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Lunamaria Hawke
Dremora's Shade
@Estylwen
"Dremora's Shade. The Otherworld. Where shades of all types and designs live and reside."
'Dremora's Shade?' Anton looked around them, 'It's a little less shady than I imagined.'
“The birds you saw are called Feathered Nightmares. They like to stick in groups, and have a close connection with certain humans. Most would consider them a curse - they eat human years, after all.”
Anton perked up at that last point she made on them, his eyes a little wider. 'Well,' Anton began afterward, relaxing a little, 'All things considered, they were rather cordial.' It hadn't been the first time Anton had wandered into a situation of the supernatural so ignorantly and emerged unscathed, though he wish it weren't such an occurrence.
He continued to follow Ryllae, glancing about the Shade with a newfound curiosity. He had heard tales, of course, but the only people who spoke of the Shade were god-fearing men of the All-Force. And very oft, they told their tales very VERY loudly. Something something demons. Something something root of all evil.
But perhaps it was good to have one such perspective in mind. Anton watched as glimmering petals skittered past his eye line, and his inherent expectations of the Shade washed away. It was beautiful, in truth. But then Anton wondered if this was but one aspect of the Shade.
Ryllae's footsteps slowed to a stop. They were in the center of the glimmering field now, just near the portal of the Fairy Gate. Tiny shades peeped out from the grasses, eyeing them. Ryllae paid them no mind, though, and so Anton paid them no mind either. Ryllae turned to him, and with that small smile on her face, she presented the box and its key to Anton, bowing her head respectfully.
”Your Seeds, my Lord. You'll be able to do your transaction with Duke Rhinecliff and his representative effectively now.”
Anton bowed his head respectfully in turn, as he lifted the burden of the key and chest from Ryllae.
'My sincere thanks, Miss Evoek,' Anton thanked, 'for this, and the experience. It has been quite illuminating.' He cast a look to the lavender horizon one more time, eyes passing over the white thicket in the distance.
He then wondered something- a flicker of vain hope- but kept it to himself.
Anton turned back to Ryllae, beckoning for her to lead on once more as they went back through the Fairy Gate.
The Smiling Monkey, Odenfield, Later that Evening
Anton sat, cross-legged, in his room quietly. Syl and Melodia had taken to their own rooms on either side of his. The chest was tucked safely away, and the key in his pocket. Anton had then stripped himself of his armour and changed back into his plainclothes, before taking the moments of respite he had to collect himself and compose what he was going to say.
Only one candle was lit in the darkness of his room, sitting on the dresser in front of him. Anton needed only to focus on the flicker of the candlelight and tune out the faint din of the tavern bellow. He took a deep breath, and watched as the flame curled and danced in the slight draft sighing beneath the crack of his closed door. As he focused, he cast his mind through the fire like it were a window.
It took him back to Marceilles, his anchor. From it, two days ride to the west was the Rosen City of Kings: Athroyeaux. Up the steps and into the White Palace, he could see in its vast and empty hall the Throne of Ravenfell at the end. The red-and-gold of the throne was draped with black-and-white, the colours of House DuFairre. In its nestle, King Lamont sat. Not in his shaded ruin, but in the glory of his prime when they were younger.
For the purposes of this spell, it mattered not. All that mattered was that it was the same person. And Anton always imagined it like this- it brought him small comfort.
Lamont, I have found new allies. Rhinecliff is my next point of call.
Anton held onto the vision for a few moments longer, but knew better than to expect a response. Lamont and the White Palace melted away into oblivion. Left in it's place was the Ghost King and his forlorn court, just before it all faded away.
Anton was back in his room once more. The candle had been snuffed by the draft, leaving him in darkness save for the light creeping beneath his closed door. His hand clutched the White Flower as his heart sagged with sorrow, and he could not tell which of the two was heaviest. He resigned himself and retired to his rest for the night.
