The Quarry War.

The Quarry Wars is a series of conflicts between the Countys of Gold Coast and Amberfield.☀Backstory: The Countys of Amberfield and Gold Coast have had many border disputes over the Gold Coast Quarry. The conflict between to the County's date back to a time before the First War, when the Quarry was first being dug out. As the infrastructure of Westfall was being built the Lords on the Western Coast had a large demand for stone. After weeks or looking for a close resource of stone the site was found, sitting on southern edge of the Gold Coast border. The newly founded County could not afford to dig out the site themselves, so the southern County of Amberfield stuck a deal with the them, the Lord of Amberfield agreed to help pay for the Quarry's construction in exchange for equal rights to the stone. The Lord of Gold Coast, Ridgewell agreed.

Overtime the Ridgewell Lords slowly forced the Amberfields out of the mine, establishing the Barony of Greenshore on the northern edge in an attempt to solidify the County's lone claim to the Quarry.

In the wave of the Gold Coast rebellion Lord Ashwood of Amberfield saw the war as an opportunity to reclaim mining rights to the Quarry. As the Barony became the main string point for the Rebels, Ridgewell's men were forced back from the quarry, giving the Ashwoods time to fortify the position. Weeks later the Furlbrows ruled Gold Coast, putting claims to the Quarry aside as they stabilized the land.

Prequel: As the population of Gold Coast started to grow the need for sturdy infrastructure became a focus of the Lords of the County. They turned their focus back to the Quarry, now solely being minded by Amberfield workers. House Furlbrow took the stance of the former Lords, stating that Gold Coast had lone rights to the quarry. As  relations between the County's started to sour the 103rd Legion was called to aid to crush a group of Rebels in StrangleThorn. Now without the County's standing army Count Furlbrow was forced to deescalate the situation, pushing for the agreement the County's had before the first war, which Amberfield accepted.

The Death of Lord Ashwood.
The hooded woman rounds the bend as a warm breeze blows against the golden fields that glistened in the sunlight. She pauses as a man clad in brown leathers runs to her side and takes the reins from her. Without a second thought, the woman pushes herself from her mare’s back and lands in the dirt laden ground with a solid thud.

A woman with hoisted skirts runs towards the hooded woman. “My Lady! Come quickly. Your father, the Count, has been asking for you! Quickly now! Quickly!”

Cirea unlatches her hood as her feet swiftly carry her into her home, Ambercrest Hall. “Alright, you do not need to herd me like a flock of geese,” she murmurs to her nursemaid. “Thank you, Amelia.”

The roguelet reaches a double oaken door before she heaves it open to reveal her father’s chambers. Fine tapestries hang from grey stonework around the overly large chamber. A single, enormous hearth illuminates the room casting a shadow of darkness around the warm embrace of the fireside. Resting within a four posted bed laid a gaunt, sickly man. The room reeked of death and decay. She reaches his side as she brushes a sandy curl from her features. “Father,” she murmurs as she tugs off her gloves and takes a knee at his bedside. “I am here.”

The hold man reaches to clasp his daughter’s hand which she takes as he struggles to move. “Hush, father. I am here. Rest, please.” She frowns as he tries to speak to her in ragged breaths. “Cirea,” he breathes. “My time has come… to pass on,” he rasps.

Cirea shakes her head stubbornly as she seems to still not have accepted that her father is dying. “No, father. You must stay here and guide the county. Your people need you!” A tear trails down her cheeks. “…I need you,” she murmurs as her voice cracks.

Her father simply smiles very faintly. “Help your brother… lead his people. He will… make a great Count,” he wheezes. His hand rises to cup her cheeks. “…so much like your mother,” he murmurs before he sputters in a coughing fit.

Cirea tries to help him up as he waves his hand away. “No… no! Let me be,” he mutters as the coughing subsides. Finally, after several moments he is able to breath shallow breaths. “Love your brother… as I love you,” he murmurs.

Cirea turns to motion everyone out of the room to give her privacy with her father. She brushes his white curls from his face as she places a kiss upon his forehead. “…I promise,” she murmurs as the door closes.

Her father smiles as he gasps for air. Gently, she gives his hand a squeeze. The door opens again before closing. A much younger man wanders in the room and flops upon the bed top next to the dying man.

“You rang, old man,” he sneers?

Cirea slaps his shoulder gently. “Shut up. Can you not see he should not be talking, Richard,” she growls? She shakes her head and looks back to her father. “He did not mean it,” she whispers as her voice cracks.

The count smiles at his two children. “Be good… to one… another,” he murmurs as he sighs. His hands go limp next to his body as his eyes stare past them.

Cirea cries out as the man she loved had departed this world. She lays her head against his chest as her brother slips from the bed and flies to the door.

“Ring the bells. The Count has passed,” he cries giddily! “Count Gregory Ashwood is no more!”

Cirea simply hugs her dead father knowing all too well that what fate had in store for her could only be unkind. She reaches for her father’s hands and crosses them over his chest before she closes his grayed orbs. She leans down and places a kiss upon his forehead.

Gently Cirea wipes her tears upon her sleeves and turns to face her brother who seemed all too pleased with their father’s passing. “Brother,” she murmurs as she tries to yank him from his excitement.

Richard looks up to his sister and raises a brow. “What do you want? Can you not see I am busy?!”

Cirea drops her gaze and dips into a curtsey. “Long may you live, Count Richard Ashwood of Amberfield,” she murmurs.

Richard smiles seemingly delighted before he raises his hand and backhands his sister across the face. “…soon you will marry Baron Johansson and like it, harlot,” he growls before he strikes her again.

Cirea reels from the second attack and flies to the floor upon her chest. Her lip was split and bleeding. There was nothing should could do to retaliate. She drops her gaze and simply murmurs, “Yes, my Lord.”

The Amberfield Wedding.
A sapphire dress sashays down the candlelit halls of Ambercrest Hall. A pair of matching heels poke out from the hem of the ball gown as pale hands push a curious visage over the ledge of a railing to peer at the wandering ladies below from the shadows above.

The woman cradled in shadow frowns as guests from every corner of her county trickle gracefully into the hall to celebrate the arrival of their new Count.

A hand grabs the woman’s neck before it yanks her backwards against the wooden paneling. A white glove hand holds her there with a tight force as a man steps into the lamp light.

"Cirea,” her brother growls. “You’re late! How dare you keep me waiting,” the Count whines!

Although it was clearly her brother who was late, the rogue knew better than to argue. She drops her gaze and offers an apology to her brother who was clearly mistaken. “My apologies for keeping you, Count Ashwood,” she murmurs.

The Count smiles somewhat pleased by her submission. He squeezes her neck harder which causes her to gasp for air!

“Perform well for me tonight, dear Sister. Do not make me regret letting you attend the banquet!” With that, he releases Cirea. She slides down the wall to the floor, staying there to catch her breath. She watches her brother walk away drunk with his lust for power.

Cirea gently brushes a hand against her throat before she trails her hand down to a small ribbon she wore tied around her wrist. She pushes herself to her feet as she turns round the corner towards a golden latticed mirror. She frowns at the bruise which was not yet visible upon her form before she gently ties the thick navy ribbon around her neck to hide the blemish. “There,” she murmurs. She raises her brows as in the reflection she sees a tiny bit of movement. A cockroach skittered up the wall opposite of her. How strange… “I will have to speak to the mages again,” she murmurs absently as she turns away. Carefully she floats down the stairs and paints a smile upon her features.

She passes several guests before another man wraps his arm around his waist and pulls her to his side. “You look the part of a Baron’s wife in this gown, my Lady,” he sneers. “They are so much better than those gaudy blue leathers you insist upon wearing. You won’t be able to wear them much longer, Cirea dear,” he mewls as he lifts her hand to kiss in greeting.

The rogue eyes Charles over and frowns. “You will find me unwilling in every aspect of our arrangement. You may as well find a new wife that will accept you as a man. Just because you supposedly bear the equipment does not mean that you qualify for ‘manly material,” she murmurs as she laces her insult with a smile. Her emerald orbs flit from guest to guest as she offers a nod of her head.

Charles simply chuckles. “You are a gem to my estate. Absolutely not. You will soon see how much of a man I can be,” he murmurs as he squeezes her hand tightly to shove it into his arm. Such a happy couple!

Charles waves a hand casually to summon a server with two flutes of champagne. Lurking nearby, guest of honor, Richard, strides over and helps himself to one of the glasses. Charles simply takes the other. The server departs abruptly before she is replaced by another to offer Cirea a glass. The rogue simply smiles in return, “Thank you,” she murmurs as she glances towards her brother who was simply absorbed in the party.

He gasps, making a huge show of the arrival of another woman. He shoves his glass of bubbly into his sister’s hands spilling some upon her gown. Cirea sighs softly as she turns to a small table in the corner of the room. Carefully she reaches for the handkerchief hidden within her cleavage and unwinds a small vial from within the folds of the cloth. She quickly uncorks it and pours the contents into both glasses before shoves the cork inside the small bottle and replaces it within her cleavage. She then masks her movements by dabbing her dress upon the fabric at her chest where the spill had taken place. She grasps both glasses and returns to her brother, offering him a glass which he yanks from her without a thank you!

Richard removes a small letter opener from a hidden pocket and clinks the side of his glass as he raises his own flute. “A toast, to the happy couple! May you share each other’s health and happiness… for all eternity,” he murmurs before he raises his glass and sips it.

All around the couple, men and women simply offered the toast towards Cirea and Charles. Cirea simply stares forward with a false smile upon her features as her betrothed kisses the side of her head in affection. He whispers, “Try and at least look happy,” he growls with a smile.

Richard eyes the two and gasps. “What better way to celebrate my ascension than by holding the wedding tonight?! Oh Light, I am full of marvelous ideas! Go, retrieve the priest!”

Cirea looks to her brother with wide eyes as he announces this idea. Fighting the urge to flee she balls her fists. She looks towards Charles who could not help but grin smugly. He leans down to whisper,” You will be mine tonight. To celebrate, we will burn your leathers.”

Cirea eyes him over. “Be prepared for a very lonely night ahead,” she murmurs as she stares at him with intensity. “I will never be yours,” she murmurs.

Charles simply chuckles in response as he takes her hand within his and kisses the back of it gently. “You will in time. Love has nothing to do with any of this,” he murmurs.

After a few moments, a priest dashes within the room with a murmur of an apology. He looks around to spot Cirea and the Baron of Gold Hill and approaches them. “Over here please,” he murmurs as he gestures towards the stairs.

Charles all but drags his soon-to-be wife towards the stairs. She stumbles into the priest as they reach the base. “Oh! I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

The priest simply smiles at the woman and helps her up as Charles rolls his eyes. Charles yanks her hands from the priest’s as the Baron gives the priest a glare.

Richard from across the room clears his throat a moment as he yanks at his collar uncomfortably. “You may begin,” he declares impatiently.

The priest opens his mouth to speak. “We are gathered here to unite this man and this woman in union within the Holy Light. I ask for those who object to please step forward at this time and make your objections known before we proceed.”

The room was utterly silent. Glances were exchanged as tension rose around the room. It was clear that there were several within the room who found the match to be ill-fitting, but none dared to utter a single word.

The priest nods his head. “Then let us proceed.” He removes a golden cord from his pocket and wraps it around their hands. “Do you, Baron Charles Johanssen take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health ‘till death do you part?”

Charles simply nods his head before he utters, “I do.”

The priest nods his head as he heard the answer he hoped for. “And do you, Lady Cirea Ashwood, take this man to be your lawfully wedding husband in sickness and in heath ‘till death do you part?”

Cirea looks up at Charles and frowns. “I- “The room grows rather hazy. She tries to focus. “I-… d- d-,” she murmurs. She stumbles forward into Charles arms in a dead faint!

The priest gasps as Charles catches Cirea within his arms and kneels at her side! Richard stumbles towards the group as he grasps at his shirt collar. Sweat poured down his features before he collapses at Cirea’s side!

Charles’ eyes widen! “Guards! Guards!!! Your Count needs you,” he murmurs as he looks towards Cirea with worry! His precious seat to more power was in danger!

Armored men clamor within the room and gather themselves around the Count, his sister, and Charles for protection.

The priest kneels down in the huddle of people. He feels his neck and gasps in shock! “The Count… is dead!” He falls backwards utterly horrified as people look from the deceased man to Cirea.

“Is she dead?! Is Cirea,” the people demand. Panic was thick within the room like a dense morning fog.

Charles feels for a pulse! He sighs relief to find a quickened and erratic flutter. “She needs a doctor, now!” He lofts the unconscious woman within his arms with a grunt and looks towards the guards. “Escort me to her chambers. We must get her to safety,” he murmurs.

With that, the plated footsteps echo from the chamber where the man drunk on power lay dead at his own party.