The Fall of Marigill (closed for Poprockz)

[Poprockz]

Dremara found herself chuckling at Laela and Faagen's words. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Laela. I am already feeling an abundance of warmth since my arrival. To be honest though, I have never actually seen a bear in-person, so I'm curious to observe one at some point... from a safe distance of course."

"A safe distance from a bear is to not be near a bear at all," Josie joked. "Unless you're talking about Orson. No amount of distance can keep that man from what he wants."

The Princess glanced at Orson himself before chuckling somewhat awkwardly, not knowing what to say to that. She decided to try to change the subject entirely to distract from it.

"So, does RimeHaven have any annual holidays?" she asked, taking a large drink of mead to still her nerves.

 

[draco519]

Orson chuckled at Josie’s joke, glancing his eyes to the side as she said there was nothing that could keep him from what he wanted. It was true; it’s what made him a capable and confident Chieftain. It’s what made the men respect him; or what made him respect himself. Though when the Princess changed the subject to RimeHaven’s holidays? There was a twinkle in his eye.

“On the longest night of the year; we hold the Vigil of the FrostClaw. A clan of ancestors that aided Ursui to banish Naymeera.” He thought back on it. The traditions. “An ancient longhouse stands in the WhiteCaps; the roof long since caved in and removed.. But we’ll build a massive bonfire each year and stare up at the stars. Where Ursui shines down at us the brightest.”

“Aye.” Roric said with no small amount of fondness. “It’s a time of renewing Oaths for many; or a wedding beneath Ursui’s gaze. On the coldest, longest night? To say vows of love under such circumstances? It’s the most sincere a man can be for his woman.”

“Says the man that gets to wear all the furs and isn’t worried about being pretty in a dress!” Josie called out to Roric, causing a bit of laughter in the hall.

Orson swallowed a mouthful of his ale. “There’s the great Roar. The first day of spring; when Ursui roar across all of our lands and chases away the long winter. It’s a time for celebration.”

“Aye!” Fionn was excited for that one. “The Thunder Run is always such a thrill!”

Brannock nodded in agreement. “The streams and nooks and brooks of the Moors are all overrun with melting snows, and the Thunder Run is a great race to see who can finish first.”

“Cillian has won the last three years.” Orson nodded to the quiet Cillian enjoying his food, raising his cup in respect.

“It’s because he cheats!” Fionn, the second fastest last year, accused him once more. “He knows all the shortcuts through the woods!”

“Hearsay.” Cillian smirked, cutting his meat with a knife and fork. “I’m so fast; you never even saw me.”

“You cheat and I know you do! I-”

Cillian stabbed his knife into the table, making Fionn go quiet.

Then the hall roared into laughter at the flustered, young and freckled face of the newest Kota to take the oath.

“You have proof?” Orson said in mock seriousness of the accusation.

“...no.” Fionn grumbled.

Cillian grinned, picking his knife up to keep eating.

Orson tried to think of more. It was difficult to list every holiday on a whim. “My favorite is the MoorBloom festival.” He looked over to Dremara, pointing to a specific rune that was carved into her throne. “On the longest day of summer, the Moors are wild with flowers of many colors. This particular rune is the carved name of none other than Korvax.”

“KORVAX!” The kota held their mugs up, and drank.

Orson cleared his throat; raising his cup- as was tradition - And continued the story. “The Andels. Bastards that they are? They’d come to take RimeHaven and annex our lands into their territories. They had a warrior; a beast of a man. It’s said he had four arms and carried two swords, a spear, and a shield.”

“And he was fast as a horse!” Roric spoke of the story, as well.

Dagris nodded. “The old stories say he had to duck through all doors. He towered over trees.”

“The Emperor was so confident in this warrior, Derjini, that he was surprised when a single Kota warrior came to their encampment and made a wager. Korvax” He had lifted his cup up preemptively, and placed it back down. “Bet the Emperor on all the lands we had. From the Great Divide to the Shadows of the WhiteCaps. He could best the Emperor’s mightiest warrior in single combat. Went as far as offered his beautiful, fair haired wife to be one of the Emperor’s concubines should he fall.”

“He knew he wouldn’t!” Brannock said; silent with the rest of the hall. He’d heard the story a thousand times; he’d listen a thousand more.

“So Korvax stood on the straightest bit of stone on the Moors and allowed this titan to come forward. They fought, it’s said for moons.. Day and night, with no reprieve or rest? Steel met sinew and flesh. It was Ursui’s mightiest son against Raicho; the Stormbird god of the East’s favored progeny.”

Orson had a knack for storytelling, his voice changing in pitch and timbre when the telling demanded it. “They met in one final clash! And the two swords, the spear, and the shield of Derjini fell to the ground. And the man died on his feet; refusing to fall even after death.”

“A warrior should be so determined.” Roric nudged young Fionn with a nod.

Orson took a breath. “As should we fucking all. Warrior or no. Kota or no.” But.. the story must go on. “As a sign of respect, Korvax cast the gauntlet he threw at the feet of Derjini to initiate the duel into the chasm in the great divide; where Ursui and our ancestors overcame Mayleera and her evil.”

“It was Korvax’s belief…” Dagris added, “That no mortal man would be worthy of having that gauntlet thrown at them after such a battle.”

“In honor of Korvax’s might? During the MoorBloom festival? The ladies of RimeHaven pick the wildflowers and weave garlands and make favors for the men who fight in Korvax’s gauntlet; a tournament to prove who among us is strongest.”

“Coming for you. Bastard.” Brannock pointed his fork at Orson from his plate.

“I look forward to it, brother.” Orson smirked.. But he looked back at Dremara once again. “There are others I'm sure I'm forgetting. But.. those are my favorites.”

 

[Poprockz]

Being under the stars while someone professed their love to you sounded terribly romantic. Oh to be free with an undecided future, the excitement of one's beating heart being carried on one's frosty breath... She had daydreamed of such things when she was younger, but she had soon learned that romance was a luxury that not even royalty could buy.

The Great Roar, the Thunder Run, and MoorBloom festival all sounded interesting as well. Dremara assumed that Orson enjoyed the MoorBloom in particular as an opportunity to challenge himself and prove his strength. She hadn't ever woven a garland nor made a favor for anyone, so she made a mental note to practice this. It would be expected of her, so she wouldn't want to neglect that.

"My favorite holiday had been the Golden Harvest Festival," she said wistfully, choosing not to expand on the subject. She suspected that going into it would merely make her seem like an outsider. "But those holidays sound quite fun- I will very much enjoy participating in them myself."

"Oh! There's also the Mead Drop!" Josie piped up. Some of the men raised their tankards again and roared their approval. "The man who drinks the most mead gets to kiss a woman of his choosing."

"Not that he'll remember it," Laela rolled her eyes playfully.

"There is also The Dawn of the Stained snow," a new voice spoke up, her voice like velvet. "It is a rather ancient tradition though, and is rarely practiced these days."

A figure approached, and when Dremara looked up to see who it was, a breathtakingly beautiful woman stood before her. She was pale as the moon with inky black hair and red eyes, and Dremara suspected she knew who she was just by looking at her.

“Greetings, Princess Dremara,” Y’Sennia bowed in her ghostly gown. “I was eager to introduce myself to you. I am Y’Sennia Skorgrim, Lady of the White Peaks.” The woman smiled and straightened up, the two of their eyes meeting as she did so. “Won’t you allow me to approach? I have a gift for you in celebration of your upcoming union.”

“That is very considerate of you, my lady, but the time for gifts will come later. In the meantime, you may leave the gift with one of the servants for when the time comes.” Dremara answered politely.

This seemed to take the other woman off-guard, as though she had expected a completely different response. “O-Oh,” she chuckled trying to recover from that moment of surprise. “Are you sure, Princess? I’m sure my gift will please you.” Her red eyes almost seemed to bore into her own.

“I am sure, thank you.” Dremara nodded, unsure why the woman was so insistent about her taking her present. Hopefully this wasn’t some sort of ploy to embarrass her. At this point though, she was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt despite her strange behavior.

While it may not have been obvious to Dremara or others what Y’Sennia had just attempted, Orson might have caught on that she had tried (and failed) to bewitch his betrothed. Not permanently, merely a temporary enchantment that made one much more susceptible to suggestions made by the vampress; a softening of one's inhibitions one might say. Not that she was doing anything nefarious- she did truly have a gift for her (an appropriate one), but she was used to getting her way. And what she had wanted was to be the first one to give her a gift. Not to mention that she was certain that all the other gifts would pale in comparison to her own.

"Very well, Princess," Y'Sinnia conceded, albeit with an edge of reluctance. "But do let me know if you change your mind."

 

[draco519]

Orson watched the exchange between Senni and Dremara. He was far from the foremost expert on the inner workings of the mind of a woman. And perhaps the tension he sensed was his earlier turmoil. But the ale, warmth, and food certainly helped to haze his vision to what had just happened. He held his cup out for the servant to refill with ale and gestured to Senni’s seat as he came to stand.

“Lady Y’Sennia. Please.. come join us.” He pulled out the Night Enchantress’s chair. “We were talking about our favorite holidays; Princess Dremara had mentioned the Golden City’s harvest festival. I’d named a couple...”

He eventually took his own seat, then. “Our harvest festival is known as Ursui’s Patience. Our winters are long here; and families will harvest, prepare, and preserve as much food as possible.”

“Aye.” Cillian said, a clear favorite holiday of his. “The Bloodfang hunt.”

“The Bloodfang is the Great Hunt where we hunt the largest stag in the Pines; as far as the great divide if we have to. It is a contest to bring the largest set of antlers to burn on a bonfire devoted to Ursui. It brings in meat to cook and preserve; furs for warmth. Even sinew for bows and other woodworking.”

“The man who brings in the biggest stag is rewarded with the honor of the last dance of Autumn to the lady of his choosing.” Orson chuckled. “And it turns out Cillian is quite the dancer.”

The men laughed, and Cillian smirked over at Orson’s sarcasm. “It’s about saving good men from having to dance. I do 'em a service.”

Brannock scoffed. “Some of us would actually use the opportunity to dance with a lady, you know!”

Cillian shrugged his shoulders. “Find a bigger stag than me, then.” He grinned, chewing his bite as the men laughed at Brannock.

 

[Poprockz]

Y'Sennia glided over to the table and allowed him to pull out her chair before she sat in it. Dremara wasn't particularly happy to have to sit next to this woman, but she had endured more uncomfortable situations for the sake of appearances. She had been wondering why the chair next to her ha been left vacant, and now she knew.

The princess listened to the rest of the conversation and raised an impressed eyebrow at Cillian. He had been named the champion of one of the other competitions, hadn't he? It seemed that the man was not short on skill and had no issue displaying that fact.

"I hear that you are quite the dancer yourself, Princess," Y'Sennia reached out and gently ran a lock of Dremara's hair over her palm. "Perhaps someday you might come to my castle and teach me what you know. I have never been beyond the shores of these lands, so I would be interested to see what you know. I'm sure the stories you could tell would keep us up until the sun peaked up above the horizon." There was something playful, almost... flirty in the way this other woman was looking at her, Dremara noticed. Was she mocking her, or did she truly have an interest in such things?

"I do enjoy dancing, yes. However, as I am not used to the colds of these lands yet, it would be better for my health to simply invite you here for such chats. I'll have to see about sending you an invitation." The Princess took a drink of ale, noticing that she had almost drained her tankard. She should probably slow down a little.

 

[draco519]

Orson bit into his meat, leaning over to listen as Roric regaled the tale about his heroism at the battle of the Golden hills. Where he witnessed Orson cut down a great warrior of considerable size.

Orson glanced over to Senni and Dremara as they spoke about dancing. And he remembered that Dremara was to dance tonight, at some point. He was sure he’d be told when that was to happen; there was no need to embarrass or rush her. Though at Senni’s invitation to the WhiteCaps?

That surprised him; only the most esteemed company was invited there. Taking that as a good sign as well, he looked over to Fionn and Brannock and Josie at their table.

Fionn hoped, when he saw Orson’s gaze, he hadn’t been caught staring at Nettie.

“Just go talk to her.” Brannock spoke a bit lower. “You’re fucking Kota. One of the youngest to be a member of Orson’s pact. You swore the Oath of the Odorous Boot! You’re one of us!”

“I.. I don’t know..” Fionn said with a little flush to his cheeks. Though when Brannock said he’d taken the oath. That was right. He had. He was one of them, now. “No. I can do better. I’ll prove I'm the best of us.”

“And how do you intend to do that? Place middling to fair in all the challenges?” Brannock teased Fionn further.

“There has to be another challenge I can do. An Oath I can swear.” Fionn stared, determined, at Brannock.

Brannock looked away. “...there isn’t.” He mocked deception. “Let it go, Fionn.”

“Brannock! Please!”

“You’ve done enough.” Brannock leveled his gaze on Fionn. “You’ve no need to face the Claw’s Echo.”

“What’s that?” Fionn’s eyes widened. “Some sort of test?”

Roric snapped at Brannock. “You ale-soaked idiot!” His eyes moved in warning to Fionn. “The Claw’s Echo is not for you, Fionn. It’s only for the best and most experienced. You took the oath, let that be enough.”

Fionn looked back to Brannock as he sipped at his ale. This conversation wasn’t over.

 

[Poprockz]

Nettie had been seated in the seat on the other side of Y'Sennia, but her gaze had been drawn to Cillian. She tried not to make it obvious, but she would inconspicuously steal glances at him. Though the handmaid wanted to ask him to dance, she figured she would need at least another tankard of ale before she had calmed her nerves enough to do so. Normally in the Golden City, a man was the one expected to take the first step in asking a woman to dance. However, she doubted that their customs extended to places like this.

Princess Dremara raised her eyebrow as she saw Nettie start to gulp down some of her ale out of the corner of her eye. What was she doing? Was she having a hard time over there? The Princess cast a sideways glance at her handmaid and caught her looking at something before looking away. Her gaze followed her line of sight and she spotted the man taking another bite of his meal. Oh. Oh ho ho.

She smirked into her goblet and took a drink. So Nettie had a crush on someone, how interesting. There would be an interrogation tomorrow, but she would leave Nettie to her own devices tonight.

"It seems you're out of Ale..." Y'Sennia commented, taking a pitcher and pouring more ale into Dremara's glass. It was strange- Dremara could have sworn that the pitcher was empty a moment ago. At the same time, a confused man down the table had picked up a nearby pitcher to find it completely empty.

"Thank you," Dremara nodded her head at the woman. "So, are you not having anything to drink yourself?"

Y'Sennia chuckled, "oh no, not tonight. I'm afraid my choice of drink is currently unavailable."

Oh, that was right. This dark enchantress drank blood. The Princess felt a bit foolish for having asked.

 

[draco519]

Cillian had paid attention to Brannock and Roric plotting Fionn’s next… he supposed he’d call it a trial. A tribulation, as it were. He was amused, but he remained as he usually did.. Quiet. Nodding for more ale, he picked up his cup and took a drink.

Orson sat back from his finished plate, cup in hand. His eyes moved over to the always troubled Dagris. The way the man contemplated his runes, as though he could see wind going over them and shifting them as grains of sand. He could find a reason not to be happy about striking gold in a mine, or big breasted women falling out of the sky and landing him.

His eyes moved across his table at the thought as he heard about ale. First Dremara, then Senni, even Nettie was gifted. Sipping his own ale, he heard the music pick back up as the women started taking the dance floor to dance for their respective men in hopes they’d be joined.

“I’m not as..” Fionn hicupped. “..I’m…”

“Right.” Roric said, reaching for poor Fionn’s cup. “I think you’ve had just about enough, lad.”

“I can keep going!” Fionn was trying to wrest his cup from Roric’s grasp, but fooled him and reached for the pitcher to drink straight from it.

Brannock’s laughter at Roric being outwitted nearly shook the rafters above.

Orson had a contemplative look upon his face. His cup in hand, watching as the people of his hall knew peace. Free to chase a girl if they so wished; or chicken out and regret not doing so later. Free to not pay the taxes to the Horreys. He looked up to the faithful servant that brought him his pipe.

Packing it, he picked up the candle and toasted the tobacco until it was the way he liked it. Relaxing in his throne with a belly full of meat and ale, he pulled on the tobacco that served to relax him after such a meal. This was why he’d come to Marigill, he realized. Dremara was a happy turn of events, but.. He wanted his people free. And he’d done that.

The question loomed; what next? Nayreema continued to stir in the shadows beyond the WhiteCaps; the Andels likely wouldn’t take as kindly to Dremara’s presence. Though the Empire was so far across the sea it would take them a year or better to arrive on his shores. If the new Emperor even gave a shit.

Orson didn’t know he was doing exactly what Dagris was; contemplating and worrying when he should be celebrating.

 

[Poprockz]

It was time. Nettie had consumed enough alcohol to at least have the nerve to get up and wander in Cillian's direction. Though approaching him was a whole other matter. She wondered to herself whether she would need another tankard of ale to do so. Should she retreat, or should she try for it? Similarly to the woman she waited on, Nettie wasn't particularly experienced at this sort of thing either. There were a few men who had courted her at one point or another, but they had soon lost interest before it got serious; some turning away for lovelier women, others having been promised by their parents to another.

A presence lingered beyond Cillian's left shoulder before Nettie cleared her throat. "So you're good at dancing, right? Or at least you might like dancing, I guess. Do you maybe... want to dance with me?" She tried to sound casual, to not make herself seem desperate at all. However, she couldn't hide that she was hoping that he would agree to her invitation.

Over at the larger table, Princess Dremara watched her like a hawk, making a mental note of everything she could see. The hall was too loud for her to hear what was being said, but it was obvious that Nettie was either asking to dance or trying to strike up conversation.

Meanwhile, Y'Sennia glanced at Dremara before getting up from her chair and pulling it over to Orson's other side, the man having occupied that spot having gone off to piss or dance- something of that nature.

"Orson..." she said quietly, a more serious air coming about. "I meant to talk to you about this last night, but I have something serious I need to discuss with you. Would you want to talk now, or would you prefer for me to wait until tomorrow?"

 

[draco519]

Cillian’s hand moved down to his knife. A presence behind him making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was the one Orson sent to scout enemy encampments and positions; or, on rare occasions, hide and take an impossible shot from the trees on an enemy general just before the start of a battle.

Imagine his surprise when it was suddenly a woman’s voice. So.. you’re good at dancing, right? Cillian relaxed his grip on the knife. He was sitting at the table with Fionn, Brannock, Roric, and Josie. He cocked an eyebrow at Fionn, figuring the lass he’d been staring at had finally grown tired of the boy’s cowardice.

“Cillian!” Brannock smacked the table. “She’s talking to you.”

“She the fuck up, Brann-” He glanced up at Nettie, then a double take. He lowered his cup, seemingly in slow motion. She actually was talking to him. Oh. “Nettie. You’re the Queen’s handmaiden.”

“So you do know who she is.” Roric kicked Cillian beneath the table. “Go on, then. Before the Queen has your head.”

Cillian looked back to Roric as he came to stand. He was 5’11, not as tall as Orson; or nearly as broad as Bannock with his wiry frame. His dark hair, of shoulder length, held back with a leather headband that held Kota knotwork on the sides of it. A Raven feather or two braided in for the occasion. And his piercing blue eyes glared daggers at Roric for kicking him before he turned to Nettie with a smile. “I’d be honored.”

“But… I…” Fionn still hadn’t gotten a single word out as they left.

Cillian stopped and gestured where Nettie was to stand at the start of the music; the line in which women stood. And he took his place across from her next to some of the men. He wasn’t the worst dancer he knew, he held more agility than most of his brothers. His craft made him dexterous.

Stepping forward, he took Nettie’s hand, right over left foot, back again, changing hands and feet, and he led her to spin and applied the pressure that indicated she could step back again.

She was good at this! Cillian found himself.. Actually having fun.

Orson.. I had something serious to discuss with you..

Orson glanced over to Senni, then nodded to Cillian, smiling and dancing. With a girl. “I never thought I'd see such a thing.” It made him smirk.. But he became more serious when Senni’s words truly registered. Discuss last night. If it should’ve been the first thing that hit his ears when he made it to his chambers? It was something severe. “Of course. I’m listening.”

 

[Poprockz]

When they were young girls and had learned to dance, Nettie had always been the one to pick it up more easily. One could say she was naturally gifted at it, perhaps due to her adaptive spirit. The dance he led her in wasn't particularly difficult to pick up, so she soon found herself falling into an easy rhythm with him.

So he was a good dancer! He moved with an agility, or perhaps a light-footedness that made her heart skip a beat. There had been times where she had seen him practically flying through the ship's mast and sails, and it had always been an amazing sight to behold.

Part of her hoped he wasn't just dancing with her for fear of the Queen's wrath, but she supposed it was just a dance and she would take what she could get. If things didn't pan out afterwards... she might be a bit sad, but she was a resilient woman, and there would always be other men she could pursue. For now though, she endeavored to simply be in the moment, smiling and laughing as the music picked up and became more merry, the people practically bouncing around each other.

....

"I was looking in my great mirror, checking on different parts of the forest. But when I bid it to show me the Baleful Lake, my mirror dripped with black. I have had to burn the mirror and what lies below it for weeks, as no matter how many times I burn where the drippings are, they coalesce again and start slowly bubbling and growing like some sort of mold. I haven't been able to cleanse my mirror either..." Y'Sennia had a very troubled look on her face. The mirror was an ancient thing, and while some would claim it to be evil, it was merely a tool to be used. It couldn't be denied that the artifact had powerful magic though, so to be overtaken by something she wasn't able to remove... it was very strange indeed.

"I think the mirror could still be used but... I dare not turn it on. I get the feeling that if I were to do so, something more terrible would come out of it." She cast a glance around the room and leaned in closer, lowering her voice a little more. "Orson. I traveled to the Baleful lake, and it is consumed. The water is black and thick, the very air brimming with decay. I have seen beasts crawling out of the sludge, coated in it. They shriek with red, unfocused eyes and they reek of an evil far more powerful than anything I have ever seen. For the first time in a very long time, I am truly afraid for these lands."

Those ruby eyes of her were steady and serious as the grave, a true fear within them.

 

[draco519]

Orson listened intently, his pipe emitting a bit of smoke in his hand but he paid it no mind as he listened to Senni’s description of the Baleful lake. Black water birthing beasts of great evil. His tongue rolled in his cheek, contemplative, before he saw the fear in her eyes. Changing his hand from his pipe, he reached down to place his hand over hers on her lap to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“The Kota will see this evil purged.”

There was a very pressing matter on his mind, suddenly. His eyes moved to Faagen who sat at a different table, he’d gotten up to go speak to his brother. A man of younger years than Orson himself, but showed great promise in the clan.

He brought his attention back to Senni. “You told Faagen of this?”

 

[Poprockz]

"No," Y'Sennia shook her head. "I only learned of this recently, and I didn't think it would do any good to inform him. That sort of evil... It would only poison anyone who dared stand against it. If that poison was brought back to this village even by a scout... I fear a dark sickness would consume your people. Shadows and corpses cannot fall to sickness or decay, so I have been doing what I can to keep this at bay until you returned I... must apologize to you, and perhaps your people. I have needed to take corpses from your grounds in order to hold strong. I'm sure Faagen had suspected that I was robbing the burial sites, but he dared not ask me." In truth, she herself cared not for the customs of the living. Once a man was dead, he was dead- his body merely a shell to be used or discarded. However, she knew that the Kota saw things differently, and would not normally take kindly to her sowing dark magic into old bones to animate them once again, even if the warrior's soul had left. Hopefully this taboo would be softened by the fact that she was trying desperately to protect the ones who still drew breath with the tools at her disposal.

She was quiet for a moment, as though she was contemplating whether to speak what was on her mind, but ultimately she decided to do so. A pale hand came to rest atop his own.

"Orson... About two moons ago was when we learned that you would be coming back to us, and a week after the news spread, I found out about the lake. This does not seem to be coincidence to me. We have had beast storms here and there, but this is new and... I think it has to do with your return. She is angry. Hate burns in the spurned goddess's heart for you in particular if my hunch is correct."

Though she hadn't said anything yet, Dremara was listening closely to their conversation. Her gaze was on Nettie as she danced with the man who had caught her eyes, but her ears had been wide open ever since Y'Sennia had moved her chair. She had thought she was going to hear the quiet murmurings of lovers, but what she heard sent a chill down her spine. A lake bubbling with a dark decay? Mindless, vengeful beasts emerging from it? It was a lot to take in. She stayed quiet for now, but she subtly leaned a little closer to them.

 

[draco519]

Orson cocked an eyebrow as she said a sickness would spread from the beasts of the Lake and come back to the village. Did that mean he couldn’t mobilize an army to stand against them? Then she admitted to animating the bones of his fallen brothers to stand in the stead of the living. His eyes flashed; it was anathema to the Kota. Once a brother earned his rest in the after? Ascending to the stars to tell and hear stories? To have their bones defiled in such a manner…

He did his level best not to be angry; but he was. He bit his tongue, bringing his pipe up to his lips to inhale the calming tobacco, exhaling it through his nose, and inhaling again. Letting the pipe rest on his knee, he blew the smoke out.. “The bones must be returned to their resting places once I've sorted this out.” It was of the utmost importance. “Even if it takes until the long winter’s cover of darkness for you to do so discreetly.” His voice had lowered to near a whisper in a hall filled with merriment. “I will choose to believe our longest standing ally that this decision was not made lightly as an act of good faith on behalf of my people.”

“Dagris.” Orson called out, bringing Dagris from his seat.

Dagris wasn’t blind, nor was he a fool. The Chieftain’s eyes were very severe. Something… something had occurred, he’d been searching the runes in an attempt to divine it. Yet he’d failed.

Orson nodded his go ahead for Senni to relay what she’d seen.

Dagris moistened his lips with his tongue, his hand coming up to run through the stubble of his beard. “I will have to consult my elders.” The elder runecasters, who know the most of Ursui’s stories. Though many were, indeed, gray in the beard by now. And had retired after their meals were eaten.

“I would have word by midday meal, brother. We haven’t time to spare. Tell Roric, Fionn, and Brannock to stop drinking and prepare their packs.”

“And Cillian?”

Orson glanced past Cillian, still dancing with Nettie.. Then he smirked, glancing up to Dagris. “When is his pack not ready?”

Dagris bowed before them. “Ladies Dremara and Y’Sennia.” Before he made his own way to bid his goodnights, relay Orson’s wishes to his brothers, and retire. It had gone from celebration and merrymaking for a week to much to do in the mornings.

 

[Poprockz]

Y'Sennia could tell he was angry, from the flashing of his eyes to the tensing of his muscles. It was to be expected... One could not simply hear the news that their friends and brothers had been dug up and forced to fight when they should be resting and not be upset. It was something she had been willing to accept the moment she had first laid hands on the skulls of the decaying dead. And he was right: it was not something she would ever do unless she thought it was absolutely necessary.

At one point in her life she had thought that power for power's sake was the ultimate goal, to subjugate all who would oppose her. She would laugh as her puppets danced on her strings. However, she soon found that this sort of life wasn't what she sought. To be surrounded by glossy-eyed men and women who only did her bidding, unfeeling and emotionless... It was unsatisfying. It was empty. It served no purpose, not even her own enjoyment.

No... Life was only interesting and fulfilling when those around her had the ability to choose their own paths (not that she wasn't above influencing people). What she had wanted had transformed into ensuring that the people of this land survived. While she didn't need them to live, she needed them to feel something. Anything. And thus, she would do anything to make sure that the lands weren't soured and made barren. She would do the unspeakable, and if it earned her the Kota's hatred, then so be it. As long as there were people who lived to curse the name of the Lady of the White Peaks, she would be satisfied with that.

"I will make sure they are returned," she had answered quietly in reply.

Princess Dremara felt she had been invited into the conversation in a way when Dagris addressed her upon his departure, so she scooted her own chair close to the other two for them to better discuss at a low volume.

Y'Sennia raised her eyebrow at the other woman, "my apologies, Princess, but Orson and I are discussing something that-"

"Please don't condescend to me to tell me that it isn't my business," Dremara sniffed, her eyes narrowed. "I am soon to be Queen here, so this plague affects me just as much as it does Orson."

Ah, so she'd heard everything. A sly smile curled the raven-haired woman's ruby lips. "My apologies. I knew not that you had knowledge regarding this blight. Or perhaps you are particularly skilled with a blade? Maybe your talents lie in navigation?"

Dremara's nostrils flared. While romance had her feeling like a fish out of water, politics and word-play were something she had honed since birth. Clearly it was being implied that she didn't have any business putting her nose into the conversation because she wasn't going to be useful in solving it in any way. But that was where this woman was wrong. "While my talents do not lie in the art of war, I happen to need to be there in case Orson becomes injured."

There was a soft chuckle. "My lady. You may not have heard me well above the din, but this sickness isn't something bandages and ointment will fix."

 

[draco519]

Orson had been taking of his pipe, watching Dagris go and listened to Senni address Dremara. He stared straight ahead as the music began to wind down; the song preparing to change.

Cillian bowed to Nettie. “Thank you for the dance, fairest Nettie.” But Dagris reached up to touch his shoulder. His amusement faded almost instantly. At the slight nod of Dagris’ head? He leaned back so Dagris could whisper in his ear. His expression turned Grim.. and he nodded. “I’ll be ready, brother.”

Cillian cleared his throat, looking back down to Nettie. A breath to calm himself. To shake off the news he’d just heard, his eyes glancing to the band who had been discussing what to play next. “I’ve time for one more dance before I must retire tonight. Would you know a lady that’d be interested?” He playfully looked over her and around the room, taking the opportunity to tease her.

Orson, meanwhile, retracted his hand from Senni’s lap at her disrespect of the woman that would be his wife. His hand came up to scratch his chin as he considered it. Dremara had immediately shunned Senni’s gift; and now Senni was biting back. And… this was going to get out of his control if he didn’t grab it by the horns.

“Lady Y’Sennia.” His voice was low, trying to make it appear as though they were having a friendly conversation. He leveled his gaze on her. “I’ll remind you that Princess Dremara is to be our Queen. I expect her to be treated with the same respect that I am. She is a gifted healer with powerful magic; having repaired Volan’s leg when it was a mangled heap of bone and flesh on the Whisker after an accident. Though.. I do not know it's source or type of magic?" He looked back to Dremara curiously. "Only that the royal bloodline of Marigill, and the legends of those gifts are very real."

 

[Poprockz]

It didn't take a genius to guess that something was afoot from the way the hushed words were spoken and the grimness with which they were received. She glanced back at Dremara to find her huddled with the other two leaders, and she knew that she would have to have the princess fill her in on the situation in the morning.

Tonight though...

Nettie grinned and crossed her arms. "If there is a lady interested in dancing with you, I'm afraid they'll have to take a seat. I didn't drink two tankards of ale to ask you to dance, only to let another woman take your last dance."

...

To hear Orson stand by her and reaffirm her place here made Dremara sit a little straighter. Though it could have offended his lover, he had told her that he was vouching for Dremara's involvement and skill. There was gratitude in her eyes when she smiled and nodded in confirmation.

"I know not what exactly it is, only that different ancestors have been blessed with different powers. Some do not manifest at all, while some seem arbitrary. They have always found a use one way or another though," she offered.

"I was wondering why you seemed to be unmoved earlier..." Y'Sennia murmured more to herself than either of them. Healing magic was typically benign by nature, so perhaps she had been blessed by a forest spirit or some such thing. It didn't explain why she was resistant to Y'Sennia's magic, nor why the very taste of her lips made her own sting mildly.

"May I touch you?" Y'Sennia asked, reaching out palm-up to see if Dremara would accept.

Dremara glanced at Orson before returning her gaze back to the woman before her. If this woman tried anything... Orson was right there beside her. Not that she would in the presence of others, but one never truly knew what others would do.

She let her own slender hand light upon the upturned palm, finding the other woman's fingers closing gently around it. Dremara herself was considered pale, but the skin between them showed that clearly the vampress had a paleness that no woman could achieve while still drawing breath.

"This may feel a little uncomfortable, but do not fear. I promise upon Ursui's name that this will not harm you." Her ruby eyes closed and she reached out with her own magic, trying to find the source of Dremara's. She was quiet for a time until her eyebrows furrowed, an almost pained look coming to her face. And then-

Y'Sennia released her hand abruptly with a hiss, her own hands shaking slightly as a bit of black steam wafted up from them for a moment. The vampress looked more than a little shocked, her eyes wide as she turned her hands over to make sure they hadn't been burned.

 

[draco519]

Orson sat quietly as the two women conversed about the blight and the source of Dremara’s magic. Then Senni asked permission to touch Dremara. His eyebrows raised, taking a breath of the aromatic tobacco; the two most important women in his life joining hands in front of him. He hoped it would be viewed as them making peace in the hall of drunken warriors that were more worried about finding a wet hole for the night.

Though, at Senni’s hiss? He cocked an eyebrow. His hand came up, cradling her wrist in his palm to examine it himself. He couldn’t see any damage, but the smoke wasn’t from his pipe and very clearly. Now that.. That was strange.

The Chieftain to Usher in the light… He looked back to Dremara once more, releasing Senni’s wrist, Dagris’s prophecy playing in his head.

But he had to know. Once Senni looked less alarmed that she hadn’t been gravely wounded? He had to ask. “...what is it? Can she protect my men from this.. Blight? And your mirror?”

–

Cillian brought his hand to Nettie’s hip, guiding her steps along the dance floor, then he turned and they reversed direction. She was getting this one, too. He wished he had more time to talk to her. Get to know her, maybe? But he had to go prepare his kit for - his kit was prepared, who was he kidding? His kit was always prepared. The kitchens would have his rations and waterskin once they left out at first light.

“So.. I have to leave at first light.” He said, regretfully, his hand coming to her shoulder to stop her and guide her to face him in the dance. Locking arms with her as they made a circle. He cleared his throat. “Would, uh.. Would you like to see..” Just.. out with it, Cillian! Like the sirens down at the song, right?

No, not like the girls in the brothel, fucking idiot that he was. This was the Queen’s handmaiden. And she’d have his balls. There were words on his tongue, there was something… something he should say. He didn’t know how.

 

[Poprockz]

"Not right now," Y'Sennia finally answered, nodding slowly with unfocused eyes that were deep in thought. "But perhaps soon." She finally blinked and actually met his eyes.

"I don't understand it myself but..." She wet her lips, trying to think of how to describe it. "It is like she has the sun and stars locked deep within her core. It is a very pure magic. Very pure. Frankly I don't know how it even exists." Her bewildered gaze turned to Dremara. "But if that is true, then it should also be true that it should cause me no small amount of pain to simply touch your skin. This power should permeate your very being, and yet it is being... strangled inside you. What happens when you use your powers regularly?"

"Oh um," Dremara shifted in her seat. "I have used the power but a handful of times in my life. My father forbid it, so I haven't... gotten used to it. When I used it on the ship though, I became feverish for a few days afterwards, though I don't know if that is related."

"It is." Y'Sennia's voice was sure. "You have not made your body a true home to this magic, having rejected it for as long as you have. It retreats back to its cage when used, only lingering in the channels for a short time. Your power is like a torch held aloft in a cave of wolves. It draws the attention of the beasts' hunger, though it keeps you safe as long as it burns. Once it goes out though..." She shook her head. "You are made vulnerable."

The enchantress dug into a pouch she had at the side of her dress, bringing out a necklace that looked like a drop of amber. "This is the gift I was going to present to you earlier. It absorbs dark magic, but only so much." Her lips were pressed into a thin line before she sighed. "It was supposed to last you many years, though I fear it will be a one-time use for you."

Dremara accepted the necklace, turning over the smooth stone in her hand. It was beautiful, she had to admit. "Thank you, Lady Y'Sennia."

...

Nettie had an inkling for what he was trying to ask, though she could be mistaken. If he was asking her to spend the night in his chambers...

That she unfortunately could not do. It was true that she was drawn to him, his quiet, thoughtful demeanor. It made her curious as to what thoughts might be swirling behind those sharp, serious eyes of his. It didn't hurt that he was arguably one of the most handsome men she had met (in Nettie's opinion).

That being said, the two of them had barely spoken a word to one another before this night, and she was unsure about what implications there would be in bedding him. That and the fact giving her first time to someone would be a very personal, intimate affair. To do such a thing on a whim... it didn't seem wise for her heart nor his.

"I do not doubt that whatever you want to show me is magnificent, but I'm afraid I must be off to bed as well." She gave him a shy smile. "But if you ever require a dance partner, I would be more than happy to dance with you again."

 

[draco519]

Orson listened between Senni and Dremara’s conversation and the gift that had been able to absorb dark magic. And how his Queen would be vulnerable after she used her power. He remembered her falling slightly ill on the Whisker. Very pure magic? These words flew over Orson’s head so high a proper falcon might not see his dark mane from the sky. He didn’t know what any of it meant.

He barely understood Dagris when he spoke of the runes. “We are keeping her gifts secret until we know more about them.” He admitted to Senni, he hadn’t brought them up last night for just that purpose. Though the cat was out of the bag, now. And Senni likely would’ve been the only person he could ask about it, anyway. He moistened his lips with his tongue, reaching for his cup for another sip of ale before he replaced it on the table.

“How do we find out?” He did know there was only one way to discover the unknown. His eyes glancing between them before they settled on Senni. “You have many books in that..” He couldn’t remember what the room was called; but it held shelves for books, and a cauldron over a fire pit, as well as a workstation with various glass tubes and contraptions and runes. He’d only ever wandered in there once when he’d been lost in her palace that was three times the size of his own. “That room you insisted I touch nothing in.”

–

Cillian couldn't help it. He blushed a little bit as she said she didn't doubt that what he'd wanted would be magnificent. Oh, it would be. And then some. He had an itch he hadn't scratched in two winters. But he understood. They barely knew one another. "Not much to come and ask, I.." It dawned on him, then, that this was a fresh opportunity. She'd never seen his more humiliating moments at the festivals. When Brannock had put him on his ass, when Orson had pulled him, via rope, face first in the mud!

And she had the prettiest brown eyes when she smiled. "...but.. Maybe it won't take me two tankards to work up the nerve, yeah?" He teased, doing his level best to hide the internal screaming that dared hope against all hope he hadn't embarrassed her.

 

[Poprockz]

Y'Sennia knew exactly which room he was referring to. "My workshop, yes." She mused, tapping a finger on her chin thoughtfully. "If there is information on the subject, it would be there. I have some of the oldest tomes known to this land, tomes that I'm sure would make Dagris weep."

It was meant in multiple meanings. Long had her castle stood as a vampire's nest, and not even she knew exactly how old the place was. As such, there was a wealth of knowledge there, preserved by magic to keep it from disintegrating or being harmed. Not just books on dark magic, no. There was a font of all sorts of information there from ancient tales of heroism, to in-depth books on runes, to recorded prophecies, to even recipe books. A little-known fact about Vampires was that they were avid collectors, and what better to collect than knowledge?

"Let us leave for my castle as soon as you are able to do so. We can see what knowledge can be found on the subject, and possibly take other measures if necessary. We can also test her power upon the black rot that affects my mirror, if you're so inclined," she added. "With myself present, I would be able to mitigate any ill-effects."

----

Wait, she hadn't mentioned that, had she?! It took her a moment of confused internal panic to figure out whether she had said such a thing. When she thought she hadn't, it begged the question: how did he know that? The only way he could have known or even guessed at such a thing would be if he had been watching her. But was he watching her because he had noticed that she was watching him (albeit as sneakily as she could)? Had he seen the time after the first tankard of ale where she had gotten up, looked at him, then sat back down? Wait, no no. She had mentioned it. Thank goodness...

Her own cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat. "Maidens such as myself need a bit of liquid courage sometimes. We can't all be courageous warriors like yourself." It was said with a bit of playfulness.

 

[draco519]

Orson cocked his eyebrow as Senni suggested they travel to her palace so that Dremara could cleanse her mirror. It made solid sense to him; especially if she’d be there to counteract the negative effects. “It would allow you to gaze at the lake more carefully with far less risk…”

He took a deep breath. “And if there are these beasts in those woods, plague or no.. The Kota can’t allow them to roam the lands. It’s only a matter of time until they find the farms. With them at the Baleful lake, still? We have a chance to bottleneck them at Verrick’s pass and drive them back to the waters from whence they came.”

Though Senni’s palace was larger than his own? It didn’t mean Senni liked having too many guests. “Then.. we leave for the WhiteCaps at first light.” It was decided.

He was saddened he’d not get to see Dremara dance tonight, but duty superseded desires. He looked to Senni. “Are there any other details we need to know about?”

–

Cillian gave a small, shy smile, looking down at his feet with a nod. "Aye, love. Dangerous men of the Kota..." He cleared his throat. "Well.. I need to go make sure my quiver is filled. Check my waterskin for leaks, my boots for holes, my knives are sharp, my..." It dawned on Cillian, then, that he was about to espouse a manifesto of what it took to make ready for a mission to her. "Likely not conversation for a lady. No matter how much ale she's had."

He cleared his throat. "Well... good night, Nettie."

 

[Poprockz]

The Lady of the White Peaks didn't say anything to his comment, but she suspected that while the mirror would be cleansed, unless Dremara could infuse her magic into it, then it wasn't safe to use it to look at the lake in the meantime. She could only hope that the purification would be successful, and that they could find more information regarding Dremara's powers. If the group of them, even an army of them faced the beasts haphazardly, then the rot would consume them all.

"Not that I can think of at the moment," she sighed, pulling a flask from her side and taking a long drink of it. They all knew what was inside, though no one commented.

"Well... If we leave at first light, then I had best make my dance and then pack," Dremara commented. Surely there was enough time for a single performance before she retired?

----

The Lady of the White Peaks didn't say anything to his comment, but she suspected that while the mirror would be cleansed, unless Dremara could infuse her magic into it, then it wasn't safe to use it to look at the lake in the meantime. She could only hope that the purification would be successful, and that they could find more information regarding Dremara's powers. If the group of them, even an army of them faced the beasts haphazardly, then the rot would consume them all.

"Not that I can think of at the moment," she sighed, pulling a flask from her side and taking a long drink of it. They all knew what was inside, though no one commented.

"Well... If we leave at first light, then I had best make my dance and then pack," Dremara commented. Surely there was enough time for a single performance before she retired?

----

"Goodnight Cillian. May you be safe on your journey until you return." She looked as though she wanted to say something, hesitating before simply smiling and nodding. With that, she retreated back to her seat with a pleased look on her face. Though she had lost the nerve to give him a kiss on the cheek, at the very least she had danced with the man before he left to Gods know where.

She took a bite of potatoes and chewed them thoughtfully. Perhaps when he got back, she would give him a sewn handkerchief. Though she wasn't sure if he would have use for such a thing.

 

[draco519]

Orson glanced over to Dremara as she said she was ready for her dance. A small smile crept over his face, pleased with this news. “By all means.” He raised a hand to silence the hall and came to stand. “Our Queen brings us an offering of a dance!”

The men cheered.

Orson pulled out Dremara’s chair for her, and offered to take the furs. “I assume you won’t be needing these?” He smirked, amused. “You can have them back once you finish if the hall is too cold without them.”

–

Nettie’s answer surprised Killian. She wanted to be his woman? Fair enough. Her kiss brought him back in and the grind on his manhood was most welcome. He took a glorious handful of her ass in response. Unshy about it at that. Though the next kiss stoked the flames, and he found himself kissing her neck, finding the spot that turned her head before he couldn’t take it anymore.

Wrapping an arm around her thighs, he hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried Nettie to his room.

Cillian’s room was situated down a narrow corridor off the great hall, its entrance a heavy oak door, banded with iron, its surface carved with a raven in flight—a subtle emblem of Cillian’s affinity for Ursui’s storm spirits, whose amber eyes glow faintly when he approaches, a rune ward crafted by Dagris to ensure privacy.

The door’s hinges are silent, a modification Cillian made himself, reflecting his need for stealth, even within the longhouse. Beyond the door, the chamber is twelve feet by ten, carved into the longhouse’s granite core, softened by Cillian’s personal touches, a balance of duty and solitude.

The walls are polished granite, their surfaces etched with faint claw runes that pulse amber in the dark, a protective charm Dagris wove into the stone. One wall bears Cillian’s own carving—a flock of ravens soaring over a moor, their wings interwoven with Kota knotwork, a quiet devotion to the storm spirits he invokes as a scout.

The floor is stone, smoothed by years, covered with a single bear-fur rug, dyed a deep gray, its knotwork weaving raven claws with Ursui’s sigil, a subtle contrast to the ochre rugs elsewhere in the longhouse.

The ceiling is low, made of blackened wooden beams, their surfaces scorched and etched with Ursui’s constellation, though it also bears a small raven carving in the corner, its amber eyes inlaid with chips from a standing stone in RimeHaven, a memento from a Frostclaw Vigil some winters prior.

A narrow window set in the eastern wall is framed by wooden slats and sealed with clouded glass, offering a sliver of light and a view of the Vale’s rolling moors, where Cillian often watches for signs of danger, his instincts ever-sharp.

The window’s sill is dusted with frost, even in summer, a reminder of the Moor’s harshness, but a single white blossom rests there, inexplicably fresh, unnoticed by Cillian. He’d never seen it there.

Against the western wall, a bedframe of oak stands, its posts carved with raven wings, their amber eyes glinting in the dim light, a nod to Ursui’s storm spirits. The mattress, stuffed with down, is covered with a raven-feather blanket—black and iridescent, a gift from Roric after Cillian’s first successful scout, its edges frayed from nights on patrol.
A small bear claw, strung on leather, hangs above the bed, a protective charm from Dagris, its amber glow a quiet comfort.

Near the door, a sturdy rack of iron and wood holds a short bow, its string taut, arrows fletched with raven feathers, their tips etched with Ursui’s runes for accuracy.

A dagger, its hilt shaped like a raven’s head, rests beside a leather quiver, its blade stained from past skirmishes, a tool for both scouting and combat. A small drum, shaped like Ursui’s paw, sits on the rack—a relic from the Claw’s Echo, a reminder of his vigilance.

A small, weathered table of cedar, scarred from use, sits by the window, its surface a clutter of scouting tools—a map of the Iron Vale (their continent), marked with charcoal to note Naymeera’s movements, a flint for fire-starting, and a pouch of dried moor herbs for stealth rituals and religious prayer.

A raven feather, dipped in ink, lies beside a scrap of parchment, where Cillian sketches enemy movements, his handwriting sparse but precise.

In the corner opposite the bed, a small shrine to Ursui adorned the mantle over the small hearth. This one a stark difference to other shrines throughout the palace; his contained a polished stone raven, its amber eyes glowing, perches on a granite base. Offerings surround it—a vial of stag blood, a storm-raven feather, and a pebble from the Whispering Plains, carried back after an encounter with a primal beast. Its surface faintly scratched with a fox-like mark. The shrine’s amber glow hums softly, a spiritual anchor for Cillian’s prayers.


A leather satchel, slung over the table’s edge, holds Cillian’s scouting gear—vials of mud for camouflage, a bone whistle for signaling, and a small carving of a raven, whittled by Fionn as a jest after the Whispering Den, a rare sentimental keepsake. A pair of worn boots, their soles caked with moor mud, sit by the bed, their laces tied with raven feathers, a practical yet symbolic touch. A single iron sconce on the wall holds a torch, unlit, its presence a precaution for night watches.

 

[Poprockz]

No, she wouldn't be needing those furs until she got back, that was for sure. She might not even need them afterwards if she exerted herself enough. Dremara moved from their table to the dance floor which had been cleared of people in order to make room for her. Though she approached the musicians first.

"Do any of you know "Golden Burst?"" she asked. It was one of the most common songs in her Kingdom, so she assumed they might have at least heard of it.

The players looked between themselves and then back to her apologetically. "No, can't say that we have."

"What songs have you learned from foreign shores?" she asked, hoping there was one she could dance to.

The drummer looked a bit sheepish as he responded, "Uuuh, well. We know 'Barmaid's Revenge,' 'The Tipsy Horse,' and 'Thunderclap.'

Dremara thought about it for a moment. Barmaid's Revenge was an extremely inappropriate song, if memory served, whereas The Tipsy Horse was supposed to be very funny. Thunderclap though... That actually might suit her well. While it did have suggestive themes in some places, the song was a crowd-pleaser. "Thunderclap will do for tonight, thank you," she decided.

The musicians gave her a thumbs-up and got ready, looking to her as she readied herself on the right side of the stage.

There once was a lady in the heart of Spring,
Yeah, she Danced and frolicked, a sight unseen!
Could be spied making merry across the map,
But be gone at the sound of the thunderclap!

Ooooh, oh Heeeey!
The thunderclap would see the girl away!
Ooooh, oh Heeeey!
Re-tuuuurnin' at sight of clearer days!

The Princess started in on her dance when they started singing, her graceful legs taking her across the stage as she would twirl and jump, her skirt fanning whenever she would do so. It was a joyful, playful dance, a happy smile on her face as she moved to the familiar tune. It felt like home, and she was going to take full advantage of this brief taste.

Nettie was loving this, having stood up and joined the crowd to watch the familiar song and dance.