx Elven men. Her skin is the color of polished deep bronze and a star shaped birthmark over her right eye gives off a black luminescent glow. Tight, coily hair, the color of dark royal purple, blended with the color of the night sky as it cascaded down to the middle of her back. Being magical, she never has to wrap her hair up due to the spells she places on it each night before bed. Her eyes are a deep, unending vortex of darknes that suck you in and promise to never let go for good or bad. Most people, in fact, try not to look at her eyes directly because of this very reason. Chesterfield was a rare exception. “Quick as usual. I guess that’s why I pay you so well.” Chersei states sardonically as she begins to slide herself off her bed.  “Quality services deserve quality prices is what the wife always says.” Chesterfield quips, ignoring his Queen’s obvious demeanor, as he walks over to  her with a purple velvet robe in hand. Did he have this in his hand before? “How is Goody, my favorite bar and brothel owner?” she asks, grabbing the robe from him while she stands to put it on. “She’s as well as she can be. Loves her job. Loves her girls. Keeps trying to convince me to make my ahem “money maker,” make her more money. So you know...the usual, my Queen.” “HAH! I would pay large amounts, front and center, to see that! Tell Goody to make her cute ass appear, one of these nights, so we can chat and drink like old times.” “Absolutely, my Queen.” Chesterfield states slightly nodding his head before giving a concerned look in Chersei’s direction. “So..this would make the 4th night in a row, if my math is correct. Which it always is.” Chersei rolls her eyes at the sarcasm in her butler’s voice before walking barefoot to the far left of her room toward the balcony. For the room of the queen, it is quite expansive in size but is surprisingly sparse of furniture and objects. Directly across the room from her bed, which sits in the middle of the space, is a large writer’s desk made of mahogany wood. Atop the desk laid draped a large detailed map of the realm.It shows the name of the land, Onyx, the namesake of the Onyx Elves. It depicts the borders of other lands, kingdoms and domains; in addition to  the usual markers and pieces found on a map. A dark line separates Onyx from the lands and oceans it borders and, upon closer inspection, shadowy auroric spots seem to be moving. Directly to the left of the desk, towards the balcony, stood a large and sturdy Armoire made of old oak. Though aged, the wardrobe was polished to perfection by none other than Chesterfield, whom took pride in his duties as Head of Household.  A recessed bookshelf replaced the wall behind the Queen’s bed filled, almost completely, with books, tombs, parchments and various magical artifacts. In the cross corner of the right side of this wall of books is several display cases. The first has a suit of armor in it, the second harboured two long swords and a shield with the third holding several wooden wands and one gauntlet. Lastly, next to the doorway, leading out of her room is a weapons shelf. In this particular display was the Queen’s own sword, dagger, hand shield and battle wands. The difference, of course, between regular wands and battle wands is that battle wands can stab you to death. A lot. The Queen’s battle wands were additionally special because they were outfitted with knuckle guards for the rare occasions “When people run up and need to get done up.”

Waving the balcony doors open with her hand, Chersei steps outside and takes a deep breath of the night air looking upon the land she has only ever called home. “Four nights. Four nights I can’t sleep because of the constant pounding in my head. Four days of a constant feeling of entry, yet no way of pinpointing. Four days...our borders have been threatened by an unknown enemy.” She turns her head slightly to the right pearing at Chesterfield in the peripheral as he stands near her. “I have been Queen for over 150 years ever since my parents’ disappearance. While young in my reign, I have been diligent in my duty since day one. I know every border entrance, every cross stream, every passageway and focus point of this land. I can literally feel when even a few of my subjects cross our borders, let alone if someone was foolish enough to try to take one unwillingly. No one should even be able to enter our borders without me knowing and dealing with it swiftly if I feel hostile intent. Yet, for four fucking days, I can feel evil against us and not know where, who, or what? HOW!?” Chersei hisses, slamming her fists against the balcony ledge with such anger that it almost seems the sky darkens in response to her mood. Chesterfield, ever the embodiment of patience, waits for his queen’s temper to subside before attempting to speak. “There are  few simple truths in this world that I truly believe in with all my heart: that I love my wife, that there is nothing better than a lazy afternoon with your favorite cup of tea and a good book.” Chesterfield pauses as he places his hand on Chersei’s shoulder and directs her gaze upon his before continuing. “And that you are a Queen who would die 1,000 times for her people and kill  100,000 enemies more if it kept what happened in our past from ever happening again. If you, of all people, say there is danger to us that you cannot stop yourself,” Chesterfield thoughtfully begins, “then I will find those who can do your bidding for you. Just command me to go, my Queen.” Chersei stares into her butler’s eyes sensing the deep ocean of resolve, determination and loyalty within him.  For just a moment, her head no longer bothers her. “Go.”

Jay

Is hoping you guys really like this, and if you don't hell is super warm for you.