The Otter
Estylwen
Fetzen
Noctis
Izurich
Lildear18Laurent Rhinecliff, Mirie Agustria, & Altina Freya Bastille
If it was the power of a particular Seed that was uncovered and then refined, then it was all the more reason to secure the Glasic Fields in her absence. And if the Clandestine were so capable, so confident in their ability to capture the Wizard-Queen within her own city, then perhaps the matters were not so complex as he had previously believed, despite Duchess Agustria’s own thoughts on the matter.
But, of course…
“Help me, and you will survive the changing of the crown, and find yourself in a favourable position.”
Twenty years ago, Laurent had been one of the first to swear allegiance to the young Ludwig II. It had been an era of peace, of new generations shaking off old grudges, of enlightenment and prosperity. Two years ago, he had watched in silence as Hathforth fell to a clandestine force, and a new ruler took to the throne. It had been a time to sit back and observe, as the Glasic Fields and the Seeds forever changed the political landscape of Arrowfell. And now, once more, another ruler sought to claim the Province as their own domain. How long would this period last? If one observed the patterns at hand, then it would be two months, at best.
“Undoubtedly, it is a gracious offer, your Majesty. I can see the wisdom in your actions too, in inviting us in particular. Through the land, it is easier to cross southwards through Agrovia’s forests and fields. Through the sea, it is convenient to make the Grand Bank a military outpost from which to dock warships. And so long as the gateway to the East is shut, the other dukedoms would find it difficult to assist Evelyn, if they answer her calls to begin with.”
He glanced towards Duchess Bastille, then towards Duchess Agustria, before striding up to the attendant to grasp the translucent sword. It was light, yet substantial, a chill seeping in even through his gloves. Yet beautiful as well, a weapon that seemed to have been carved out of the blessing of the moon. Wondrous, such a thing.
The duke turned to his companions.
“A tyrant yet sits, upon a throne seeped in death, stifling a city that once gleamed as a jewel at sunrise. Will you let this stand?”
“You should already know my answer, Duke Rhinecliff.”
Though her expression did not betray it, Altina felt conflicted hearing the Ravenfell's king declaration of expansion. More than that, she felt... angry, a stark contrast to the duke's seemingly measured reaction.
This king means to strip Arrowfell of its sovereignty. The thought made her blood boil. Arrowfell would not be subjected to the rule of another autocrat. She would reject such a reality.
It took every ounce of self-control not to raise a blade against the Ravenfell monarch. But the duchess managed somehow, her deadly intent concealed behind a visage of stone. As the Odonfield duke would remind her, the situation in their homeland was dire, and they needed all the help they could get.
“Arrowfell must be emancipated from her grasp, at any cost.” A reiteration of the duke's own words.
For now, she would treat the enemy of her enemy as her friend.
Duchess Agustria’s own guards tensed at the spectral king’s words, so aware were they of their liege’s opinions that they immediately saw the potential for this discussion to turn violent, however it might start. Mirie didn’t immediately respond, first frowning at the Ravenfell king’s words, and then shaking her head at Altina’s response. She knew just how well her fellow duchess despised the yoke of yet another power-hungry tyrant, but yet her hatred for the Queen was blinding her.
It was better to deal with the devil you know rather than the devil you don’t.
And in this case, the devil they didn’t was an otherwise immortal ghost with the backing of an entire undead country. What would become of Arrowfell if they let a being like that through the proverbial gates?
Laurent was right. Mirie might have been known for negotiating, and especially for not burning bridges. This, however, was not the time.
“I think not,” Duchess Agustria replied with her own weight. “Arrowfell’s sovereignty is its own, as are its troubles. A foreign king who so readily remakes his kingdom and his people in the image of torpor is not fit to lead a city, let alone Arrowfell.”
Laurent’s lips quirked for a moment, at Altina’s response. Then once more, at Mirie’s.
That was the only hint either of them would receive, before such amusement disappeared, as swift as the first flake of snow upon the Fey River’s flow. Replacing it was a weighty gravity, the Duke levelling the spectral blade towards Duchess Agustria. There was no mirth in his tone as he said, “Alas, the house built upon sand will not last, but so too will it collapse if even one pillar diverges from the other. It is disappointing, Duchess Agustria. Of the dukes that yet rule in Arrowfell, I had considered you to have understood me the best.”
A sigh escaped his lips, as if letting go of decades of memories. Odonfield, the Grand Bank, and Hathforth had once been known as the Arrowhead of Arrowfell, a trinity of advancement and commerce. Then it had become merely a line. And now, today, it would become a point.
“King DuFairre, allow me to demonstrate my allegiance to you. Magic Arrows, One Light.”
Arcane light overlapped with ghostlight, and the leviathan-slaying sword flew, certain as a bolt released by a master archer, its target decided before Laurent had even turned to face his peers.
Backwards, towards a king as undying as those ancient monsters beneath the sea.
The movement of Rhinecliff’s lips might have partially clued Mirie in, but she still tensed as he levelled the weapon at her. Her escorts hovered their hands over their own swords, but the duchess held up her hand, waiting to see what he had to say. She didn’t entirely disagree with him in principle – but she knew that the future of Arrowfell would be over if the Queen was overthrown with the king’s poisoned help.
She would stand by that, even if her fellow ducal holders disagreed.
If Laurent sided with King DuFairre, then she had grossly misjudged his character over the years. She had not.
The moment Mirie saw the granted sword fly towards the man that had gifted it, she drew her sword from her cane into a guard. Her guards immediately followed suit, drawing their own weapons. The die had been cast; she would fully process it later. Her eyes flicked towards Valor. Duchess Agustria might not have been a true martial duchess like Altina, but she was still capable in a fight. Even as the sword flew, she interposed herself between it and the king’s servant, blocking her off from an obvious avenue of rescue for the king. With a flick of her free wrist, she sent a violent wall of wind that whipped towards the ghostly woman.
“Suzette, Alisande,” she directed to her knights, “With me. Do not allow the King’s guards to intercede.”
Duchess Agustria would not be the only one to spring into action. “Ha! It seems I've been outdone.” Altina could hardly hold back a laugh. The duke had utterly caught her off-guard, to say nothing of the Ravenfell king. To think someone so adept at diplomacy could be capable of making a decision antithetical to it...
“You've put me to shame, Duke Rhinecliff.”
Her armor began to float slightly. “I must…” She rushed forward. “...make amends for this dishonor!” Her blades, like envenomed fangs, and herself, like a striking snake — the Agrovian duchess had now set her sights on Valor Teardrop, someone she judged to pose the most threat in the room.
But, of course…
“Help me, and you will survive the changing of the crown, and find yourself in a favourable position.”
Twenty years ago, Laurent had been one of the first to swear allegiance to the young Ludwig II. It had been an era of peace, of new generations shaking off old grudges, of enlightenment and prosperity. Two years ago, he had watched in silence as Hathforth fell to a clandestine force, and a new ruler took to the throne. It had been a time to sit back and observe, as the Glasic Fields and the Seeds forever changed the political landscape of Arrowfell. And now, once more, another ruler sought to claim the Province as their own domain. How long would this period last? If one observed the patterns at hand, then it would be two months, at best.
“Undoubtedly, it is a gracious offer, your Majesty. I can see the wisdom in your actions too, in inviting us in particular. Through the land, it is easier to cross southwards through Agrovia’s forests and fields. Through the sea, it is convenient to make the Grand Bank a military outpost from which to dock warships. And so long as the gateway to the East is shut, the other dukedoms would find it difficult to assist Evelyn, if they answer her calls to begin with.”
He glanced towards Duchess Bastille, then towards Duchess Agustria, before striding up to the attendant to grasp the translucent sword. It was light, yet substantial, a chill seeping in even through his gloves. Yet beautiful as well, a weapon that seemed to have been carved out of the blessing of the moon. Wondrous, such a thing.
The duke turned to his companions.
“A tyrant yet sits, upon a throne seeped in death, stifling a city that once gleamed as a jewel at sunrise. Will you let this stand?”
“You should already know my answer, Duke Rhinecliff.”
Though her expression did not betray it, Altina felt conflicted hearing the Ravenfell's king declaration of expansion. More than that, she felt... angry, a stark contrast to the duke's seemingly measured reaction.
This king means to strip Arrowfell of its sovereignty. The thought made her blood boil. Arrowfell would not be subjected to the rule of another autocrat. She would reject such a reality.
It took every ounce of self-control not to raise a blade against the Ravenfell monarch. But the duchess managed somehow, her deadly intent concealed behind a visage of stone. As the Odonfield duke would remind her, the situation in their homeland was dire, and they needed all the help they could get.
“Arrowfell must be emancipated from her grasp, at any cost.” A reiteration of the duke's own words.
For now, she would treat the enemy of her enemy as her friend.
Duchess Agustria’s own guards tensed at the spectral king’s words, so aware were they of their liege’s opinions that they immediately saw the potential for this discussion to turn violent, however it might start. Mirie didn’t immediately respond, first frowning at the Ravenfell king’s words, and then shaking her head at Altina’s response. She knew just how well her fellow duchess despised the yoke of yet another power-hungry tyrant, but yet her hatred for the Queen was blinding her.
It was better to deal with the devil you know rather than the devil you don’t.
And in this case, the devil they didn’t was an otherwise immortal ghost with the backing of an entire undead country. What would become of Arrowfell if they let a being like that through the proverbial gates?
Laurent was right. Mirie might have been known for negotiating, and especially for not burning bridges. This, however, was not the time.
“I think not,” Duchess Agustria replied with her own weight. “Arrowfell’s sovereignty is its own, as are its troubles. A foreign king who so readily remakes his kingdom and his people in the image of torpor is not fit to lead a city, let alone Arrowfell.”
Laurent’s lips quirked for a moment, at Altina’s response. Then once more, at Mirie’s.
That was the only hint either of them would receive, before such amusement disappeared, as swift as the first flake of snow upon the Fey River’s flow. Replacing it was a weighty gravity, the Duke levelling the spectral blade towards Duchess Agustria. There was no mirth in his tone as he said, “Alas, the house built upon sand will not last, but so too will it collapse if even one pillar diverges from the other. It is disappointing, Duchess Agustria. Of the dukes that yet rule in Arrowfell, I had considered you to have understood me the best.”
A sigh escaped his lips, as if letting go of decades of memories. Odonfield, the Grand Bank, and Hathforth had once been known as the Arrowhead of Arrowfell, a trinity of advancement and commerce. Then it had become merely a line. And now, today, it would become a point.
“King DuFairre, allow me to demonstrate my allegiance to you. Magic Arrows, One Light.”
Arcane light overlapped with ghostlight, and the leviathan-slaying sword flew, certain as a bolt released by a master archer, its target decided before Laurent had even turned to face his peers.
Backwards, towards a king as undying as those ancient monsters beneath the sea.
The movement of Rhinecliff’s lips might have partially clued Mirie in, but she still tensed as he levelled the weapon at her. Her escorts hovered their hands over their own swords, but the duchess held up her hand, waiting to see what he had to say. She didn’t entirely disagree with him in principle – but she knew that the future of Arrowfell would be over if the Queen was overthrown with the king’s poisoned help.
She would stand by that, even if her fellow ducal holders disagreed.
If Laurent sided with King DuFairre, then she had grossly misjudged his character over the years. She had not.
The moment Mirie saw the granted sword fly towards the man that had gifted it, she drew her sword from her cane into a guard. Her guards immediately followed suit, drawing their own weapons. The die had been cast; she would fully process it later. Her eyes flicked towards Valor. Duchess Agustria might not have been a true martial duchess like Altina, but she was still capable in a fight. Even as the sword flew, she interposed herself between it and the king’s servant, blocking her off from an obvious avenue of rescue for the king. With a flick of her free wrist, she sent a violent wall of wind that whipped towards the ghostly woman.
“Suzette, Alisande,” she directed to her knights, “With me. Do not allow the King’s guards to intercede.”
Duchess Agustria would not be the only one to spring into action. “Ha! It seems I've been outdone.” Altina could hardly hold back a laugh. The duke had utterly caught her off-guard, to say nothing of the Ravenfell king. To think someone so adept at diplomacy could be capable of making a decision antithetical to it...
“You've put me to shame, Duke Rhinecliff.”
Her armor began to float slightly. “I must…” She rushed forward. “...make amends for this dishonor!” Her blades, like envenomed fangs, and herself, like a striking snake — the Agrovian duchess had now set her sights on Valor Teardrop, someone she judged to pose the most threat in the room.
