Crispy Octopus — Roleplayer Guild

THIS IS A QUETZALCOATL POST

Altairis, Olarth’s Capital In The Yllendyr Crownlands

A day had passed since her conversation with the Emperor, and Mara had yet to leave the room she’d been given.  She’d accepted the breakfast a servant had brought without enthusiasm, but otherwise hadn’t moved from the bed she was now splayed out on.  It hadn’t even occurred to her to turn on the lights.  On some level she understood that the Weavers would be arriving soon, and that she’d have to submit a report on what Olarth had told her, but that was a distant concern; it had no bearing on the thoughts that raced through her mind, nor did it rouse her from her lethargy.  The future was not what consumed her attentions.

Yesterdays revelations had cast her adrift, and through she’d raged upon learning Naerzo, the man who’d built the empire she idolized, was a monster, all she could do now was reflect.  Reflect and regret.  She regretted her outburst in front of Olarth, and moreover she regretted that briefest of moments where she’d been tempted to call the Emperor a liar to his face.  It had been fleeting, a single impulse among many, but where she scarcely remembered the myriad of other things she’d thought while speaking to Olarth, the memory of that compulsion lingered.  How foolish was she, to love a man she’d never met, to the point where she’d nearly defended him to his own son?

It was a thought that shamed her.  Her cheeks reddened and, as if looking for a distraction from that line of thinking, she glanced at the clothes she’d hung on the opposite wall.  She’d shed her dress at some point, but it had never left her sight, hanging on the wall as it was.  Even in the thick of her rage, her confusion after hearing Olarth’s words, she’d taken care to keep that dress pristine.  Oh she’d considered tearing it apart, in fact even now she longed to, but she didn’t.  It was a product of the Empire in a way that nothing else she owned was, it could not have existed without the Imperium.  Without Naerzo.  If she truly regretted all she’d believed, why hadn’t she destroyed it?  Somewhere, below the chaos of her current state of mind, she knew that for all her beliefs had been faulty she wasn’t yet prepared to abandon them.  She wasn’t ready to crawl back to her father.

Her father.  Years of arguments came back to her, accusations and demands.  How could she undermine him so, how was she so blind as to ignore the shackles the Emperor had put on her people?  All the things he’d said, she was forced to reconsider.  She regretted fighting with him, siding with his rivals, being cast out of her home.  She missed him, she missed her family, and yet...  Even now, as she was realizing, she didn’t agree with her fathers beliefs; she didn’t support a return to brutality of her grandfathers time.  Did that make everything he’d said wrong though? She’d unflinchingly argued the enlightened principles of the Yllendyr, of the Emperor that led them, and now she realized she’d done nothing but drive a wedge between her and her family for the sake of delusional, cruel, old tyrant.  She might never agree with her father, but she understood him now.  She saw how asinine her obstinate refusal to see any evil in the Elves had been.  Still, that didn’t justify her own peoples evil.  The dead Emperor had done wicked things in the name of prejudice, her father would do them in the name of tradition.

She still loved her father, but she was not the only one that had tarnished that relationship.  Had she the chance to go back in time maybe she’d not have fought him as viciously as she did, and maybe he would have been kinder in return, but Mara still believed that the old ways of her people were wrong, and that the Imperium had done something good in forcing the Harpies to change.  Naerzo was dead, his empire lived, and if even the cruel old corpse had done a good thing, then what could Olarth accomplish?  Mara had doubts about him, suspicions fuelled by a new found and frightening skepticism of the Yllendyr, but he had told her the truth. 

The Weavers would be coming with their radio soon, and Mara knew what she would say in her report.

The City Of Paprean, The Old Forest

Ena had been in a foul mood for days now, ever since Mara had been sent away.  She hadn’t so much as spoken a word regarding her daughters ‘assignment’ to him, and she’d been as cordial as could be expected in public, but while they were alone Temar’s wife had taken ever opportunity she could to demonstrate her fury without making an argument out of it.  He’d hoped she’d calm down before they discussed the issue, but as Temar entered his home and saw Ena looming in the hallway he knew his wife had finally worked herself up to the confrontation they’d both known was inevitable.

It began, predictably, with an indignant shout, “I can’t accept this Temar! How could you!  Our own daughter!”

Temar always tried to project an air of calm, but while he didn’t shout the tension that immediately entered his voice was indicative enough of his feeling regarding the question, “How could I?  I am the Chief, how could I not?  How many times have I told that girl to restrain herself, how many times has she defied me?  Much more and I’ll be a laughing stock, in my own city!”

“So that’s it?”  Ena fumed, “You sent your daughter into a war for the sake of your reputation?  Where did my husband go, Temar, or is all that’s left of him a coward?”

It was an assertion designed to nettle, and nettle it did.  Temar made no effort to restrain the volume of his reply, “A coward!?  Is that what you think of me Ena?  I’m a coward to do what had to be done to hold onto this house, to keep you, and yes, her safe?  Do you really think those bastards Mara calls ‘friends’ would be kind to us if they had their way, be kind to her?  If Umar took my title do you think he’d hesitate to exile us!?”

Ena all but exploded, “Safe!  With the Elves!  They are at war you old vulture, war.  What happened to those stories your father liked to tell us?  Have you forgotten what war means to the Elves, have you forgotten why you took the stance you did?  Why you and Mara fought to begin with!”

They were inches from each other now, and Temar could see the genuine fear behind his wife’s fury.  The sight was too much for him to shout in her face, to truly defend his actions, he only irritably muttered, “Altairis is as far from the front line as any city in the Yllendyr’s lands.  She’ll be fine, safe, with the Emperor the silly girl says she loves.”

Ena lowered her voice, but her tone was sharp, “Oh if she’s with the Emperor then.  I guess she’ll be the last to die, when the southern Emperor falls.”

Temar balked, but managed to voice a meek retort, “She’ll fly away long before then, she’ll see the Elves for what they are Ena, she’ll finally understand what those carrion eaters she associated with are trying to accomplish.  She won’t stay, not when she knows.”

“When she knows,”  Ena shook her head, “When she knows what Temar?  That you were right?  You two have argued too long for her to ever accept that, and we both know she’ll not abandon her duty, she got that from you.  Your stubbornness.  You have to nominate another at the next consensus Temar, bring our girl home before its too late.”

Temar couldn’t find a reply to that.  He couldn’t think of one in all the time he spent looking after Ena had turned her back and strode into the depths of the house.

Heartwood, Capital Of The Old Forest

Some Days Later.

Temar stepped into the Great Hall of Heartwood with an outward confidence that belied the anxiety that had gripped him ever since his argument with Ena.  He hated to admit it, but the woman was right.  Mara wouldn’t run even when she saw the true nature of the Elves.  She had a duty as an ambassador of the forest, and she wouldn’t betray that; not like he’d betrayed his duty as a father by sending his only child into a situation he knew all too well the reality of.

Oh he was sure the so called ‘reformists’ would use his recommendation Mara be replaced by a more qualified ambassador to further subvert him.  Maybe Mara would even help them when she got back.  It hurt that she’d turned on him, that she’d sided with the very people who’d steal Temar’s city and slander his name, but if he lost her...  Just the thought made him sick.  For all their differences she was his daughter, his only child, and the thought of her dying was as nauseating as it was incomprehensible.  Damn it all, he had no choice.

The rest of the assembled took their places in the vast room, and as always the oldest of the Dryads, Shaetarae, spoke before the rest of the consensus, “In the name of the Forest I convene this meeting of the consensus of Greater Beings.  As you all know we have gathered so that you may share the results of your efforts to safeguard the Forest, and to hear the first report of our new ambassador to the southern Emperor of the Elves.”

Temar straightened at that, he had not known Mara had moved so quickly to Altairis as to have a report ready for the consensus already.  He wanted nothing more than to hear it, but he hadn’t the authority to demand it come before the perfunctory reports of the other Greater Beings; his people had suffered greatly for bringing the Yllendyr to the forest.  They had not been expelled from the consensus, but these days even the Weavers words carried greater weight.

It was no small blessing that the reports on the status of the Forests defensive preparations were delivered concisely by the assembled with something to say.  In truth it was a miracle not a single argument broke out.  It seemed everyone agreed on the necessity of what was being done, and moreover the impression Temar got was that nearly every one of the assembled would rather get back to their tasks than waste time here.

He could sympathize, of course.  Between myriad of status updates on the border fortifications and reports on factory and tooling conversions Temar was exhausted and frustrated by the time Mara’s report was read by Shaetarae.  Of course, the moment the Dryad spoke he perked up and listened intently, “Very well, it seems none of you have been idle.  This is good.  Now, our Ambassador has delivered a...  Disturbing report.”

Temar’s stomach dropped, but the Dryad didn’t seem to notice, or care about, the expression of horror that momentarily crossed his face and continued impassively, “Mara of Paprean has informed us of a most distressing tale conveyed to her by the Emperor Olarth regarding his brother Ecurir and the former Emperor Narzo.”

What followed was a story that drove nearly every Harpy in the room into a frenzy.  Temar’s chest burned with rage, and vindication.  The divisions between the Harpies present were unlikely to be mended by this alone, but the details of the story, and the fact Mara had conveyed it, was enough to unify the fractious people for now. 

As soon as Shaetarae finished relaying Mara’s recommendation to support Olarth’s bid for Emperor, Temar cried out, “This is intolerable!  My daughter is right, we must have vengeance.  This Olarth may help us get it, but even so I demand we recall my daughter, I won’t have her in the court of someone who shares the same blood as that monster in the north.  Regardless of their intentions.”

The room froze.  Temar had the backing of nearly every Harpy in the room, but that counted for little.  Shaetarae’s gaze narrowed, “That is not your decision, child.  Know your place.”

Her voice quieted the Harpies as it seemed to reverberate in the very roots and trunks that made made up the floor and walls.  Temar shivered, but forged ahead, “She is my daughter, it is nobody's decision but mine.  As for vengeance, my people must have it.  Even if you deny us, we will take things into our own hands, Dryad.”

He had no assurance of that, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter.  The Harpies behind him certainly didn’t object to his words, regardless of their feelings about Temar as a chief.  Shaetarae strode towards him slowly, but with a fierce look in her eyes, “You sent your daughter away, and in the doing you surrendered your right to control her fate, little Harpy.  She is an agent of the Forest now, and it will be the Forest that decides when she may leave her post.”

There were a foot apart when Temar opened his mouth, only to find a root had separated from the floor and begun to choke him in an instant.  His support dissolved as the other Harpies exchanged panicked glances and nervously backed away as every Dryad in the room began to glare at them, barely restrained violence in the wooden women's eyes.  The very walls of the Great Hall seemed to vibrate as the magic of the Dryads awakened something in the living wood of the building. 

Shaetarae didn’t appear to care as Temar struggled to breath with the root wrapped around his neck all but lifting him off the ground.  The ancient Dryads speech continued unabated, “And vengeance?  With your own hands?  You and your people seem to have forgotten the oaths they made.  You will follow the laws of the Forest, or you will not live to see yourself leave it.”

The root snapped back into the floor and Temar collapsed, grasping at his throat.  Shaetarae only frowned at him, “Leave, Temar of Paprean.  Perhaps when you next visit Heartwood you and your people will remember you participate in the consensus at the leisure of we who have permitted you to do so.”

There was nothing else to say, not that Temar was in a position to say it.  His throat had already begun to bruise when a number of other Harpies carried him out of the great hall.  His people followed him, each one departing with sour, indignant expressions.  Of course, even in shock as he was, Temar saw the fear behind the masks the Harpies struggled to keep in place.  The Dryads had never threatened a resident of the forest, nor raised a hand against them.  Not once in living memory.

He was terrified, and he was not alone.  

The Deep Wild, The Old Forest

Ena had spent the previous day tending to her injured husband, and fending off the flurry of questions that had been directed at her and him in the aftermath of the disastrous meeting of the consensus.  The forest was in an uproar, and from what she knew it wasn’t just her people that were scrambling to understand just what had happened in Heartwood and why; even the Weavers had made inquired as to whether Temar was well enough to speak with their Matriarch.  Ena didn’t know what to make of that.

Of course, at the end of it all, all she cared about was her Husband, and her daughter.  The Dryads had refused to even consider recalling Mara, and with what Ena had heard about the story her daughter had delivered to the consensus, she was terrified for her little girl. 

Which was why she was here now, in a place known only to Harpy chiefs, and occasionally their wives.  There was nothing to mark the spot in the forest she landed, it was simply a tiny clearing in a seemingly endless expanse of trees, but as soon as she did Ena found herself surrounded by other Harpies.  The others were odd, each one dressed in black flying clothes and covered in jewelry of every kind.  

They might have looked peculiar to an outsider, even savage given the macabre nature of some of their ornaments, but any Hapry would know exactly who they were.  The Sky Witches.  Rarely were they seen outside of religious ceremonies, and in the last decades there had been few enough of those that they had acquired an almost mystical status.

They made no effort to greet her, she was not a chief, but nevertheless Ena spoke, “I come to make a request, children of the spirits, recipients of the pact.”

A wrinkled woman, for they were all women, stepped forward from the circle of Witches that had surrounded Ena, she rasped, “You have no right to request something of us, you are not your Husband.  You are not a chief.  We owe you nothing.”

Ena did her best to look unaffected by the statement, but worry crept its way onto her face regardless, “I know, I know, but please.  Temar is injured, he cannot come, but I speak on his behalf.  I beseech you, please send some of your number to Altaris.  My daughter is in danger.  She needs you, your protection.”

Ena was about to continue, to tell the Witches of all that had transpired, but the old woman held up her hand and Ena faltered.  The elder eyed Ena appraisingly before speaking, “Yes, we know where your daughter is, Ena of Paprean.  We know what task she has been entrusted, and we know how your husband came to suffer the wrath of the Dryads.  We will do as you ask, we will uphold the pact.”

With that the mysterious women retreated into the forest without another word, and Ena was left alone in the woods.  She nearly shouted her thanks at the trees.
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