It only took but a few moments for Duke Willowsteel to completely reverse Duchess Agustria’s opinion of the man and what he had to offer. There were precious few things one could do at a function like this for the famously amenable duchess to turn on someone like a fellow holder of a ducal seat, but he somehow managed to cross a line for her.
In response to everybody’s attempt to calm him down, he had taken it upon himself to consume enough wine to knock out an ox, and then began a verbal campaign of the highest slander and conspiracy. The Court Jester, using human sacrifices to fuel her simple illusions? Mirie wanted to scoff. That was not how magic worked, especially the type that woman used. She was wary of the Court Jester, yes, but not for a reason as absurd as what Willowsteel suggested.
“Patently ridiculous,” she agreed, deigning to respond to Willowsteel’s accusations only with two words and a degree of separation.
With how clownish the gala was becoming, perhaps it was in her best interest to accelerate her little intermission.
But not before seeing the outcome of the challenge from Duchess Altina. She leaned over towards the fake Rhinecliff. “This should be, if anything, entertaining.”
Mirie raised an eyebrow at the twins’ immediate surrender, to the point where they were prostrating on the ground, groveling for forgiveness from her host. The duchess had accidentally played a part in this and thwarted what was a fairly obvious scheme in hindsight, but she was glad that she did. A penniless Rhinecliff would not do for her own plans and the balance of power in Arrowfell, and that was not to mention the issues with the economy that would cause.
She had decided not to intervene here, but she doubted that she would be disappointed by Rhinecliff’s judgment, either. In the end, they were still kids, and he was famed for his magnanimity, even if he was in his full rights to strike them down as they stood for the insult against him and his seat.
And indeed, he would not ruin the day or the table setting with anything nearly as ominous as punishment.
Duchess Agustria moved on as if nothing had happened, switching her goblet of wine from the gala for the tea that the Duke poured.
“The Queen has made some effort to restore the city," she allowed. "It’s not yet to the former glory that it was previously, but I would say that the city is well on its way there. And what of Odenfield? It has been some time for me, too. The architecture of your city is always a delight to behold.”
Savant sat in a cold wood chair, facing a small table. A silver blue-white light hovered above it, giving depth to the darkness around him. At the far edge, he could make out a door. But it wasn’t anything he paid much attention to. He never did.
He heard footsteps behind him, and a hand gently touched his shoulder. He did his best to suppress the shudder.
“Check her again.” Came an authoritative voice, the tone serious, no-nonsense, feminine.
Savant swallowed hard and closed his eyes. It was a few minutes of stillness before he spoke in a soft, near angelic voice.
“She is the same as last, perhaps even more hungry, more desirous. She covets what is below the waves. Something powerful.”
A pause, before there was a satisfied breath, and he felt the hand on his shoulder remove itself. More footsteps, the clink of armour, and he caught the curl of long, silver hair.
“What on earth could she possibly want? What does it mean for this kingdom?” The mysterious feminine voice spoke again, shadow trailing around the boy in a circle.
Savant was quiet for a long moment, having no answers for her. But his own burning questions rested in his mind, and he spoke.
“How much longer…?”
The shadowy figure lifted her head, before turning to Savant. There was displeasure in her voice.
“As long as it takes.”
Savant whimpered. “Please. It's been twelve long years. Why don't you just take her and leave it at that?”
There was a pause, before the woman placed two hands on the wooden table and leaned in, revealing a masked face, black clad armor and white tresses. Valor Teardrop of The Clandestine herself, gracing his humble chambers.
“Because Evelyn Keove is hard to corner. Like a snake, she'll slip through the fingers with a direct, uncivilized approach.”
She leaned back, hands clasping behind her back. “No. This requires tact. An elven breed of patience.”
Her head turned to the side. “And it requires intel.”
She knelt down beside Savant, reaching out and gently, ever so gently tucking a strand of his white hair behind an ear.
“Savy, you've seen the protege student, the Lilim. Tell me, what is in her heart?”
Savant closed his eyes again, resisting the urge to shiver, focusing for a moment. His eyes opened, staring at Valor.
“She desires power to control. A power that shines.” He said.
”A power that shines…” Valor parroted back, standing once more. She placed a thoughtful finger on her masked chin.
“Yes… Yes that will work nicely.”
She was already moving for the door, when she turned back briefly.
“Do get comfy. We will be lingering here for some time…”
Before she left, the magelight vanishing in a puff of light with her. In the pitch darkness, Savant lowered his head, and softly sighed.
Lord Blackthorne and Lady Tearmoon toured the Arcane wing, the master teaching his new apprentice all she would need to know to strive in her new calling. As they opened the door to Lady Tearmoon’s private quarters, something strange, near-mystical, happened.
A wind from behind the two of them blew strongly, throwing the door wide open. A light shone, near-blinding, illuminating the room in magelight. It flashed for but a moment, before fading. And in the room, a singular spirit wisp swirled on spot, before bouncing along the floor to greet Lady Tearmoon.
The spirit wisp seemed to hover a moment, ensuring it had received the attention of Lady Tearmoon and Lord Blackthorne, before it darted over to the window. Curiously enough, the window had a different texture to it. It appeared as wavy glass, with crosses of metal in its structure. But a long stare would reveal the surface appeared to fluctuate, like a ripple over a still pool of water. If one would stick their hand through it, the window would, in fact, act like the surface tension of water, allowing objects and people to pass through it with ease.
The spirit wisp would watch to see if the two mages were still watching, before it would duck through the window, and down a flight of light-encased stairs that led down into the Hathforth Castle’s spacious gardens.
In the gardens, a single woman sat on a wooden chair, sword planted in the earth, her palms and chin resting upon the pommel. Her masked face hid a waiting smile as she sat there patiently.
Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, The Hearthfire Gala, Near the Banquet Table
”I have no idea what you could mean. Surely, this is the gold-touch wine speaking, my friend.“
“Why you-” Sev’s face immediately darkened, and he wished he hadn't checked his weapons at the door.
He glanced at Duchess Agustria, then back at Duke Rhinecliff, his fury growing by the minute.
“You’re just gonna blow me off then, huh? You know I’m right!” He gritted his teeth, then staggered toward him, hand reaching out to try and grab the duke’s collar. “You can’t ignore me-”
Before another voice called out.
Duchess Bastille approached Sev, and his hand dropped from reaching towards the duke, instead turing his hateful gaze on her. “Pompous, arrogant, full of herself.” He muttered.
"As a warrior yourself, surely you realize this, no?"
He watched her gaze darken, and his muttering died out. The imposing woman almost seemed to tower over him, despite their similarities in height. He tried to keep his apprehension off his face, swaying on his feet as he felt the liquid gold in his veins. The liquid gold that emboldened his words and actions, for better or worse. That helped keep his apprehension caged.
"I implore you to clash with me. Speak to me in a way only a warrior can understand. That I can understand."
Sev plucked the sword out of the air as it sailed towards him, his prowess still somewhat sharp despite the alcohol in his system. He glanced at the decorative blade, before his burning eyes landed on Duchess Bastille. She dared challenge him, when he and his people prided themselves in the sword?
But before he could respond, Lady Haliel interjected.
"Duchess Bastille, perhaps you ought to sweeten the pot a little. Say, allowing the crown to take custody of the Duke should you prove victorious? These are rather serious accusations he's making, and I'm quite certain that many people would care to have their names cleared of this slander."
For whatever reason, as his eyes darted to the elven maiden, he felt a shiver trickle down his spine. His eyes narrowed. “You vile araecon*, you have no business interfering. Know your place!”
The Wizard Queen was calm, quiet, even amused, through Duke Willowsteel’s tantrum. But the moment he dirtied his mouth with her lady, her eyes narrowed.
“Duke Willowsteel.”
She called him, laziness in her voice as her burning white eyes stared through him.
“You will address my lady-in-waiting with respect when you speak to her.”
A sigh, before the Wizard Queen gently lifted her head from where it had rested on her palm. Her eyes glanced over the scene, playing in between Duchess Bastille and Duke Willowsteel.
“A duel sounds favourable. Entertain us on this Hearthfire eve. If Duke Willowsteel loses, I will take custody of him… immediately.”
Obediently, the floor cleared in the center of the hall, nobles giving the two duelists a wide birth. Duke WIllowsteel, now visibly sweating, clutched his sword frantically in his hand as he situated himself on one side of the clearing, opposite of the duchess.
“You’re in it thick with Duke Rhinecliff, aren’t you? What are you planning…?” He growled out. “Not that it matters… I won’t let you win. I’m not going to jail!”
A deep breath, a slight sway, before the duke’s body tensed, and his cape billowed as he launched himself forward, aiming for a diagonal strike downward across the duchess’ arms and chest.
*Araecon - A term used by the Nordorians to describe people who use magic, usually in a derogatory manner.
Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, The Hearthfire Gala, Watching the Duel
Duke Grimhand’s heart warmed during his interaction with Duckess Bastille. Fierce, capable. That’s what he saw every time he talked with her. Running a hand over his beard, he nodded to himself as he watched her confront that brat, Duke Willowsteel.
Yes, opening up trade with Agrovia, and empowering their neighbours, was one of the best moves his people at Rockhold ever did. A powerful and grateful ally, one whom he considered a friend, could mean the difference between being utterly crushed by an oppressive empire, or… maybe pursuing a brighter future.
That’s not to say Rockhold didn’t have ties with the other dukes and duchesses here. Though he may have been a renowned recluse, he got along well with most cities in Arrowfell. Well, save for Nordor and Aethera.
His focus, intrigued by Duke Willowsteel’s statement, fell on Duke Rhinecliff. If there were to be rebellion, this man would be the most likely out of all the cities to lead it. The people loved him. He actually heard of a small minority migrating from Hathforth to Odonfield after the Wizard Queen began laying down heavy taxes and an oppressive atmosphere within the city.
So, as the crowd watched on, he moved to stand beside Duke Rhinecliff and Duchess Agustria, shifting gently in his golden shoulder plates as he placed a hand on his chin.
He side-eyed Duke Rhinecliff. “Sorry lot, Duke Willowsteel. The man has a good heart, but it’s been hard, isolated as he is at the edges of the province, and with no access to a port. The lack of magic means they do even menial tasks by hand, and that-” He sighed a rumbling sigh. “-can take a toll on a man’s patience.”
He leaned over slightly, catching Duchess Agustria's face. ”I've heard the parties in your part of the province rival even that of the Queen, is that right?”
Before he tried a warm smile, turning to between Duchess Agustria and Duke Rhinecliff. “I trust things are more, how can I put it… harmonious, in your cities…?”
Meanwhile, closer to the throne, Duchess Ilijor smoothed out the wispy-thin fabrics of her beaded and embroidered dress. Only the finest elven make, elegant but not flashy. Nay, flashy was for the Queen and her closet confidants.
She was a bit disappointed when Lord Blackthorne left the throne room to attend to his new apprentice - she wanted to speak with him more. Alas, he was a busy lord, much like her Vulluin.
So, her gaze played across the swirl of faces surrounding the upcoming duel, holding back her disdain for open fighting, and that oaf Duke Willowsteel. At least someone was putting him in that place. And, despite being neutral with Agrovia, she could appreciate the effort Duchess Bastille was putting into the duke before the Wizard Queen would ultimately punish him. That little show, she would eagerly stay for.
Someone shared her sentiment, and Nephinae watched with cool eyes as Lady Haliel spoke up, speaking exactly what was on her mind. A gentle smile on her face, Nephinae moved closer, standing beside Lady Haliel.
She swirled her glass as she spoke, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You speak with more sense than half the nobles in this hall, Lady Haliel. Not many can say the same.”
She took a sip of her wine, watching the duel begin. After a moment, her head tilted softly, and she smiled at Lady Haliel. “Does ambassador work interest you, Lady Haliel. I’d love to have you as a part of my ministry in Aethera as an ambassador of Hathforth. I’m sure the Queen would be all for it.”
“Raise your heads, Asteria, Mene, and join the table.”
There were short intakes of air from the twins and heads were lifted. Mene stared wordlessly, while Asteria whimpered under breath, desperately trying to hold back relieved tears.
Silent as the grave, the twins took their respective seats, eyes downcast like the caught kids they were.
Duke Rhinecliff didn't even scold them. Never mind kill them. Asteria shook her head, staring at the tea he poured her. The world didn't deserve a kind-hearted duke like this. She was certain of it.
“So, how has Hathforth been of late? I've not yet opportunity to make it out there myself, but I hope that the taxes have been put to good use?”
“The Queen has made some effort to restore the city. It’s not yet to the former glory that it was previously, but I would say that the city is well on its way there. And what of Odenfield? It has been some time for me, too. The architecture of your city is always a delight to behold.”
Asteria sat there quietly, lips pursing. Eyes on her hands clenching the fabric of her dress. A breath, and her eyes darted to Mene, who had a ‘you'd better shut up’ look to his face.
Asteria frowned, trying to convey meaning without words, before Mene picked up her meaning, and said in a harsh tone, “No.”
“He needs to know. He deserves that, at least.” Asteria said in response, before shyly side-eyeing Duke Rhinecliff.
Mene's gaze dropped, before Asteria straightened her back a bit, and spoke up. “You haven't punished us, to which I'm grateful. I heard taxes aren't put into rebuilding the city much. No, the taxes are repurposed for something else. Calls to join the royal guard have been made, and to join the army. It is easy to see where most of the tax money goes if one looks at the forts surrounding Hathforth…”
"No," Roland said with a dead serious face, betraying his personal reasons for not wanting to be a royal guard. "There is not another reason, and I am sure that the queen has enough protection as it is. Plus, her personal strength, of course."
"Since you are done with me, I will get my brother from whatever he is doing, and so you two can talk about these body snatchers." Body snatchers? Roland thought, "That is bad though this is the first time of me hearing of this. I need to talk to Nathan about this once he is done here."
Roland taking one last sip of tea. "It should not take long to get Nathan, and enjoy yourself while I get him." Roland got up from his seat and departed to get Nathan. Hopefully, that went well, he thought as he went to get Nathan. I probably should have been more formal with him, but things still seem fine. Well, it is Nathan's turn now and time to see what this body snatcher business is once Nathan is done with Vulluin and we talk about it. Unless there are more surprises tonight.
Now with the tour concluded, the Lilim assumed they'd return to the workshop so she and Master could take care of all the necessary preparations to integrate her participation in his research as soon as possible, it'd certainly be in the best interest of everyone involved, including Her Majesty. However, before she could even propose the idea, an inexplicable phenomenon occurred as a gale burst forth from behind them then immediately followed by the appearance of a wisp, heralded by an eruption of blinding light.
"...how curious." Though magical phenomenons were to be expected in the aptly-named Arcane Wing, her instincts told her that this particular event was... unsanctioned by the Court Mage. Regardless, the Lilim observed with healthy caution as the spirit orb seemed intent to lead them somewhere, to a particular window. As a magus proficient in the art of manipulating space-time, Melisande could reliably recognize a portal when she saw it, and someone or something had cast one at this specific window.
"A portal, Master, and I presume whoever was responsible is the same entity currently puppeteering this wisp." The apprentice informed matter-of-factly, "Whoever they are, they sure seem quite keen to have an audience with us."
Then, even as the thought of entertaining the anonymous invitation was formulating in her mind, a certain other entity interjected.
If you so unwisely wish to trust every summons sent to you, then at the very least exercise enough caution and allow me to go in your stead through Gemini.
Why, Kronos, I didn't know you care, fufu~
Don't flatter yourself, Feyling, as we are now, our lives are tied, I shall not allow you to bring our collective demise through reckless wanderlust.
Fair, though are you certain of your ability to convincingly emulate my mien, Kronos?
You insult me, Melisande, I've been forced to remain with you since you were but a tiny Feyling, I know you more than even the abductor that you call mother.
I see, very well then.
The gemmed brooch attached at Melisande's left breast pocket briefly shone with arcane power as a perfectly-identical copy of the Lilim manifested nearby, currently inert and unmoving like a lifelike doll, "Master, for the sake of my safety, I shall send my simulacrum into the portal instead of myself," She elaborated, "Though I'm in no position to stop you from venturing forth, if you do, I must implore you to stay safe, Milord."
With a nod toward Lord Blackthorne, the 'simulacrum' came to life as the clone - Kronos - stepped into the portal, with or without the Court Mage by its side.
As the Dremora passed through the illusory window, it realized that it hosted the simplest form of a portal, one that merely provided access to the space right behind it. Such pointless theatrics... It scoffed as it descended down the magical stairs to the castle's gardens.
Eventually, the Shadeborne entity came mask-to-mask with the stranger. It curled a small smile, flawlessly mimicking Melisande's mannerisms as it approached the blade-wielding figure, "I'd introduce myself, but I presume you're already aware of our identities," Kronos chuckled in the Lilim's voice, "Under such circumstances, to whom do we owe this pleasure?"
“Untouched by the most recent war as it was, Odonfield has been doing wonderfully, Duchess Agustria,” Laurent replied, sipping at his own cup of tea. “I’ve no real understanding of the specifics of architecture myself, but I’m glad you find joy in the work of our scholars and students. And if you have designs of poaching them for the Grand Banks...well, I ask that you pay them well.”
The duty of nobility was chiefly to delegate, after all. Though one could indulge in a particular skillset, between the politics and the administration and the sheer performance of it, one could never specialize. Perhaps some households prided themselves in raising exemplars as heirs, and perhaps other households made themselves the chief authority of whatever trade gave their territory fame, but in the end, there was simply no time. He owned grand libraries, but Duke Rhinecliff would never read even a quarter of what he opened up to the universities.
He simply gave the next generation an opportunity to prove themselves better than the last.
He simply invested.
And though it was merely a “coincidence” that everything fell into place here, it was always lovely to see returns come in. The Duke favoured Asteria with a grateful smile as she spoke of developments in Hathforth. The build-up of the military, and the construction of defensive fortresses around the city-state. Merchants from faraway lands had brought tales of rulers and despots who could not live without waging war, and the confiscation of the Seeds from the Glasic Fields seemed to indicate a particular desire. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration that the Wizard-Queen’s artifact was rumored to be capable of summoning an army of monsters to begin with.
But war against what?
It was worth dwelling upon.
Did she intend on taxing the ducal territories specifically so she could fund the military force necessary to overthrow the current wards and install her puppet-governors? Did she possess imperial ambitions, seeking to go further eastwards and claiming more for her seat of power? Or was this pre-emptive, the shoring up of defenses in case rebellion struck from the outside rather than the inside?
Regardless of what it was, it was unsustainable. All it would take would be for taxes from richer territories to dry up and she’d have an army of discontent, disloyal soldiers to contend with. He glanced towards Mirie. She’d understand that, no doubt.
“Well, it appears we’ve exchanged one dreary topic for another,” Laurent said. “I certainly hope it hasn’t caused you to lose your appetite though; the venison’s from a doe I hunted personally, just this morning!”
The duke made a bit of a show of slicing a cut for himself, the aroma of well-cooked meat intensifying as the blade cut cleanly through. Accompanied with a berry-based sauce, and it was rustic yet perfect bite.
“Still, Mene, was funding the Wizard-Queen’s war chest the reason that you sought my treasury? Or did you have other designs in mind?”
"Duchess Bastille, perhaps you ought to sweeten the pot a little. Say, allowing the crown to take custody of the Duke should you prove victorious? These are rather serious accusations he's making, and I'm quite certain that many people would care to have their names cleared of this slander." - Lady Haliel
Letting her eyes glance over, Nyx isn’t surprised to find Lady Safina Haliel has rejoined the gala. She wishes that Willowsteel would stop accusing ‘Duke Rhinecliff’ of hiding something though - perhaps the real duke could withstand this with a pleasant smile, but Nyx isn’t as easily amicable as he is. She doubts the court would find her impersonation of him as ‘fun’ as he does.
But not before seeing the outcome of the challenge from Duchess Altina. She leaned over towards the fake Rhinecliff. “This should be, if anything, entertaining.” - Duchess Agustria
Nyx nods her head solemnly, but tries to keep her face, or rather Duke Rhinecliff’s face, ambiguous. Lots of eyes have turned to the queen to see what she will decide, excited whispers dancing through the crowd of might be a proper duel between duchies, but she doesn’t want to be caught with the wrong expression. Honestly, she might have asked Agustria to help make an escape if attention isn’t called back to Rhinecliff with Willowsteel’s next spur of spoken vomit.
“You’re in it thick with Duke Rhinecliff, aren’t you? What are you planning…?” He growled out. “Not that it matters… I won’t let you win. I’m not going to jail!” - Duke Willowsteel
Resisting the urge to just flash Willowsteel an offensive gesture or roll her eyes, Nyx crosses her arms over her chest instead. She simply raises an eyebrow in reaction as Duke Grimhand stands beside her.
He side-eyed Duke Rhinecliff. “Sorry lot, Duke Willowsteel. The man has a good heart, but it’s been hard, isolated as he is at the edges of the province, and with no access to a port. The lack of magic means they do even menial tasks by hand, and that-” He sighed a rumbling sigh. “-can take a toll on a man’s patience.”
He leaned over slightly, catching Duchess Agustria's face. ”I've heard the parties in your part of the province rival even that of the Queen, is that right?”
Before he tried a warm smile, turning to between Duchess Agustria and Duke Rhinecliff. “I trust things are more, how can I put it… harmonious, in your cities…?” - Duke Grimhand
Nyx smiles warmly at the duke and nods - she had always regarded him as a level-headed man, and entertaining to talk to when she had Olivia’s body on. “Well, we certainly lack the… particular discipline it takes to have to do everything without magic.” She says, letting her eyes meet Grimhand’s before shifting her gaze to the duel building up. “I will say that Duccess Agustria’s parties never seem to leave anyone disappointed though.”
Eirwen watched the strange display of the spirit wisp with little reaction, despite the natural curiosity swiftly building within him. That was one thing his seed could never quite choke down. "A wise decision," he remarked in response to Melisande sending a simulacrum in her stead. "Given my position, however, I must investigate in person. Should something go awry, I trust you shall inform the necessary parties." Responsibility was a suitable excuse for fulfilling his everburning curiosity.
The portal itself was nothing special, he noted with mild disappointment. Even so, its source was quite bold to place one in the private chambers of a court apprentice. Depending on the reasoning behind it, he might have to dole out a punishment.
He followed up behind the simulacrum silently. Had he more than a moment to ponder, he might admire how flawlessly accurate it imitated Melisande, but he had larger issues to contend with at the moment. So, instead, he regarded that stranger with his usual calm and collected eye as he waited for an introduction.
Safina fixed Nephinae with an unreadably neutral expression once the offer was made, trying to keep her thoughts under control. This was why she didn't seek out the company of other elves. She was a street rat at her core, not some rarified dignitary. She had more in common with an average city-dwelling orc than an elf from the glades.
Unfortunately, Safina's """kin""" favored Evelyn thanks to her blood. Another idiotic trait on their part. Blood didn't lead to shared experiences or outlooks in life. But that meant Safina couldn't afford to lose their support on the Queen's behalf. So she eventually favored Nephinae with a slight smile in response.
"Perhaps, if Her Majesty can spare me. I'm kept rather busy within Hathforth's court as it is, so you may wish to have another option in mind as reserve. We can discuss this after the festivities are done with, yes?" She demurred. Of course, with the current situation, it wasn't unreasonable to assume that she would have to take this posting sooner or later. Unfortunate, and infuriating.
Roderic smiled at the mention of a fief, however, that was only externally, internally a heavy debate was going on. It all felt a bit too easy, just to kidnap somebody's wife. Maybe the situation for the court wasn’t as favorable as the Queen would wish to project externally. Luckily the Captain had a man in hand for this. Loyal and discreet, perhaps he should visit the court soon.
“While I might be the Captain, I don’t make it a habit to decide on our contracts by myself, therefore, I shall discuss this with the others. You shall hear of my answer before you leave. I’ll have some men prepare accommodations for you.” With that Roderic stood up, clearly already thinking about the proposal. Currently, he felt that he had a lack of information, however, kidnapping a Duke's wife just for a fief was attractive. Shortly after Roderic would shout at a few men, basically making them prepare accommodations for the Princess. With that starting a few officers made their way to the tent to discuss the proposal.
Duchess Agustria agreed with Duke Grimhand. Willowsteel had been dealt a bad hand when it came to the geography and nature of his land, but it was clear that the current duke did not have the temper, nor the wits to properly take advantage of the advantages that he did possess. Gold-Touch Wine might be one mere product, for example, but its ubiquitous presence in nearly all noble households in the province, including as the centerpiece of the queen’s gala meant more than the shortsighted man might actually think.
With the duel that was but about to happen, and likely lose, and the calls for his imprisonment, Mirie began to suspect there wasn’t much more of a chance for him to turn things around.
Seeing the other duke trying to catch her attention, she smiled. “I would not be arrogant enough to agree, but as a host, I do make an effort to ensure my guests enjoy their time.” Mirie did actually have a high opinion of the parties that she herself threw, but this was the queen’s gala. Of course, her own parties had the same problem that royal galas and other functions suffered from, and that was the inherently political nature associated with any party that a high noble threw. She made a genuine effort to go above and beyond, but in the end, it was the same—it was always business or noble politics as usual, with the party as the façade. Her smile broadened at ‘Rhinecliff’s’ comment, which she kept when responding to Grimhand.
“It is business as usual, and I see little problem with that.”
Mirie nodded along at Laurent’s reply, reaching out to enjoy some more of the food that had been set at the table. “That is heartening to hear.” Her face shifted into a bit of a teasing smile as she spread a palm out. “Ah, but that is the beauty of business. If I do not pay them well, they would not come. With the city doing as well as it is, I would remiss to not be a generous patron.”
The topic quickly shifted away from their own cities, though, and naturally back to Hathforth. With Rhinecliff still on the edge of a break from the queen, no doubt he wished for all the information he could get from the Queen, and the state of her city. Mirie had restrained herself in the presence of the twins, who had a strong affiliation with her, but now that they had been caught in the act, they were being surprisingly honest. “That does align with what I’ve seen,” she agreed, after some thought. The city did look better—even someone as paranoid at reinforcing her position would know to not neglect the appearance of her base of power. She raised an eyebrow and snorted as the duke once more shifted the topic away, but she internally shrugged.
They both knew the tax situation quite well, and she shared his look. Mirie, and thus Caelin itself were unusually shielded from the severe taxation levied upon most of the other ducal territories, but she was the exception, rather than the rule, and only because of the unique economic situation she cultivated. Even then, the Queen was getting her money, although in a way that benefited the Duchess of Caelin a little more than the way she taxed the other duchies.
Nonetheless, she was aware. In fact, being an almost neutral party to this, she was able to look at the situation with some proper detachment, and was all the more aware that the Queen’s policies would not be sustainable.
The question was when the music would finally stop, and who was left with the biggest hand to deal when it did.
She eyed the venison as Laurent cut into it. The aroma of the meat, cooked to perfection with its accompanying sauce was salivating, despite the so-called dreary topics—she had to suppress a chuckle at how casually the duke treated situations like this. It always amused her. The duchess turned towards the children, curious for their answer.
Tsk. Altina would mentally click her teeth at Lady Haliel's suggestion. To punish the alcohol-addled duke was not her intention. Rather, she sought to simply dissuade the man from drawing a bigger target on his back. Altina saw a potential ally in him, and a formidable one too, if swordsmanship were the only metric in her estimation of him. Alas, with Lady Haliel's interjection, what Altina had intended to do was all but hopeless. Perhaps she would still be able to turn the situation around somehow. Make the duke see sense through the clanging of steel. He was in a precarious situation, made even more precarious by the penalty that was set should he lose. In his impaired state, perhaps he did not fully grasp the depth of the hole he had now dug. Unfortunately for the duke, Altina would not be the one losing their duel. She would make sure of that.
This rabid dog needs to be defanged. Another thought flashed in her mind. And then, just maybe, Her Majesty would show him some lenience.
As the Duke of Nordor lunged at her, his sword poised to arc across her body, Altina met the blade with her own.
Schwing! Her steel glanced ferociously against his, locking them in a stand-off, with the edges of their blades practically a hair's breadth from both of their faces.
Then, her voice as if a candle in the wind, Altina would whisper, "Fool. Clear your mind and think." Increasing the force behind her blow, "Your dagger will not reach her throat. Not now."
She would leave him with this. "So be patient."
It was no secret that the duke was an accomplished swordsman. Even while inebriated and charged with emotion, Altina could still clearly observe it. His stance... It was typical of the sword style the duke and his people practiced. More importantly, it showed no signs of compromise. Which meant Altina had to take him seriously, lest she be outmaneuvered by the man.
"You will win our bout, you say?" Altina quipped.
The handsome duke would be wrong on that front. Exerting strength far beyond her stature, she would quickly shift her weight forward. Schwing! She intended to push the duke back. To send him careening to the wall behind him. You cannot reach her right now. So sit still and wait for the right time.
As skillful as the duke was with the blade, he was someone Altina was confident in overpowering.
She would smirk, her blue eyes shimmering with an untainted confidence. One could call it arrogance, even. "Was that strike the best you've got, Duke of Nordor?" An obvious taunt. "I am disappointed. I expected more from Nordor's finest." Now Altina would enjoy herself. Duke Willowsteel was a prideful man. She knew he would not take this lying down. He would fight back, surely. And Altina would be more than ready to retaliate. She gripped the hilt of her blade in anticipation.
The Duke sucked in a breath as he was thrown back, glaring hot at the duchess. Even with the alcohol, it was clear, evident, that she was trying to save him.
Girl, it's too late for me, for us as a people. She digs her claws into us, and never lets go.
His gaze wandered to the Wizard Queen, his jaw setting firm. What awaited him after this? He had already spoken far out of turn. The Queen would surely hang him for it.
But the pain under this oppressive regime had its fair share of cracks. He was just a product of the system. More would replace him.
His eyes glanced over the Duke Rhinecliff.
More like him would lead them, and finish this sorry tale.
Raising his blade again, the duke narrowed his eyes. The alcohol in his system put him at a severe disadvantage. His reflexes were slower than normal. At least he'd dream peacefully, if the Wizard Queen allowed it when this ‘farce’, as Duchess Bastille put it, ended.
“You're lucky these blades are dull, Duchess. Else I'd surely have finished this already!” He boasted back, allowing himself a crooked smirk.
He spun the blade in his hand, tip pointed directly at Altina's heart, before he dove forward again. He feinted left at the last instance, before redirecting course and rolling right, aiming to jab her shoulder above her breastplate by surprise, giving her little in the way of reaction time.
Altina followed the duke's motion as he rose up from her attack. Her expression soured. And so you yield? Just like that?
She tossed her heels to the side, and her facade along with them. Her true emotions now shone in her eyes. Disgust. Disillusion. But most of all, pity. All this defiance over your pride and yet none of it directed at your true enemy?
With the way she stared at the man, it put to question if she still required her sword to harm him. Her eyes might as well have been weapons themselves. You are no duke. You do not deserve your people.
It didn't take long for Duke Willowsteel to recover. In fact, the man was already prepared to strike at her.
Altina would take on a defensive posture.
The duke was frustratingly deft, even with the poison that was Gold-touch wine dulling his senses. She watched as he lunged, once again, with dangerous speed at her, his blade settling into a jab.
In that split second, Altina could vaguely tell he was avoiding another head-on clash. Or so she assumed.
If Altina was proficient in anything, it was gripping her opponent's blade, and getting the best of them in a direct engagement. Given a thrusting attack, however, there would be nothing for her to engage — unless, of course, she wanted to risk getting stabbed.
The duke, whether consciously or not, denied her her greatest advantage.
Perhaps the duke was fully aware of her game. She wouldn't put it past the swordsman to have already studied her techniques in the past. He was clever. And she needed to be careful.
A step back. Then, a vigorous arc upwards. Clang! The edge of her blade would meet with the tip of Duke Willowsteel's.
Altina could not read the trajectory of the duke's feinting, which meant her best choice was to avoid him entirely. The duchess would not tempt fate by attempting to guard, and this decision would save her.
With a committed jab, it was not only Altina who the duke would be putting in harm's way, but himself as well. He was in prime position for a counter from Altina, and through a well-timed swing, Altina would serve him a sobering reminder.
She would attempt to brush his blade to the side, and in the best case, leave him open for another attack. In the worst case, she would force him to guard haphazardly, allowing her an opportunity to sink her fangs.
A drunken, mad scramble. Sev had his momentum committed to his jab, and with his trajectory launched off-course, he was still careening towards the duchess. He attempted to right himself, but he could already feel his reaction timing slow down, his feet crossing in an unsavory way.
His gaze glanced to the duchess, and he attempted to bring his blade back to defend, but he was going to be a second short. A crucial second short.
Altina's blade would stop just before it would deliver another slash at Duke Willowsteel. The blade would sit flush against his neck but for a brief moment. Ultimately, Altina would lower it, tossing it unceremoniously to the ground.
"Well, well, well. A valiant effort, dear duke." She wrapped an arm around him. "But alas, this is the outcome."
Facing the audience that had formed around them, she stretched out her hands, as if to preach, "You see, my fellow constituents, had our duke actually been of the right mind, then he would have been able to raise his sword in time. Needless to say, of the right mind, he was not."
Turning her gaze to the red-haired court jester, "Miss Britesong, allow us to offer our deepest apologies." She would force Duke Willowsteel to bow. "Though it is certainly no excuse for his actions, even the most disciplined of men can fall prey to vices."
She then spun around to face the queen, "Your Majesty, I hope we kept you thoroughly entertained,” and performed a little curtsy. “He is all yours.”
Live to fight another battle, or die like a coward. Whatever the duke's next actions, Altina would leave his fate in his hands. She would abet him no more.
Vulluin’s jaw clenched ever-so-slightly as Roland denied there were any other reasons. He perfectly remembered the intel the castle had on Roland, and how he had all the reasons to harbour ill will towards the throne.
So he wouldn’t fall for the bait? Vulluin suppressed a sigh as he looked down at his empty tea cup, setting it aside. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy with a knight such as Roland. But he had other ways of making the man more willing to do as he was told. It would just take time…
"Since you are done with me, I will get my brother from whatever he is doing, and so you two can talk about these body snatchers."
Vuillin put on a smile, “Thank you, I will wait here for His Grace.”
It was a few minutes of waiting for Nathan Corrin, the Duke of Vaili, but eventually, then manhimself entered the room. Vulluin swiftly stood, bowing humbly in front of the duke. “Your Grace, I’m honoured you would see me at this hour. I hope I haven’t disturbed you and your household too much.”
Vulluin waited for the duke to take a seat before sitting down, hands laced in his lap. “I’ve gotten troubling reports that regard you and the city of Tarin. Thuggish rogues are traveling on the road between Hathforth and Tarin, targeting civillians outside and within the city. They seem to have a taste for nobility, and I’m surprised we haven’t had any reports of missing nobles. Alas, we don’t have access to Tarin gate records…”
Vulluin leand back in his seat, eyes coolant half-lidded as he continued. “However… I do have a report that they target your household, Your Grace. It's only a matter of time before they make their move.”
He raised his hand, like offering a lifeline. “Her Majesty proposes sending her men here to your estate. Only her best, powered with magics and seeds, to protect your loved ones. Until the rogues are apprehended, of course.”
"I'd introduce myself, but I presume you're already aware of our identities, Under such circumstances, to whom do we owe this pleasure?"
The mysterious figure stood as Lord Blackthorne and Lady Tearmoon descended the stairs and entered the garden. Curiously, as she stood, the wooden chair below her disappeared. And, with each step the royal mages took towards her, the staircase behind them disappeared, eventually leaving the tower barren of magic.
Sword tip planted firmly in the grass, the mysterious woman bowed humbly to the two mages. “My apologies for calling you like this, Lord Blackthone, Lady Tearmoon.”
She straightened, eyes hovering on Melisandre for a moment longer than she should have… before she addressed the both of them. “I am Valor Teardrop, but you can call me Valor. I work with a sponsor who’s very, very interested in what information you’re privy to, my lord, my lady.”
Valor gestured to the castle, lit up beautifully for the gala. “You are one of the few who see Her Majesty on a regular basis, and work closely alongside her. Lord Blackthorne, you’re her advisor. It’s easy to see that you would both have access to… sensitive information.”
She leaned a little on her sword, her mask hiding her smile. “I also know both of you have… certain reservations, let’s say, for the Queen. So here is what I’m proposing, here in the privacy of the castle gardens.”
She raised her sword, tip pointing to the sky, reflecting the moon, admiring its craft as she spoke. “Give me information on what the Wizard Queen is planning. And I, in turn, will reward you with gold, and a place in the… new society.”
Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, The Hearthfire Gala, Watching the Duel
“I will say that Duchess Agustria’s parties never seem to leave anyone disappointed though.”
”I would not be arrogant enough to agree, but as a host, I do make an effort to ensure my guests enjoy their time.”
Duke Grimhand laughed a jolly laugh. “Ah yes, of course! Well, I dare say that I may be sorely missing out. Perhaps Duchess Agustria would be so kind as to invite me to the next one. I'll clear my schedule and everything.”
“It is business as usual, and I see little problem with that.”
“Aye, business as usual is always good.” the duke smiled, another chuckle rumbling through him, before his gaze grew a bit more somber.
His eyes glanced to the throne as he spoke. “It's business as usual here too, in the throne room of our beloved Queen. You can see her eyes staring intently over her nobles, lookin’... Which reminds me of a rumour I heard.”
Duke Grimhand glanced between Duke Rhinecliff and Duchess Agustria, ensuring he had their attention before he continued.
“Rumour has it the princess herself is from the dark waters of Athius… Rumour has it that all manner of beasts capable of capsizing even the great merchant ships swim below the surface there… Rumour has it the sirens of the ancients lay in the mist, bringing sailors and merchants alike to a watery grave…”
Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, The Hearthfire Gala, Watching the Duel
"Perhaps, if Her Majesty can spare me. I'm kept rather busy within Hathforth's court as it is, so you may wish to have another option in mind as reserve. We can discuss this after the festivities are done with, yes?"
Nephinae smiled softly at Lady Haliel’s answer. Diplomatic, as she expected. Open, even, despite Nephinae having a slight inclination, Lady Haliel would dislike her proposal being brought up again.
A servant walked by with a platter of baked, spiced mushrooms on bread. Nephinae plucked one up, admiring it in the light.
“I daren’t disturb your already busy schedule, Lady Haliel. I know you’re quite taken with the Queen’s work.”
Her eyes glinted as she side-eyed the elf. “Say, how many men here actually work for you, anyway? Can't show their true colors in broad daylight, after all…”
Before she innocently popped the bread in her mouth, and smiled. “Mm, delicious.”
“Still, Mene, was funding the Wizard-Queen’s war chest the reason that you sought my treasury? Or did you have other designs in mind?”
The tension was palpable.
Mene could feel both the Duchess and duke's eyes on him, and he felt his face flush slightly.
His stomach gnawed, staring at the venison cut. Swallowed the salivation in his mouth, fiddling with the hem of his cloak, before his gaze met his sister.
She had a pleading look to her eyes. Tell him the truth.
Before the boy grimaced at his sister, then looked away. Don't forget your loyalties, sister.
Another breath. His anxiety made it feel like less air was getting into his lungs, but he tried to ignore it as best as he could as he spoke, staring pointedly at the duke's hands as they sliced venison.
“The Wizard Queen… had nothing to do with this. It was all my ploy, Your Grace. You see… I wanted to prove myself as skillful, of use. I've heard Odenfield favours rebellion, and I wanted to assist with that…”
Asteria tried to hide her alarmed expression by vehemently sucking up the tea in her cup.
“While I might be the Captain, I don’t make it a habit to decide on our contracts by myself, therefore, I shall discuss this with the others. You shall hear of my answer before you leave. I’ll have some men prepare accommodations for you.”
Princess Azalea seemed quite pleased to hear this. Certainly, she would have preferred an answer right away. But it was fair to let hr captain discuss this new job with his men.
She gestured to the coin purses on the ground, and her guards picked them up. When the captain accepted the job, then he would receive his preliminary payment.
The princess and her guards followed the captain's men to another part of the mine, where tents had been set up for them. One for the princess, one for her men. The princess expressed her gratitude, before she entered the tent. Two guards stationed themselves just outside, keeping watch over the princess.
Now it was a matter of resting, and patiently waiting for the captain's answer.
Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, The Hearthfire Gala
@everyone attending the gala
Sev gritted his teeth, adam's apple uncomfortably pressed against the dull steel. So that's it, then…
"Miss Britesong, allow us to offer our deepest apologies."
Sev offered a grumbling protest as his body bent to the duchess' will, bowing to the court jester. The duchess had won, after all. And he was a man of honour, especially when it came to the sword. The duchess would find no quarrel with him now.
"Your Majesty, I hope we kept you thoroughly entertained. He is all yours.”
His stomach did a little flip, and he turned to face the throne. Ah yes, he'd messed up, hadn't he?
The Wizard Queen stared at him for a moment, watching to see if he would beg for his life. Sev stared back, and firmly squared his shoulders, unmoving.
The Wizard Queen smiled lightly. “Seize him.”
Instantly, two guards were upon Sev, knocking the decorative sword from his hand, forcing his hands behind his back, and throwing him to his knees. Sev grunted under his breath, but didn't resist.
The crowd was as silent as the grave, watching intently, watching with worry. The Wizard Queen was not known for her generosity.
Vulluin took a step forward from his place beside the throne. “Duke Sev Willowsteel. You've grieved Her Majesty by throwing these baseless accusations, and disturbing the peace of her royal gala. What say you in your defense?”
Sev only let out a hard chuckle from where he knelt.
“You're all bootlickers. Every single noble here… You're not worth your people…”
Vulluin glared at Sev. The man didn't even try to save himself, and address the Wizard Queen directly. Maybe he'd give him one last chance.
“Duke Willow-”
The Wizard Queen raised her hand. “That's enough, Advisor Urimyar.”
Vulluin bit his tongue, and took a step back. The Wizard Queen didn't bother moving from where she comfortably reclined, staring calmly at Duke Willowsteel.
He dared test her in her own home. He would realize that he would pay for his outburst grievously, and be the example for all the rest.
So, she passed his sentence.
“Throw him in the dungeons. In a week from now, give him a public execution.”
When the masked stranger's veiled gaze lingered on 'Melisande', Kronos just barely managed to suppress an inhuman grin as the Dremora's mind entertained the idea of Valor already knowing of its host's unique circumstances, that the silver-haired girl standing before her was no Lilim at all. Though Kronos preferred to remain unknown to all, it wasn't naive enough to not discern that some denizens of the material plane had discovered its existence, otherwise, he wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. Regardless, the stranger was willing to proceed, good, she wasn't here just to waste their time.
Valor Teardrop... where have I heard that name before?
I can't recall her myself. One of the Feyling Abductor's many acquaintances perhaps?
It is possible, Mother is nothing but well-connected after all, and considering she's willing to supplant Duke Rhinecliff for any benefactor most capable of realizing her ambitions...
Oho, so you're willing to conspire against the Human-Elven Tyrant, Feyling? I have no qualms, in fact, it pleases me, however... how sure are you that this whole farce isn't the Tyrant's way of 'testing' your loyalty? I certainly won't put it past her to resort to such paranoid measures.
That's fair, Kronos, then let us at least hear what she has to say.
Thus, the Lilim-skinned Dremora humored Valor's proposal. This person sought information about the Wizard Queen, a spy working for Duke Rhinecliff and his loyalists perhaps? Or a simple broker trading information to make a profit? From the way she carried herself, the former was more likely; lofty goals such as ushering a new world order were usually pursued by rebels and usurpers rather than coin-chasing brokers.
...or as Kronos cautioned, she could be on the side of the Wizard Queen all along and this was all a ruse, a test of loyalty for the new court apprentice.
Let us claim inexperience and return the ball into their court.
Ha, sometimes I wonder why you inherit your mother's visage, yet not her personality.
"You flatter me, Lady Teardrop," Kronos giggled as it curled a small, humble smile, "Alas, I am but a mere apprentice, barely made official only hours ago in fact, so even if I suffer from delusions of grandeur, the fact remains that I am a complete stranger as far as Her Majesty is concerned, unlike..." The simulacrum turned its indigo gaze toward the dark-haired half-elven magus beside it, deliberately letting its words hang in the air for Lord Blackthorne to seize.
It was with a firm hand and long strokes that Duke Rhinecliff portioned the venison, the bloody juices mixing with the dark sauce. It had been a young buck that he had spied upon his lands, its horns scrapping against the bark of trees as it ducked its head down to eat. He had remembered holding an arrowhead in his hand, whispering the sorcerous words, and letting it fly. Human hands erred, but magic, once one understood the principles of ‘will’, was entirely reliable.
Mene didn’t answer his question.
Laurent looked at the young Viscount. Understood that he was dodging the meat of the matter, that his sense of self-preservation was still overruled by his sense of slavish loyalty to the Wizard-Queen. The Wizard-Queen who had, in two years, demanded more taxes from neighbouring cities than the late King had in twenty. Perhaps Evelyn had some humanity yet within her soul, in showing some kindness towards those that she had orphaned, but from Laurent’s own perspective?
He sighed.
“Mene,” he spoke, finishing the final cut and allowing the juices to dribble down the blade of the knife, “Though it is perhaps comical for a Duke to speak of this to a Viscount, I ask that you consider carefully who you ought to be loyal to. If I were as hotheaded or callous as some of my peers, you would be leaving your sister alone in the world, if at that, and all for the chance at a mere display of loyalty.”
The duke drew his portion of the venison upon his plate.
“Viscounts are assistants to courts, to counts, but offering assistance is not the same as treating yourself as disposable. You’re nobility; the consequences of your death affects all those around and beneath you.”
A chuckle broke out of him then, as he proceeded to eat.
“And honestly, the food’s going to get cold at any rate. Fill up your stomach and take a nap on your way back home. I promise you you’ll have another perspective afterwards.”
“I also know both of you have… certain reservations, let’s say, for the Queen. So here is what I’m proposing, here in the privacy of the castle gardens.”
Eirwen resisted the frown that urged to form on his face. While that statement was...true, he wasn't particularly pleased that his apprentice had just been made privy to that information. He kept his thoughts private for a reason, and now he would have to contend with an additional risk.
“Give me information on what the Wizard Queen is planning. And I, in turn, will reward you with gold, and a place in the… new society.”
And of course Melisande, or rather her simulacrum, turned the pressure back on himself. A smart move that he would have praised, if not for the fact that it pushed him even more into a troublesome position. If not for the seed, his annoyance would have been hard to hide.
"Oh, goodness. I wonder where you heard such a rumor?" He'd kept his doubts quiet and trusted very few, so he was quite invested in finding out how exactly this visitor had gained such information.
"Even if it were true, I'm sure you understand how...dangerous this could turn out to be, should the Queen catch wind, no? And 'tis not as if I am lacking gold. As such, I think it is only fair this sponsor speak to me directly. No offense to current company, of course, but surely you can understand my wariness."
Irritating. So the elves may have had an idea of what Safina did. That, or they assumed she had a role as some sort of an enforcer. Regardless, Safina doubted her so-called kin knew too much of her true role, but it didn't hurt to be cautious in this regard. If they did know she was an assassin of all things, she doubted their ambassador would be speaking quite so candidly.
"Oh, a handful." Safina played the question off, as if there was no real secret. Let the irritating woman make of that what she wished. "Her Majesty affords me a soldier here or there when there are small tasks that require accomplishing outside of her other servants' purview."
She couldn't quash the whispers around court that Evelyn favored her because she was directly under her command, so why not take advantage of them instead? Play into the lesser rumors, so that they didn't go out of control into larger ones. Always control the narrative. And speaking of...
Safina allowed herself to show her interest in Duke Willowsteel's imminent arrest and imprisonment. After all, she was the one who'd brought the matter up in the first place. It only made sense. She'd have words with that one later.
"Tis an unfortunate turn of events to have the gala be so...marred by these proceedings. Fortunate how I doubt you'll miss him, considering his beliefs, yes?"
"Alas, I am but a mere apprentice, barely made official only hours ago in fact, so even if I suffer from delusions of grandeur, the fact remains that I am a complete stranger as far as Her Majesty is concerned, unlike..."
Valor watched with impeccable perception. Yes, it was true that the young Tearmoon wasn’t showing up as a living human being at that moment, but still had the sharp wit that the Lilim and her covenmates were known for. Facinating. She rathered to give lead to her master instead of taking a stance on Valor’s proposal.
Well. Valor couldn’t fault her for that. The Wizard Queen was known to have her spies everywhere. One could never be too careful, especially since the increased demand for seeds had everyone with coin begging for the goods that the Wizard Queen was so stingy with.
With a slight tilt of her head, Valor instead moved her focus to Lord Blackthorne.
"Even if it were true, I'm sure you understand how...dangerous this could turn out to be, should the Queen catch wind, no? And 'tis not as if I am lacking gold. As such, I think it is only fair this sponsor speak to me directly. No offense to current company, of course, but surely you can understand my wariness."
Valor stared for a moment, before lowering her sword, and sheathing it cleanly. She pointed north, at the castle wall and the canopy of stars over it.
“Then you will want to make quick haste to His Majesty, the King of Ravenfell. His capital, Arthroyeaux, is seven days north by carriage, six by horseback. If you leave now, you will make it in time before your Wizard Queen departs for Athius.”
She turned back to them, hand on her hip, a short sigh leaving her. “I thought you might ask something like this. But it’s no trouble. Once you meet with him, your eyes will be opened. You will become one of his Enlightened, and will have your seat assured in his new society.”
Her mask didn’t give away any of her feelings as she turned away, “I hope to see you there at His Majesty’s side… Lord Blackthorne, Lady Tearmoon…”
Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, The Hearthfire Gala
"Her Majesty affords me a soldier here or there when there are small tasks that require accomplishing outside of her other servants' purview."
Nephinae placed a dainty hand over her mouth, hiding the smile curling behind. She had a mischievous look in her eyes, one that gleamed with the knowledge that someone wasn’t being entirely truthful.
Alas, she didn’t push it, instead taking a sip of her Gold-touch Wine. The duel had concluded, and the Wizard Queen had given Duke Willowsteel his sentence. She watched with dispassionate eyes, knowing this was the cost for those who were unruly.
Safina spoke beside her.
"Tis an unfortunate turn of events to have the gala be so...marred by these proceedings. Fortunate how I doubt you'll miss him, considering his beliefs, yes?"
Nephinae nodded her head solomnly, “Although I loathe bloodshed, we are nothing without bending the knee. Only one can rule us. Duke Willowsteel, unfortunately, was too proud to see reason.”
She held her goblet stiffly as she stood there, before putting on a smile towards Lady Haliel. “Forgive my disturbance. I will be retiring for the night.”
As she moved away, she briefly looked over her shoulder. “Do take care of yourself, Lady Haliel.”
“Though it is perhaps comical for a Duke to speak of this to a Viscount, I ask that you consider carefully who you ought to be loyal to. If I were as hotheaded or callous as some of my peers, you would be leaving your sister alone in the world, if at that, and all for the chance at a mere display of loyalty.”
Mene watched the knife with its wet juices, swallowing nervously as a hand ran over his throat.
Leaving her alone?
Had the Duke just casually threatened his life?
His eyes shot to his sister, and she shared the same shocked gaze as his, before her eyes narrowed, and she silently seethed at him. It may as well been a mental slap, and Mene flushed with shame, head lowering.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. You’re right. You’re… right about everything. But on top of it, she wishes to weaken you…”
The conversation turned to a lighter note as the Skybound viscounts filled their own plates with venison, bread, and other foods on the table. After peeling off their teacups and filling their stomachs, the viscounts bowed deeply to Duke Rhinecliff and Duchess Agustria, before making their way to their carriage.
Shortly after settling themselves, and only making it a short ways down the road, both viscounts fell into a deep sleep. The Duke’s designs of creating his sleeper agent in the Wizard Queen’s court was successful…
Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, Hearthfire Gala
[@everyone attending the gala]
After the whole ordeal with Duke Willowsteel subsided, and the sorry excuse for nobility was dragged from the room, the gala continued as normal. Court Jester Britesong seemed a bit on edge, but was putting on a brave face. Thus was the way of politics and the court; smile even if you're breaking inside.
After some time, the Wizard Queen stood from her throne, raising a hand. ”My dear guests, this has been a most delightful evening. I must leave you, but please continue your revelries. My guest rooms are open to you, of course.
“I will be seeing some of you very, very soon.”
And on that cryptic note, the Wizard Queen walked regally from her throne, down the red carpet, to the right, and out of the room.
The party continued for some time, until all nobles eventually withdrew to their separate bed chambers. And thus concluded the Hearthfire Gala.
The Wizard Queen had taken the liberty to dress down after an eventful gala. Instead of the heavily embroidered garb she wore earlier, she instead was dressed in silken evening robes, layers light and airy with elven spider-thin threads.
She sat in front of the fireplace in her study, a cozy room with furs and carpets adoring the stone, and wooden hues of bookcases adding touches of warmth. The air had the pleasant aroma of paper and parchment, the bookshelves lined with all manner of tomes and scrolls.
There was a desk and a chair in the study, but the Wizard Queen had instead opted for one of the three chairs in front of the fire, an empty circular table beside her.
Security was no issue. There were two guards just outside her door and more down the hall. They would only let pass the servants and those she was expecting: namely, Lord Blackthorne and Lady Tearmoon.
Her gaze was on the flames, her expression masked, as she awaited her Court Mage and his new apprentice.
Eirwen, likewise, had dressed himself in something more comfortable following the gala, though still elegant and professional. His hair was let down now and removed of its silver and pearls, and his softer, flat-heeled shoes no longer clicked against the floor with every step.
He nodded politely to the guards as he passed them by, as he did with all other servants he encountered on a daily basis. He was popular amongst the staff for this reason: though he never said much, he always treated them with respect, perhaps remembering his own days as little more than a slave to the whims of the elite. Now, as a member of the elite himself, he had not forgotten where he came from.
Now in sight of the Queen, he bowed before her as was traditional. “Your Majesty. I join you as requested. I do hope you found the gala enjoyable?”
The Wizard Queen allowed herself a small smile upon seeing her court mage. She nodded. “The gala was a true delight, I dare say.”
She gestured to one of the seats adjacent to her. “Please, have a seat.”
Her eyes glanced to the study doors once, before returning to Eirwen. “While we wait for your apprentice to join us…” A slight upcurl of her lip. “What can you tell me about the science of seed grafting?”
Due to being called to depart for the castle as soon as possible, Melisande didn't manage to dress up, which meant she didn't need to dress down either. The silver-haired Lilim was pretty much still clad in her academy uniform, except for the hooded cloak.
Soon enough, the youngest of the trio entered the royal study, joining the Wizard Queen and her Advisor. "Forgive me for my tardiness, Your Majesty, Master Blackthorne." She bowed, then sensing that the Queen and the Court Mage were in the middle of a conversation, she decided to simply take one of the vacant seats and let the two socialize, besides it'd be quite uncouth of her to interrupt them.
Besides, even if she's that desperate for company, she'd always have an internal conversation partner.
The Wizard Queen glanced towards Mèlisande and nodded her head, before her attention returned to Eirwen.
Eirwen inclined his head to acknowledge Mèlisande’s entrance, but he must answer the Queen before greeting his to-be apprentice in full. “It is a delicate process, your Majesty, though not impossible. Current theory suggests that the nature of a seed’s power is based, at least in part, upon intricacies within the internal structure. Grafting or manipulation of any sort must be conducted with great care, lest one risks the destruction of the seed.”
The Wizard Queen nodded her head at that. “You've got it right, Lord Blackthorne. A delicate process indeed.”
It was at that moment that the Wizard Queen rung a bell on her table, and after a few moment, servants rolled in a small trolley with a pot of tea, cakes, and other sweets. Cups were poured and offered to Her Majesty, Lord Blackthorne and Lady Tearmoon. The Wizard Queen took hers, blew on it gently, and nodded to the servants, who soon retreated.
In the quiet of the study, the Wizard Queen glanced at the fire, a peculiar expression overtaking her face. One of curiosity, excitement, and… calculated patience.
“There is a task I have for the both of you. Your first of many. I hope it will foster an embracing learning environment for you, Lady Tearmoon, and be a rewarding experience for you, Lord Blackthorne.”
The Wizard Queen glanced up at them, her white irises burning, tingling. “You both will be on the forefront of seed science. Where a careful blend of the arcane can truly unlock their potential.”
She rang the bell once more, and a servant quietly entered. “Fetch me the locked box, Freya.” She said.
The servant nodded, and went around to the desk of the study, opening one of the drawers to withdraw a small wood and metal chest, a large lock on the front. She set it gently on the table closest to the Wizard Queen.
“Very good,” The Wizard Queen nodded, “You may leave us now, Freya.”
The servant bowed, and departed. The Wizard Queen waited for but a moment, before she slipped a key from her robes, and unlocked the box. Pulling the lid back revealed large gems, some shaped like rubies, others like emeralds, and some with multitudes of colors running through them - seeds. It would be rare, indeed, to see so many seeds in one place.
The Wizard Queen allowed herself a smile, gesturing to the seeds. “As you can see, these seeds here have yet to be shaped. They've each been hand-picked based on their effect. ‘Water’, ‘wind’, ‘bubbles’, to name a few.”
She took a sip of her tea, the floral aroma soft and sweet on the tongue. The cup gently clicked with the saucer as her eyes became half-lidded, glancing at the fire.
“You see, the task is simple. You will be grafting these seeds to create the ultimate combination, one I'm absolutely sure is possible with the seeds selected for you.”
She glanced up at them, the fire dancing in her eyes. “You will be creating a way to breathe and move underwater for me.”
Eirwen’s eyes sparked in genuine interest at the Queen’s command. “May I?” If granted permission, he would carefully examine the seeds with all the care and precision of an expert. The Queen, of course, nodded her head. In his enthusiasm, he rambled a bit, something the Queen was surely used to if she’d ever witnessed him in the depths of experimentation before. “Bubbles to create an air pocket, bind the wind and water for swift movement beneath the waves…it will take time, but I am confident we will produce satisfactory results, your Majesty.”
He glanced then to Mèlisande, seeking her opinion. Having a teacher who was willing to listen and encourage his thoughts had been a great boon in his own education, and he hoped to provide the same for his new apprentice. “What think you, Lady Tearmoon?”
In return, the newly-appointed royal apprentice nodded as her mentor turned at her. "The aerial swiftness of Sylphs with the aquatic grace of Undines, convenient indeed, Master, Your Majesty." She mused, "Yes, I too believe Seeds are malleable, befitting the gems they emulate, they must be polished to reveal their true potential."
Her dainty hand reached out to procure one of the seeds then held up the glittering gem before her eyes, "The mystical touch of the Feywilds run strong in the blood of my kin, including myself, I'm certain I'll be able to mold these reagents just as a blacksmith molds metal." A barely perceptible proud smirk curled at the corner of her lips, "And with my chronomancy, we'll be able to accelerate the process. We can - almost quite literally - save time."
The Wizard Queen listened to both Lord Blackthorne and Lady Tearmoon with veiled interest, the spark never leaving her eyes.
A log on the fire cracked, sending up a puff of embers, before resuming its crackling. The Wizard Queen glanced with her eyes for but a moment, before she took the key to the lock box and pressed it into Lord Blackthorne's hands.
“You both have given me high hopes. Lord Blackthorne, Lady Tearmoon,” She glanced at them each in turn. “I eagerly await your results with this. And…”
Her eyes glinted with veiled warning. “I, of course, trust word of your endeavors will not reach the rest of the nobles while it's still a work in progress?”
Eirwen’s expression did not change. If the warning affected him in any way it did not show; he was, as always, the perfect picture of a dedicated court mage. “Of course. All information regarding this venture shall remain between the three of us.”
She nodded, then gestured to the lockbox and its seeds. “With a momentous task such as this, I won't keep you. Take rest, and finish your tea at your leisure. You have my leave when you're ready.”
After finishing a cup of tea and one of his favorite pastries, the court mage delicately gathered up the lockbox in preparation for transport. ”A restful evening to you, your Majesty. I hope to send you good news soon.”
Dadreak had mentioned in passing, quietly, taking Duchess Bastille aside, that he needed to speak with her. The game was afoot, politics and pawns at play. He could see it all under the guise of a gala, and all he could think of was his people.
So after the Gala, he waited in his bed chambers, still fully dressed from the gala, sitting in front of his fireplace. A strong hand stroked his beard, and he hummed to himself in thought, as he self-consciously kept checking his door, anxiously awaiting the duchess, and his closest friend.
No sooner did the duchess come knocking, her fingers tapping a soft but steady rhythm on the wooden frame. She straightened her dress, smoothing over the folds and creases, before clearing her throat to speak. "It is I, Altina, Duke Dadreak. May I enter?"
He moved to open the door swiftly, smiling. “My, my. Yes, of course. Please, Duchess Bastille, please come in.”
He peeked into the hallway behind her, ensuring no one had followed her and no obvious eavesdroppers were nearby. He then shut the door, moving to sit by the other chair at the fireplace.
“I hate to trouble you at an hour like this, especially with such a busy evening. But, it's important.”
He pulled out a long pipe, filling it with tobacco, catching an ember from the fire, and lighting the end. He took a puff, eyes glanced from the fire to the duchess.
“Her Majesty the Queen has something big planned. I don't know how big, but it could herald the end of any sort of rebellion the Duke of Rhinecliff has rumours of leading. All I know, is it has something to do with Athius.”
He took another long puff, smoke curling around him as his brows knitted. “Now, Duchess Bastille, you know I consider you like my own daughter; our trade agreements and our people are close.”
He sighed. “I just don't want to see anything bad happen to ya, ya hear?”
Altina noted the urgency in Duke Dadreak's voice. Uncertainty breeds anxiety, and the duke was right to be anxious. After all, despite the galas and the fancy balls, these castle walls have not yet forgotten the color of the blood that was spilled by the Wizard Queen.
Altina pursed her lips. "That is alarming news indeed..."
She perked up at the mention of Athius, that mysterious stretch of sea that lay beyond Agrovia's forests. "What could she hope to gain there?" Altina would ask, albeit rhetorically. Even the allure of discovery would not be enough to tempt most adventurers to explore that cursed body of water. Altina would arrive at a singular conclusion. "Has she found out something that could tip the scales in her favor?"
The Duke hummed. “Aye, that I wish I knew.”
Still, Altina was puzzled. In the first place, it would be hard for any city to overcome the tyrant in an open confrontation. And even if a rebelling city were to miraculously push the Wizard Queen back, one would be remiss to discount the Wizard Queen's vast resources. It did not escape Altina's notice how the wench had been slowly crippling each city through taxation and other financial mandates. She plays a slow, methodical game. Thus, the longer a battle with her drags out, the greater her chances of victory.
Altina would be snapped out of her reverie by Duke Dadreak's affectionate words. The duchess could feel her expression soften a bit. 'Daughter,' huh? Her mind would flash back to her own father, the late Duke of Agrovia. She would remember that suffocating feeling from her youth. Seeing herself now, it was a wonder how such a man managed to exert his will over her. But he was gone, and so were the old-fashioned edicts that he kept alive with him.
A smile free of duplicity crept up Altina's face, virtually tugging at the ends of her lips. There are little who could get Altina to lower her guard, and the Rockhold duke numbered among them. She put a reassuring hand on the duke's shoulders. "Ah, Duke Dadreak! Always the worrywart."
Her smile drooped playfully. "Do not forget that you've crossed blades with me before, good sir. Or, have you no faith in my ability to defend myself?"
The Duke smiled, patting her hand and laughing heartily. “Aye, how could I forget. You're stronger than an orc with your blade, dear duchess.”
It was all in jest, of course, and she would shift her posture to a more serious one. With crossed arms, she would ask another question: "What do you make of the Wizard Queen, Duke Dadreak?"
Before the good duke would be able to respond, Altina would offer her perspective first. "I believe she is another Ludwig. A more dangerous Ludwig." She recalled her interactions with the late monarch. "I was willing to kowtow to the peace-lover because he did not impose much. But it is different this time." She narrowed her gaze. "That Evelyn Koeve is purposely undermining the other cities — monopolizing the Glasic Fields, siphoning funds through the guise of 'paying fealty,' systematically strengthening her empire while eroding others."
She would lock eyes with the duke. "I do not know how long I can continue to stand idle."
The Duke shook his head, ”Aye, I'm with you, I'm with you. That Zainuzûr Khuzdun (bloodthirsty child) doesn't know when to quit. She runs a ruthless monarchy, takes, and gives little back.”
He took another puff of his pipe, an aroma of spices and wood suffusing the air.
”That's no way to run a province. She's setting up for failure at this rate. I just wish I knew what her end goal was, dear duchess. It may give us insight into what her grand design is…”
He paused, before leveling a serious stare at her. ”Are you close with any of the attendants near the Wizard Queen? Her court mage? Perhaps the Duchess Agustria?”
He leaned back in his seat, eyes sliding towards the fireplace. “She has business with her mage, and is planning on meeting Duchess Agustria. If we could glean information from either of those meetings… it’d give us a better understand of what she's planning…”
Before he looked at Altina, and waved a hand dismissively. ”Not that I want either of us in trouble, dear duchess. To be privy to such details, and then to be discovered, could very well lead to a premature death…”
He sighed. ”Something just ain't sitting right with me, though…”
Altina cycled through all her interactions with the queen's entourage. Remembering her little slip-up with Sir Vulluin not too long ago, she would let out a slight laugh. "Close? Hardly. I doubt that that stuck-up attendant of the queen’s has forgiven me for my discourtesy."
Her mind traveled to the Grand Bank's duchess. "As for her, I... cannot say where we stand for certain." This unknown gnawed at her to no end. But with further introspection, she would finally relax her brows, which furrowed at her hesitation. "That said, considering her connections to Duke Rhinecliff, I do not believe the two of us to be outright enemies."
"And speaking of enemies..." She stared wordlessly at Duke Dadreak's revelation of a secret meeting. And between the Wizard Queen and the Caelin Duchess, no less. "Do you think that that elf seeks to curry favor with Duchess Agustria? To further stuff her coffers?"
More troubling than this secret meeting to Altina was Duke Dadreak's unease. The duke's intuition was rarely wrong when it came to sensing storms. And if he sensed a storm was brewing, Altina was more than likely to believe him. "Pray tell, Duke Dadreak, what do you believe to be the most sensible course of action for us?"
"For our futures, for the futures of our cities?" She would add, underscoring the gravity of their situation.
“Alas, I'm unsure what the Wizard Queen hopes to gain by negotiating with the Duchess of Caelin. Or what it bodes for the rest of the province…”
The duke leaned in close, seriousness etched in his face.
“I believe the best course of action, the safest, and the most duly needed, is for you to speak with Duchess Agustria, later this week, after she has had her meeting with the Queen. See if she will share any details of it, anything that might she'd light on what the Wizard Queen is planning… Anything that might safeguard us.”
He looked at her with a sorrowful gaze. “I'm abhorrent to ask this of you, Duchess Bastille, but I believe Duchess Agustria will listen to you, and favour you.”
Resolutely, Altina would respond, "I see. You have never led me astray before, Duke Dadreak. So I will place my trust in you. I will speak with Duchess Agustria."
Altina always had her doubts as to how the Duchess of the Grand Bank viewed her. Haughty? Arrogant? Perhaps a touch deranged? It is undeniable that a nugget of truth could be found in those words. But all of them are masks that Altina chooses to wear, and upon them lay a coating of calculated emotions.
"A ruler must never be caught unaware."
"A ruler must be able to adapt to any situation."
These tenets have stuck with Altina since she first took ownership of her title. From the various attempts at her life, to the various rebellions that arose when she announced her claim to the Agrovian duchy, those lessons would only continue to be reinforced by her life experiences, and she, as a result, would continue to be wary of her conduct in public. Which is why her private persona stands in stark contrast to her public one.
But perhaps unadulterated honesty is what she would need to come to an understanding with the Caelin duchess. Wherever the winds would take her, Altina would abide by Duke Dadreak's pleading.
Duke Grimhand gave a soft smile, staring at the duchess with care, like a father would look at their child.
“You’ll do us proud, Duchess. I know ya will.”
He gave a nod, before turning to the door. “Now, I won't keep you. Better to get some rest. The Duchess needs her beauty sleep, after all.” He said, laughter in his voice.
Hathforth Castle, Royal Bed Chambers
Dressed in silken robes fit for a royal's pajamas, the Wizard Queen sat at her desk, scribbling by candlelight and the low-burning hearth in her bed chambers. There were visible traces of venom in her face, obviously distraught. She had received most troubling news, and now more than ever, she needed to discuss with her right-hand, Safina.
The guards were shuffling uncomfortably outside, privy to the erratic movements within the chambers. Their eyes were open, allowing only one person to pass by - Lady Haliel herself.
The door never opened. The window wasn’t even cracked open. But Safina revealed herself stepping out from the shadows all the same, clearing her throat before kneeling briefly.
”Highness. Reporting.” She’d long since abandoned her finery, switching to her preferred combination of leathers and light chain, various implements of death adorning her person.
Safina rose, patiently waiting for Evelyn to start speaking.
Evelyn turned slightly in her chair, distant amusement in her eyes. ”Your skills will never cease to amaze me, Lady Haliel.”
Before her amusement disappeared, and she swiftly stood from her seat, glancing at the moonlight streaming through the window.
“...They failed.” She said with disgust, frustration evident in her tone. “I wanted to give you an advantage, but alas, you'll be going into this blind.”
The Wizard Queen turned to Lady Haliel, seriousness alight in her white eyes. “I need you to locate Duke Rhinecliff's treasury, and empty it entirely.”
To her credit, Safina barely reacted visibly to the command outside of a single raised eyebrow.
”An entire treasury? A heist of that scale’s a tall order.” She’d done it before, but that was when she had the entire thieves’ guild at her call. Despite their individual refinement, the Concord didn’t have the numbers Safina would have preferred to approach this sort of thing with. ”I’ll tell you right now, I can’t do this with just the Odonfield cell if I want to maintain their cover with the Duke afterward. I’ll need to pull in the veterans from the old days for this sort of job, and they’re scattered across each unit.”
She paused, folding her arms as she cooly observed Evelyn, leaning against the adjacent wall.
”What’s the overarching objective here? Taking a pound of flesh for his unpaid taxes?”
The Wizard Queen clasped her hands behind her back, shifting weight on her heels. “Gathering the right ones for the job is no issue; I can offer my Gateway to speed up the process.”
What many didn't know was how Evelyn’s seed could open a gateway into the Shade, and then open a second portal to wherever she wished in the mortal plane. It was unsafe to travel through the Shade unless you were accompanied by the Wizard Queen, but worked in a pinch to traverse the expanse that was Arrowfell.
Regarding the overarching objective, the Wizard Queen was quiet for a moment, glancing at the floor, before she spoke. “You've heard the rumours. The people are getting restless. They look to the Duke for guidance. If I were to kill him outright, I fear it would only spark the flames of revolution. So I wish to weaken him in as many places as possible, to cripple him so he's in no position to lead these ripples of rebellion.”
Safina nodded at Evelyn’s offer of her Gateway, noting that possibility in her mind before returning to the business at hand. ”All very well and good to preemptively cripple your threats, but I still think you should change your public approach. The commonfolk won’t follow the nobility if you show there’s little to be worried about. Outside of the elves, you’ll outlive everyone else. Patience brings nothing but advantages. Rhinecliff will be in his dotage in twenty years, Bastille in forty. By then, you’ll be in your prime.”
She followed Evelyn’s gaze out the window, her expression turning briefly melancholy. ”We terrified the people by destroying Ludwig so completely. The more time we can buy with a soft touch, the more that fades away. Our opposition is relying on fear of what we can do to galvanize support.” The wistful look faded, Safina returning to her usual all-business deadpan stare.
”If there’s naught else on your end, one last bit of input from myself?”
“Remaining as placid as possible in the public's eye is always at the forefront of my mind, Lady Haliel. You're right, they are no doubt terrified by our power. But…” She sighed. “I need the cities’ loyalty if I want my next plan to bloom into fruition. And I need it sooner than later. If I have to use a third-party, Concord, other mercenary groups, to exact loyalty, then so be it. That way there are no ties to the throne, public-wise. The people won't know.”
She turned to Lady Haliel, her expression soft. “I always seek your advice, Lady Haliel. Please, whatever is on your mind, say it.”
Safina nodded. Her tone turned less business-like, more…lecturing. One would almost detect a hint of wryness.
”Elvish is a poor cipher to use to conceal our activities, you know. Too many people know it, not just elves. And even then, they’re the least trustworthy.”
Evelyn matched Safina's tone, a hint of wryness in her own. “My, my, and here I thought you'd enjoy a ‘secret’ message from my jester.”
She nodded, a finger brushing her chin. “Very well. I'll come up with a new way to speak in court.”
Evelyn's white eyes passed over Safina, head tilting. “I've given you quite the task, Lady Haliel. I won't keep you, if there's anything else you'd like to add…?”
A shake of the elf’s head. ”I’ll begin preparations immediately. You’ll be notified when I’ve need of the gateway. By your leave, Highness.”
The Wizard Queen nodded, raising a hand in a dismissive manner. “All-force guide you, Lady Haliel. You may leave.”
Rumors on the Wind
[@everyone]
Rumors spread faster than the tide through the coming days of the province of Arrowfell. Soon it was known in each city a terrible, grievous news.
Nathan, Gwyneth, Roland Corrin and the household of the Corrin Estate were all found dead in their chambers, stabbed to death. The killer left no magical or physical trace.
Some believe this is a ploy by the Queen to exact her will in the rebellious Tarin city and surrounding territory. Others believe this is an unknown force meant to disturb the chaotic balance of power in the province.
Only one thing is for sure, though. There is a city in need of a duke or duchess, and many lesser nobles are vying for favour with the Wizard Queen to be chosen to rule the city.
Letters of Destiny
Throughout the week, wherever certain ‘selected’ nobles were located, certain letters would reach them. Rolled parchment, sealed with a respective seal of their bearers. Some had the seal of the Wizard Queen in red wax, while others had the seal of the King of Ravenfell in black wax.
The letters sent by courier or raven are documented below.
Finally, the day had come. The Wizard Queen walked down the pier, surrounded on all sides by royal guardsmen. She was dressed in a regal black dress, her hair braided back with flowers, and her crown atop her head.
In front of her was her third-largest ship, the Battle-Blood Minstrel. A ship she was proud of, layered with three decks of cannons on either side, and a 150-man crew. Usually reserved for warfare, she had requested her naval fleet prepare it for her excursion to Athius. Better to be safe than sorry, these days.
She boarded the ship, making her way to the raised quarter deck, standing beside the captain and helmsman. Her eyes drifted over the busy deck, where sailors were moving supplies to their designated places and preparing the ship for departure later that day.
Her eyes moved further down the pier, where nine other ships, about half the size of her flagship, hosted about fifty men each, and made silar preparations for their voyage.
Lastly, her gaze returned to the pier, where fishermen and citizens moved about their daily business. She was waiting, expectant. She had informed Lord Blackthorne she wished for his presence, seeing as the request she’d given had been completed. As well as his new apprentice. She had heard they were getting along swimmingly, and daren’t separate them.
It would be all hands on deck this time around, she anticipated, and would need her strongest allies with her for these next coming days.
Lady Haliel, she was loathe to part with, but the Wizard Queen knew not to disturb her loyal companion for the task she had given her. Stealing the treasury from under Duke Rhinecliff’s nose was no easy feat, after all.
The Wizard Queen smiled at the thought, eyes turning to take in the sky, feeling on top of the world.
There was a large plaza with market stalls selling fresh catches of the day, produce, and the like. It bustled with people, the smell of the sea in the air, One could see, at the back of the plaza, the raised platform with a chopping block, covered in old blood. However, this detail was pointedly ignored.
One could almost miss the carriage that made its way down the main ‘street’ of the plaza, with its end reaching the pier.
The door opened, and two small nobles got out. Of course, the wide-eyed Skybound siblings, coming at the request of their Queen. They had a feeling the Queen would have a few choice words for them, and one could easily see the trepidation in their faces.
The viscounts and their single guard made way for the pier, eyes on the magnificent Battle-Blood Minstrel.
Hathforth Castle Dungeons
Below the throne room, below the guard barracks, there lay a sprawling complex of cells in the damp darkness. Down a long, narrow corridor lit by torchlight, was a cell filled with a new occupant.
Duke Willowsteel sat against the stone, hands chained to the wall. He had been stripped down to his tunic undershirt and trousers, evidence of whip lashes cutting through the cloth to marr the skin below. He sat there limply, a blank, distant look on his face.
From the small hole behind and above him, sunlight shone through. He had counted the days. And he knew… today was the last. At evening, he would be executed at the public chopping block, in front of the plaza and the pier. In front of the commonfolk of Hathforth, and any nobles who cared enough to watch.
Sev grumbled, dry spitting on the floor to the side of him. Damn them. Damn them all.
There he waited, expecting nothing but his death in naught but a few hours.
The Province of Ravenfell, Capital-City of Arthroyeaux, Athroyeaux Castle, Throne Room
[@everyone invited]
The mountainous city of Arthroyeaux, seated near the coast and covered in a thin layer of snow. Snow didn't really stick here due to the presence of warm winds from the sea, but it did provide a cool atmosphere against the rocks.
The city would appear like a ghost town if one wasn't careful with how they looked. Of course, it was difficult to see the spectral beings moving here and there at a languid pace. Not a physical being resided in the kingdom, not even the urban fauna were exempt from the King's magic.
The dark castle loomed over the city, fitted and etched into the mountains surrounding the city. It was a lonely, winding carriage ride all the way to the top, across the bridges, to make it into the courtyards.
King Lamont DuFairre sat in the center of an impressive throne room, dark colors casting a shade of intimidation over his haunting, ethereal form. He was clothed in a draped hood, cloak, and armour, red light gleaming off his gauntlets as he sat on his throne.
As he reclined, his hooded visage stared at the entrance to his throne room, expectant. But as still as the dead. He had all the time in the world to wait for those he invited, after all.
Spectral attendants hovered around him, wearing similar dark robes. Besides them, the castle appeared as if it were a ghost town. Haunted, and cold.
Upon Valor's mention of a certain monarch, a flash of recognition came to Melisande, the real one.
King DuFairre... so, this is not a test of loyalty by the Wizard-Queen after all.
Why does it not surprise me that the masked mortal's allegiance lies with the spectre-king? Heh, a new society, 'Enlightened', as expected coming from the monarch who sought to imitate the Shadelings' timeless and ethereal existence. His hubris may just be a match for the human-elf queen.
You speak truth, Kronos. The Duke, the Wizard Queen, and now, the Spectre King. We shall see who shall be left after the dust settles...
"..." As Valor left, Kronos decided it'd be best to keep its silence. For now, they'd simply follow the decision of the Court Mage.
--Hathforth - Workshop--
For the next seven days, Melisande focused on the Seed Grafting project with a devotion that'd rival a dwarven craftsman. Together with her half-elven mentor, she analyzed each nodule of the seeds and meticulously weaved them to join together in harmony, so they might become one, a single Seed, more powerful than the sum of its parts. Finally, she'd employ her mastery of time and space to carefully hasten or hinder certain reactions as appropriate, enabling the project to be completed by the deadline instead of the months it'd have required.
In order to accomplish this delicate task, Melisande didn't have the time to humor hearsays and rumors, fortunately, Kronos could handle such matters via the Simulacrum. The Dremora vowed to keep them safe until it could return home, this was one of its ways to keep that promise.
Apparently, one Duke Willowsteel made a fool out of himself at the gala, one severe enough to land himself in the chopping block, while a whole noble house, the Corrins, found themselves murdered at the hands of an unknown party. Even when there was no open conflict, truly, the life of royalty and nobility wasn't for the faint of hearts.
Finally, on the night of the seventh day, a multi-colored gem shone brilliantly in the Arcane Wing's workshop, the magical stone brimming with mystical power as its magic circuits flowed with perfect harmony. The power to traverse even the most treacherous water with the agility rivaling Princess Azalea's kin was made manifest, for good or ill...
--Hathforth - Harbor--
At the promised day, Her Majesty Evelyn's commission wouldn't arrive via the pier, instead, a ripple in space spawned a few feet away to her side, followed by the formation of an archway-shaped portal. If Evelyn turned her gaze there, she'd see her court mage and his apprentice, and behind them, their workshop.
The Lilim's power over space-time ensured no unauthorized parties could even have the chance to pilfer the Amalgamated Seed mid-transit.
As Melisande was assigned the task of handling the portal, Eirwen would be the one who'd present the Wizard-Queen her prize, her means to - as the Ghost-King would claim - 'summon a monster from the deep'.
By the express permission from the Spectre King himself, a tear in space-time formed at the centre of the throne-hosting hall before it took the shape of a glowing archway, one that connected this place to somewhere else far away. The portal heralded the arrival of one Melisande Tearmoon, even though the young chronomancer was supposedly in her workshop at Hathforth, miles upon miles away to the south of Ravenfell. Yet, here she was, the Lilim herself, in the... flesh.
However, to those gifted with the proper supernatural senses, they'd be able to notice the palpable, almost opaque, shadow oozing off the young girl. The presence she carried wasn't the mystical whims of the Feywilds, instead the foreboding twilight of the Shade.
How adorable...
Kronos couldn't help but allow the subtlest of smirk to curl at the corner of the Simulacrum's lips as the Dimension Door closed behind it. These... pale imitations of Shadekin, former mortals seeking to become something they're not, look at what they must do to mimic but a fraction of the Shadeborne's timeless existence.
Chuckling mentally, the Dremora of Time stepped forward toward the obsidian throne where the Ghost-King sat waiting. As it did, the already dim ambience of the hall seemed to darken even more. Indeed, that was probably due to the candles set by the throne inexplicably snuffing out, as if invisible umbral hands robbed them of their warmth. By the time 'Melisande' arrived before the sovereign of Ravenfell, there was no more red light to reflect off his vambraces.
"Your Majesty King Lamont DuFairre of Ravenfell, I am Melisande of the Tearmoon Coven, here as invited by your subject." Melisande's visage smiled politely as she gave a curtsy, though the umbral being puppeteering the simulacrum was grinning from ear-to-ear. It toyed with the idea that Lamont knew that it knew that he could sense the Dremora's presence, but regardless, the masquerade must be maintained.
Perhaps there's indeed fun to be had in the mortal world... Perhaps, its kin's obsession with the material plane had merits after all...
It was nearing a full week since Duke Willowsteel had been thrown into the darkness of Hathforth's dungeons. Only a handful of days remained before his execution.
Sev sat soberly in a dimly lit cell, barely enough room to sit on the dirty floor, chamberpot and haystack bed to either side. Magelight lit the hallway outside, down a nearly endless corridor of cells before one would reach the guard station, where a guard sat staring at the only door and flight of stairs out of this hellhole.
Time ticked on slowly, yet faster than the tide, as Willowsteel contemplated his death.
The door to the dungeon creaked open, the crack just wide enough for a vintage bottle of wine to extend outwards, followed by the gloved hand that held it, the arm that connected to that hand, and finally, the man to whom the arm belonged to.
Duke Rhinecliff, a somber expression in his face. Within the dim light of the cell, there was nothing that could reflect off the lenses, and thus, nothing that could mask the mixture of disappointment and sadness in his dark eyes.
“Duke Willowsteel, though I wish it were not the case, the Wizard-Queen appears set on making an example out of you.”
Sev looked up, watching the hand, then rest of the form that entered his cell. His eyes widened, before settling, and he remained where he sat against the wall, gesturing to the cell.
“The All-force is kind today, the great Duke Rhinecliff graces my humble abode. I'd offer you something to drink, but…” His eyes hovered on the bottle Duke Rhinecliff had, before he fell silent, and looked away.
“Whatever the Wizard Queen wants, she gets. I have no regrets. But alas, my death won't matter much. They'll put in a puppet in the city of Nordor, and life will go on as normal…”
He side eyed the duke. “...Why are you really here, Duke Rhinecliff?”
“Is there any grand reason I need to visit the son of a departed friend?”
He had been young back when the former Duke of Nordor mustered his armies to encroach upon Odonfield’s territories. War and politicking had been the only methods with which the power-hungry dukes could truly meet with one another, but despite the blood that was shed, that Duke Willowsteel had been upright and straightforward. A proudly human warrior, so opposed to the inhuman ties that sank into the foundations of House Rhinecliff. It was always interesting, that vice and virtue were of the same coin, that qualities could at once be detestable and admirable. They waged war and exchanged poetry.
He sat down upon the floor, taking only a moment to arrange his coattails before he did. The bottom of the bottle clacked against the rough-hewn stone as Laurent placed it against the ground. “It is unlike you to have no regrets,” he spoke. “And you know as well as I that what is ‘normal’ is degrading as the years go on.”
“Only trying to be optimistic as a dead man can, Duke Rhinecliff.” Sev answered gruffly.
Only two years had passed, but where would Nordor be in three? Four? With a ruler more pliant to the Wizard-Queen’s taxes? Where would House Willowsteel be, their sons and daughters ousted from their inheritance? And all over a bottle of wine.
“Has the noble’s burden become unbearable for you, Sev?”
Sev was quiet for a moment as the two sat together in a quiet cell. He had yet to be tortured for his ‘crimes,’ and he knew he had yet to die for them.
It all just seemed… unfair. And it had been unfair for a long time.
”...My father said the people of Nordor were once proud, chipper, and happy under the banner of King Ludwig II. I, however, have seen their transformation into loud, rowdy blade clashers that throw their temper into petty fights and wine.”
He sighed, before raising his head to look at the duke. He looked like a man who had run out of options. ”I am a man that would set himself ablaze to make change for his people, and be ultimately forgotten. But abandoning my duties…” He shook his head. ”My father tried to teach me better than that.”
He leaned back, resting his head against the stone wall. ”Perhaps my death will be the spark to light the rebellion's heart in the people of the East…”
“The world isn’t such a romantic place,” Laurent replied. “Everyone enjoyed the peace brought by King Ludwig’s reign, but where was revenge when an outsider slew him and claimed his throne?”
Twenty years, and many of the old guard had disappeared, leaving only those who were children during those violent years. Children with no opportunity to test themselves in that bloodstained crucible. Where was wealth enough to raise their armies? Where was conviction enough to fight for the future? The Duke of Odonfield narrowed his eyes incrementally, irises black in the darkness of the dungeon.
“House Corrin is gone.”
He let that linger in the air.
“And rather than question it, the vultures flock to the Queen, hoping for a slice of that land before the bodies have cooled. They will do the same to you and yours, no doubt. Evelyn is mustering an army; with the weight of your crimes as justification, it will be your people who will bolster her vanguard.”
Sev's heart froze at that knowledge, baring his teeth in the semi-darkness. ”House Corrin…”
Immediately, his mind raced with possibilities of who. Immediately, he thought of the Wizard Queen. But, being a man full of conspiracies and no proof, what good were his words?
Getting slapped with the additional knowledge that the Wizard Queen was amassing an army caused the duke to utter profanities under his breath.
He and his people were dealt with a losing hand, no matter which way he turned.
Sev gritted his teeth, shaking his head. ”Then I have failed my people, and let my own foolishness run my mouth. I… I was tired of waiting for change that may never come.”
A weak laugh left him. “Then I deserve to be here.”
A severity descended upon Laurent.
“Rhinecliff endures, no matter the change of the tides.”
Duke Rhinecliff stood up, leaving the bottle of wine just within range of the prisoner’s grasp.
“But I see that this generation of Willowsteel is more the former than the latter.”
Sev couldn't bring himself to speak, feeling humiliation color him, just from a sentence spoken from Duke Rhinecliff's lips.
He watched him leave.
And the door shut behind him, leaving Sev alone a bottle of the accursed wine. Sev stared hard, his glare willing the bottle to rend asunder.
He'd never drink again.
The next time one of the guards came by to check on Sev, they instead found their throat sliced with a piece of the shattered wine bottle. Sev made his way all the way to the barracks, where he killed two more guardsmen, before one guard cast a magical net, trapping Sev.
He was beaten and lashed before being returned to his cell, his clothes turned to tattered rags, and his hands bound to the chains on the wall, left without food for the remainder of his days…
Laurent had been smiling as he closed the door to the dungeon.
He had offered the prison guard an extra coin and carried himself with light steps up the dungeon stairs. There was no mistaking it: the man was in a good mood.
Flames burnt out, but ash made for good fertilizer.
No matter what end befell Willowsteel, Rhinecliff will benefit.
