op2024
Andre Valias
Estylwen
ScreenAcne
The Otter
Fetzen
Noctis
Izurich
Lildear18
Duchess Altina Freya Bastille, The "Valkyrie"
At an undisclosed location in the township of Dinbevin, date unknown
IV: Smoldering Embers
As the carriage slowed to a stop, Altina couldn’t help but wonder where the duke had taken her. Curiously, they were in a corner of Arrowfell that the duchess was unfamiliar with: the town of Dinbevin. Altina occasionally exchanged pleasantries with its viscount during the Wizard Queen’s many galas, but her interactions with the man were largely superficial.
The duchess cast a careful eye on her surroundings. Never mind being in uncharted territory, even this sector of Dinbevin seemed to be particularly isolated from the rest of society. Surely the duke did not intend to do her harm here? Better yet, dispose of her here even! It would make for the perfect place, after all. She briefly giggled at the thought, realizing its frivolity, before inevitably letting it fade into aether.
In front of Altina stood a modest cabin. From the tell-tale signs of rust on its eaves to the noticeable splinters on its wood, it was no doubt starting to show its age. Nevertheless, it still seemed serviceable enough for habitation. Altina was all too accustomed to fancy manses and pristine furnishings. Perhaps being stripped of such luxuries would offer a refreshing change of pace.
The door would swing open, the creaking of its hinge sounding like crickets in summer. As for the survivor the duke mentioned, she would soon make herself known.
“Ah, if it isn’t the three-faced Duchess of Agrovia,” the black-haired woman spat as Altina entered her visual periphery. “To what do I owe this displeasure?” Her contempt for Altina was evident from the way she spoke. Respect? Courtesy? Her words utterly lacked them.
Altina stared blankly before allowing a glimpse of a smirk to overtake her expression. “Islara Yelren, friend to the late Roland Corrin.” A sympathetic look, bordering on pity, would form on her face. “I am so very sorry for what has happened.” She glanced at the woman’s arm, which was haphazardly bandaged, dried blood still on the fabric. The wound must have still been relatively fresh. She continued, “The misfortune that has befallen the Corrin family is not a something would wish upon anyone.”
“Spare me your feigned condolence, snake.” Again, words as cold as steel. “I know you and your ilk well. You are not here to commiserate.” Islara rose from her chair, inching closer to Altina. “So, what do you want?” She gripped the dagger sheathed upon her knee. “If you attempt to so much as deceive me, Duchess, you can consider your life forfeit.” The blade would be lifted from its casing, momentarily brandished, before being retracted with a vigorous shing.
“Oh? Such nerve! And from an injured woman, no less. I commend your confidence.” Altina was unmoved, her smirk growing ever larger. A mocking smirk it was. But Altina knew the toll grief could take on one’s mind. She would not abuse the woman with her antics any longer.
“You are right, Miss Islara.” Finally, a straightforward answer from the Agrovian duchess. “I have little interest in consoling you.” The lilt in her voice would vanish, replaced by a fitting gravitas. “I seek to pose a question…” She leaned closer. “... And a proposition.”
She paced around the room, her stride one of leisure. “Firstly, Miss Islara, if you might indulge me… What happened that fateful day?”
The black-haired assassin fell silent.
Unbeknownst to the duchess, a lie detection magic was at work. And from it, Islara could detect no falsehoods. So, she would answer the duchess’ question truthfully. “They were cowards, the lot of them.” The clenching of teeth. “They came under the guise of peace-making on the Queen’s behalf. Yet, when it came time to show their true colors…” A swelling of emotions. “They would strike at us while our backs were turned!” Her cold exterior had now melted. Altina could sense her anger, which burned through her fair skin. It was visceral. Primal. The Corrins must have been cherished companions.
“I will have the Wizard Queen’s head.” An oath, sworn. “She will be put down before more lives are lost.”
And in the face of such resolve, Altina would break out in laughter.
“You?! A cripple?! Have the Wizard Queen’s head?!” She hissed in between heaves of air. “Even Miss Britesong has not told a joke with as much hilarity as that!”
She would mock the woman further, “Do you yearn to be reunited with your beloved that badly? If so, well, go on then! Storm the Hathforth demesne! Orchestrate your bloody requiem! But it would not be the Wizard Queen who would be losing her head.”
“Insolent bitch! How dare you!” Equipped with her dagger, Islara rushed forward.
…
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Altina would catch the blade’s edge, wrapping her palm around it. “Sev Willowsteel, a well-meaning man. Respectable, if not brash. You’ve heard what is to become of him, yes?” She would pull Islara closer, still gripping the blade. “The Corrins. Nobles beloved by the common folk. With hearts of gold, they simply sought the betterment of their realm. Their only blunder? They opposed a tyrant with virtue and honor.” A whisper. “You know very well what their fates were. Good people, mercilessly slain by evil.”
Crack.
The blade would shatter in her hand. Releasing the assassin from her grasp, “Do not mindlessly throw your life away, Islara.” The pieces of the dagger were now as bread crumbs on the floor.
Altina would speak again. “A revolution is on the horizon, my friend! And I wish for you to be alive to see it.”
At last, the proposition would escape her lips. “Ally with me. With Duke Rhinecliff. Alone, you will die a pointless death. But with cooperation from entire cities, you may yet have the Wizard Queen’s head.” A vicious grin. “I will grant you the boon of personally severing it clean from her body.”
Islara could not muster so much as an objection. And not for a lack of trying. Speechless she was of the fact that the duchess would willingly bring harm to herself. Especially considering she could have just as easily dodged the blade. Injured and still obviously on the mend, Islara was in no condition to fight. Either way, the bizarreness of it all would confirm one thing to her: the duchess was more than just a bitch. She was crazy.
Still, her offer to join forces would not fall on deaf ears.
As Islara's head began to clear, she could see the merits of an alliance with the Duchess. Having ties with the Agrovian duchess would also mean having ties with the city of Rockhold. Not only that, the Duke of Odonfield himself would be the one to rally up their banners. A deadly blend of military might and strategic expertise, they would be a force to be reckoned with. More importantly, they would give Islara the greatest chance at her revenge.
"Do you speak the truth, Duchess?" Her tone was as lifeless as her face.
"Of course."
...
Her magic would confirm that the duchess was not lying.
Thus, Islara would bow, "Then consider the Sparrows yours to command."
A narrowed gaze. "Though, if you renege on our promise, Duchess… I would have your head instead."
Altina would nod. "Naturally. Why, I will have it served on a platter of the finest gold, if it pleases you!" Her characteristic playfulness was beginning to return.
"Good." The shaking of hands.
With vows exchanged and promises made, there was no need to linger in the dingy cabin any further. Altina would soon bid the black-haired woman farewell, the terms of their alliance still firmly in her mind.
While wiping the blood off her hand with a handkerchief, she would lock eyes with Duke Rhinecliff, who waited silently outside. "There is a new pawn on your board, good Duke. You may thank me later."
The duchess cast a careful eye on her surroundings. Never mind being in uncharted territory, even this sector of Dinbevin seemed to be particularly isolated from the rest of society. Surely the duke did not intend to do her harm here? Better yet, dispose of her here even! It would make for the perfect place, after all. She briefly giggled at the thought, realizing its frivolity, before inevitably letting it fade into aether.
In front of Altina stood a modest cabin. From the tell-tale signs of rust on its eaves to the noticeable splinters on its wood, it was no doubt starting to show its age. Nevertheless, it still seemed serviceable enough for habitation. Altina was all too accustomed to fancy manses and pristine furnishings. Perhaps being stripped of such luxuries would offer a refreshing change of pace.
The door would swing open, the creaking of its hinge sounding like crickets in summer. As for the survivor the duke mentioned, she would soon make herself known.
“Ah, if it isn’t the three-faced Duchess of Agrovia,” the black-haired woman spat as Altina entered her visual periphery. “To what do I owe this displeasure?” Her contempt for Altina was evident from the way she spoke. Respect? Courtesy? Her words utterly lacked them.
Altina stared blankly before allowing a glimpse of a smirk to overtake her expression. “Islara Yelren, friend to the late Roland Corrin.” A sympathetic look, bordering on pity, would form on her face. “I am so very sorry for what has happened.” She glanced at the woman’s arm, which was haphazardly bandaged, dried blood still on the fabric. The wound must have still been relatively fresh. She continued, “The misfortune that has befallen the Corrin family is not a something would wish upon anyone.”
“Spare me your feigned condolence, snake.” Again, words as cold as steel. “I know you and your ilk well. You are not here to commiserate.” Islara rose from her chair, inching closer to Altina. “So, what do you want?” She gripped the dagger sheathed upon her knee. “If you attempt to so much as deceive me, Duchess, you can consider your life forfeit.” The blade would be lifted from its casing, momentarily brandished, before being retracted with a vigorous shing.
“Oh? Such nerve! And from an injured woman, no less. I commend your confidence.” Altina was unmoved, her smirk growing ever larger. A mocking smirk it was. But Altina knew the toll grief could take on one’s mind. She would not abuse the woman with her antics any longer.
“You are right, Miss Islara.” Finally, a straightforward answer from the Agrovian duchess. “I have little interest in consoling you.” The lilt in her voice would vanish, replaced by a fitting gravitas. “I seek to pose a question…” She leaned closer. “... And a proposition.”
She paced around the room, her stride one of leisure. “Firstly, Miss Islara, if you might indulge me… What happened that fateful day?”
The black-haired assassin fell silent.
Unbeknownst to the duchess, a lie detection magic was at work. And from it, Islara could detect no falsehoods. So, she would answer the duchess’ question truthfully. “They were cowards, the lot of them.” The clenching of teeth. “They came under the guise of peace-making on the Queen’s behalf. Yet, when it came time to show their true colors…” A swelling of emotions. “They would strike at us while our backs were turned!” Her cold exterior had now melted. Altina could sense her anger, which burned through her fair skin. It was visceral. Primal. The Corrins must have been cherished companions.
“I will have the Wizard Queen’s head.” An oath, sworn. “She will be put down before more lives are lost.”
And in the face of such resolve, Altina would break out in laughter.
“You?! A cripple?! Have the Wizard Queen’s head?!” She hissed in between heaves of air. “Even Miss Britesong has not told a joke with as much hilarity as that!”
She would mock the woman further, “Do you yearn to be reunited with your beloved that badly? If so, well, go on then! Storm the Hathforth demesne! Orchestrate your bloody requiem! But it would not be the Wizard Queen who would be losing her head.”
“Insolent bitch! How dare you!” Equipped with her dagger, Islara rushed forward.
…
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Altina would catch the blade’s edge, wrapping her palm around it. “Sev Willowsteel, a well-meaning man. Respectable, if not brash. You’ve heard what is to become of him, yes?” She would pull Islara closer, still gripping the blade. “The Corrins. Nobles beloved by the common folk. With hearts of gold, they simply sought the betterment of their realm. Their only blunder? They opposed a tyrant with virtue and honor.” A whisper. “You know very well what their fates were. Good people, mercilessly slain by evil.”
Crack.
The blade would shatter in her hand. Releasing the assassin from her grasp, “Do not mindlessly throw your life away, Islara.” The pieces of the dagger were now as bread crumbs on the floor.
Altina would speak again. “A revolution is on the horizon, my friend! And I wish for you to be alive to see it.”
At last, the proposition would escape her lips. “Ally with me. With Duke Rhinecliff. Alone, you will die a pointless death. But with cooperation from entire cities, you may yet have the Wizard Queen’s head.” A vicious grin. “I will grant you the boon of personally severing it clean from her body.”
Islara could not muster so much as an objection. And not for a lack of trying. Speechless she was of the fact that the duchess would willingly bring harm to herself. Especially considering she could have just as easily dodged the blade. Injured and still obviously on the mend, Islara was in no condition to fight. Either way, the bizarreness of it all would confirm one thing to her: the duchess was more than just a bitch. She was crazy.
Still, her offer to join forces would not fall on deaf ears.
As Islara's head began to clear, she could see the merits of an alliance with the Duchess. Having ties with the Agrovian duchess would also mean having ties with the city of Rockhold. Not only that, the Duke of Odonfield himself would be the one to rally up their banners. A deadly blend of military might and strategic expertise, they would be a force to be reckoned with. More importantly, they would give Islara the greatest chance at her revenge.
"Do you speak the truth, Duchess?" Her tone was as lifeless as her face.
"Of course."
...
Her magic would confirm that the duchess was not lying.
Thus, Islara would bow, "Then consider the Sparrows yours to command."
A narrowed gaze. "Though, if you renege on our promise, Duchess… I would have your head instead."
Altina would nod. "Naturally. Why, I will have it served on a platter of the finest gold, if it pleases you!" Her characteristic playfulness was beginning to return.
"Good." The shaking of hands.
With vows exchanged and promises made, there was no need to linger in the dingy cabin any further. Altina would soon bid the black-haired woman farewell, the terms of their alliance still firmly in her mind.
While wiping the blood off her hand with a handkerchief, she would lock eyes with Duke Rhinecliff, who waited silently outside. "There is a new pawn on your board, good Duke. You may thank me later."
