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 Post subject: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Tue Nov 28, 2017 2:43 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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Pale cream walls, even more muted now thanks to the moonlight that draped over them, stretched upwards into the sky, sloping slightly to meet in an elegantly painted rotunda at the top. The triumphs and perils of the elvish race were displayed side by side as their history told in pictures spiralled upward. At the center of the rotunda - at the center of elvish history - was the Mother in all of her grace and beauty, ever-present and omniscient as deities are so want to be.

The overwhelming existence of the Oratory was too much for Siravii. The hushed subjects of the suspended fresco stared down at them with little but contempt.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” an airy and whimsical voice spoke from his left. “The light elves have produced many a fantastic artist. That’s not even speaking to their unique architecture.”

Siravii reclined in his seat, his head rolling along the back of the chair to regard Desh Aloth. The desh was kind. Kinder a king than Siravii had ever known to exist, and certainly too kind to come to talk of turning tides in the war. “You give them too much credit, deshna.” It was almost a warning, but they both knew Siravii would never presume to give the desh an order. “Your mother was one of those fantastic artists.”

The desh hummed thoughtfully to himself and turned his attention somewhere toward the middle of the exorbitantly large round table. It was meant to be used to convene war meetings and ethics councils, so there was enough room at the table for a handful of representatives from each nation. This time there was no war meeting or ethics council to speak of; there were no humans, no dwarves, no fae - the four dark elves sat alone to bask in all of the spaciousness themselves.

“How long are they going to make us wait?” barked Paygan Naveen from a few seats down. He was a large man, and quick to temper. Siravii wasn’t fond of him, but he could appreciate why the desh appointed him as paygan; he couldn’t imagine anyone else at the head of their military. “We told them that this was urgent, and they throw us in this room to bide our time.”

Aloth was still pretending to examine imaginary dirt on the table, pointedly ignoring the protests going on around him. From between the desh and Naveen, a third low and smooth voice that reminded Siravii too much of poisoned honey spoke up. “Mind your tongue, Naveen,” Soma chastised him. “We are the ones pulling them from their beds. They know that the desh would not be here were it not emergent. Give them time.”

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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Fri Dec 15, 2017 12:03 pm 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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As the son of the light elf queen, Fyr was of course one of the few lucky enough to be woken up in the middle of the night to attend an extra special meeting. Fyr, generally happy with his responsibilities and duties that were far heavier than what a normal young elf of 42 could usually expect to have, didn’t much appreciate this 3 AM news.

“What’s it even about,” he grumbled at his mirror, as he hastily smoothed his unruly platinum hair. He might go straight from the bed to the meeting (and back to the bed afterwards), but he wanted to look somewhat presentable, at least. “Not peace negotiations, already, that’s for sure, they’d never come crawling for that even before a single life has been taken…”
He caught up with his mother, Seifr, and the paygan, Tïris, in the seemingly endless hallway leading to the beautiful oratory where he knew that dark elf delegations were waiting for them.

“Your hair, min,” Seifr said with a disapproving look at his locks. Fyr blushed, and wished he had a comb.

Seifr opened the large double doors leading from the hallway to the oratory; though enormous, they parted smoothly and silently at her firm push. She was the tallest woman Fyr had ever known. He was fully grown now, and still, she towered over him. The moonlight made her elegant white gown shimmer. She looked as ethereal and untouchable as the light itself; no doubt on purpose.

“Welcome, honored guests,” she said, gracefully extending both her arms as if she wanted to embrace the whole, circular room. She let her gaze fall upon the table, frowned, and then whistled deafeningly at the still open doors. Seifr turned once more to the desh and his entourage, and smiled apologetically. “I’m very sorry that no refreshments have been offered to you. I assure you, they will be here soon. No one will come to my lands and not be treated as hospitality demands.” The queen took her place, and bade Fyr and Tïris sit next to her. Seifr steepled her fingers in front of her face.

“It’s a strange time you’ve come,” she began. “Peace negotiations before even a proper declaration of war has been issued?”
No, Fyr thought. She knows that’s not it. But what else could it be? Things were tense between the two elven domains; they always had been. The only thing they could ever seem to really agree on was to stay away from the mountain range to the South, as neither civilization had ever made any attempt to colonize the fertile area at its foot for millennia. Fyr didn’t exactly know why; they were stories so old that they barely counted as history.

Two pale elves in pale, forget-me-not robes entered quietly and momentarily tore Fyr’s attention away from the meeting. A goblet with golden liquid was placed before each of the seven attendants; as were small wooden platters with each their delicate arrangement of moist bread, paper thin slices of smoked ham, and apple slices. The servants left as quickly as they’d come with a deep bow before Seifr, who nodded, and dismissed them. The double doors shut gently behind the servants, leaving the company once more in silence and soft moonlight. Fyr took a sip from his goblet. He could recognize the desh and the paygan from his mother’s descriptions, but he did not know the other two.


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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Thu Dec 21, 2017 3:59 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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There had been no other indication that the two towering and elegant doors had parted, except for the movement that Siravii caught in his periphery. The desh stood elegantly and effortlessly, as if somehow he bore no weight, and clasped his hands loosely in front of him. One by one, Siravii and the desh’s advisory staff rose to their feet, and to his credit Siravii only heard the paygan make a diminutive noise of disdain in the back of his throat when the desh bowed his head in respect. His long silvering hair, a testament to the blonde he’d inherited from his mother before his age had begun to creep in on him, tumbled over his shoulders before he picked his head back up. A polite smile pulled at the corners of Aloth’s lips at her sickeningly sweet greeting, and Siravii quietly appreciated his astute grace. He’d never fancied himself part of the upper nobility, and he was quite glad for it. Forced pleasantries and fake smiles had never been at the top of his list of favorite ways to torture himself.

“You’re far too kind,” Aloth complimented, waiting patiently for their hostess and her company to be seated before he presumed to lower himself into the elegant, high-backed chair. He looked considerably at the young light elf, the spitting image of the queen herself, but didn’t let his eyes linger for too long before returning his attention directly across from him and offering an apologetic smile of his own at her assertion. “If only war were so simple.” His lips parted as if to continue, but he quickly thought better of it as the wait-staff descended upon them to lay out an elegant display of food and drink. The desh quietly thanked the servants as they presented his food, a habit that Siravii was still not used to seeing in nobility in spite of how often he’d borne witness to it back home, before nodding to the queen again in gratitude.

When all unnecessary ears had left the room once more, Aloth continued. “I appreciate your willingness to see us on such a short notice, and I feel I must apologize for the hour,” he began, clasping one hand over the other in front of him on the table. From the left, the paygan had already begun to descend upon his meal, and Siravii couldn’t say that he blamed the man. He tentatively picked up an apple slice, briefly wondering whether or not the queen would presume to poison the desh and his staff at the midnight hour, but he was hungry enough to eat it anyway. “But I do believe introductions are in order; I’ve made an addition to my staff since last we met.”

An addition; singular, because Siravii couldn’t technically be considered part of the desh’s cadre. By rights, he shouldn’t even be present in the oratory or eating potentially-poisoned apple slices. He did his best to quiet his crunching as the desh held out a hand to his left. “This is Soma,” he introduced, pointedly not telling them what exactly it was that Soma did for him. He dropped his hand to his lap, and held up his right hand to gesture to Siravii. He looked to Siravii with an intense consideration as he struggled to find the right words. A look of defeat pulled at his features as Siravii watched him decide that no, there was no good way to say what he needed to say. Finally he looked back to his hosts. “And this is Siravii Korsish,” he said at last, dropping his hand back to join the other on his lap. “A prisoner of mine, and the reason I come to you tonight.”

In spite of whether or not anyone was actually staring at him, Siravii could still feel the intensity of a thousand eyes on him. Thankfully, Soma was the first to speak up, but it was only to clarify. “An escaped prisoner.”

Siravii bit his tongue to stop himself from rebutting that he didn’t fit the ‘escaped’ criteria anymore, seeing as how he was clearly in the possession of the desh himself. Aloth smiled. “Yes, well, I’ve come to talk of diplomacy, not to argue semantics,” he dismissed in Siravii’s favor, without so much as acknowledging Soma with a turn of his head. Instead, he actually showed his advisor the back of his head in favor of looking to his prisoner. “Siravii, can you show them what you showed me?”

Cautiously, Siravii nodded, leaning down slowly to retrieve a bag that he’d rested near his feet. He questioned for a moment whether this was an appropriate time, considering that there were people - namely Naveen - eating, but he supposed that the desh wanted to get to the point before any talk of war could become hostile. He uncinched the top of his bag, reaching in and feeling around until he got a good hold on the sole object that it contained. When he was satisfied with the grip he had, he pulled it out and held it up for their hosts to see before he stood and sat it on the table.

‘It’ was a head, severed though it did not bleed. The skin was thick, pallid and marred, and there were no eyes to speak of. Instead, two pinprick holes bore into each side of the face, something that Siravii could only explain as ears. And from the earholes, the mouth began, stretching the entire width of its face into a grotesque grin. Siravii pulled the top of the head back just so, and the entire top half of its face pulled back to reveal rows of teeth. Hundreds of them, small and pointed and lethal.

“Again, I do apologize for inconveniencing you so late,” Aloth spoke after a moment, the polite smile he bore having dripped out of his expression. “But, as I’m sure you can imagine, I’m quite concerned."

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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
PostPosted: Fri Feb 16, 2018 11:22 am 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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Fyr’s astonishment at the presence of an escaped prisoner at the table was nothing to what he felt upon seeing the head being placed upon the table. It only just qualified as such in his eyes; devoid as it was of any resemblance to a real face. Not wanting to look too hard at the decapitated head, he instead turned his attention back to the young man, Siravii Korsish. He had felt Siravii’s eyes upon him earlier, though he couldn’t explain any possible interest in him. As the queen’s son, it was true that he was privileged with a special sort of education that could prepare him for life as a ruler, but there was no guarantee he would ever reign over the light elves. Their king or queen was elected – for life - but had to undergo annual evaluations by the people and a special council, and regicide was not unheard of in cases of perpetually unpopular monarchs.

Fyr blinked himself out of the web of thoughts he had woven. He was to pay attention to what was going on before him, not sink into revision of the light elf political system. The head grinned at him with all its teeth. There were so many it barely looked like a mouth; from his stolen glances at it, Fyr couldn’t figure out where or if the teeth ended anywhere.

“What is that?” said Seifr stiffly, staring at the head. Again, rhetorical more than anything – Fyr, too, would prefer the head to be a cruel practical joke. Seifr turned to face Aloth, a smile, too wide, frozen on her face. “Where was this found? Don’t tell me your prisoner actually faced one of these alone and lived.” Fyr could detect a note of panic in her voice that he usually associated with an evaluation taking a little too long.

If fairy tale monsters were suddenly popping up from the ground, and I were an escaped prisoner, I think I’d come running back to my cell, too, Fyr thought. Oddly, Siravii seemed the least unnerved of all of them. Maybe he was in shock. Maybe he was deliberately choosing to ignore the horrifying prospect he had brought to the table.


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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Fri Feb 16, 2018 5:28 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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Seifr's proffered grin was on par with that of the severed head's, and Aloth returned it with an apologetic smile. "I had hoped that you might be able to tell me," he admitted on a sigh, hands worrying themselves politely on the table in front of him.

The way that the queen didn't try to hide the disbelief in her voice was only slightly irksome, and Siravii spoke immediately to his own defense. "I think you'll find that I'm quite capable." He paused at that and looked to the desh, who waved a hand for Siravii to continue. The prisoner wasn't oblivious to the whisper of a knowing smirk that tried to pull at the corner of the desh's lips; an inside joke between the two of them as if to say, 'capable indeed.' Nevertheless, the rest of his expression remained impassable while he silently beckoned a continuation.

Siravii looked back across the table.

"I was your side of the Whitewood, Your Grace," he said, not necessarily without muted accusation. The Whitewood separated Vandalia from its sister country, and it was simultaneously owned and not owned by both countries. It was a holy site that was shared by light and dark elves alike, but its vastness usually meant that the two races never met; even if they were in the same forest, they were still separated by days of walking to reach the other side. Siravii, however, had almost made it. "After I took my leave of the dungeons, I knew there would be no safe place for me in Vandalia. There was no safe place for me here, either, but I had planned to hug your side of the forest and head North. And then that thing," he paused, pointed at the head, "goes and gets me across the back. I didn't even hear it come up behind me."

Soma leaned forward in his seat, stretching to turn the head to face him. He opened the mouth again, wincing slightly when the dead weight caused the top of the head fell back abruptly to reveal those many, many teeth. Siravii continued. "Wretched, twisted thing with long talons, about as tall as I am. I turned and then it... screamed?" It was almost a question, almost an answer. "It was a horrible noise. I killed that one, but Your Grace, I heard more of those screams follow me every night until I was back out of the Whitewood."

Aloth held up a hand for Siravii to stop, and he obeyed. “You've not see anything like this in your woods?” He didn't wait for an answer; the well-contained frightened confusion was enough to answer his own question. “You're welcome to take a look at Siravii's scars for yourself, but I can assure you myself that they are very, unfortunately real. I'm sure you can understand that this… whatever it is, poses a very real, mutual threat.”

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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
PostPosted: Fri Apr 20, 2018 11:48 pm 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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"I cannot imagine why you think I would be able to explain that. They don't exist. Of course I haven't had any like reports," Seifr answered Aloth, her smile still frozen in place. Fyr marveled at how she somehow managed to speak clearly while barely parting her lips. The light elf paygan, Tïris, leaned forward to inspect the head with interest.

"Disregarding the fact that you're allowing escaped criminals to run around freely," Seifr continued, "I will agree that solving this problem is in our mutual interest. You," she said, turning her pale eyes towards Siravii, "you say you found this near our borders, correct? Did spot anything unusual on your way here? Tracks, strange smells? Do you remember anything else of interest from your encounter with this - thing?"

Tïris had quietly gotten up and walked around the table to stand next to Soma. He opened the head once more with interest; counting the rows of teeth, very carefully placing the tip of a finger against one of them. His expression was one of morbid fascination rather than fear. Fyr had never liked him very much. Tïris was too immersed in ancient stories of war heroes for his liking, and the paygan was an outdated position anyway. Why give it to someone who saw glory rather than horror in battle? He had never gotten around to asking his mother, though Fyr suspected he could guess her reasons easily.

Averting his eyes from the uncomfortable sight of Tïris pulling at the loose skin near the corners of the creature's mouth (revealing yet more teeth in the flesh beneath, to the surprise of no-one), he turned instead back to Siravii with renewed interest. An escaped prisoner who fought a monster and lived! It was like the beginning of an excellent story; one where he would then be charged with solving the problem he'd stumbled upon to re-earn his freedom. Fyr couldn't quite prevent a twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was too exciting a thought.

"We could - send a team of our own to investigate the scene," he suggested, opening his mouth for the first time since entering the room. He looked at Aloth with a smile that was much more genuine than his mother's. Both Seifr and Tïris' eyes shot towards him, but neither party interrupted. Fyr took this as encouragement and continued. "If you will agree to your prisoner aiding us in this, I'm sure we could discover something of value."


Last edited by Fearless Sissy on Sun Oct 14, 2018 3:58 am, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Tue Aug 07, 2018 6:07 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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Siravii watched with a muted curiosity as the light elf paygan examined the severed head with morbid fascination. The man could have it for all he cared, though Soma and the desh might have some conflicting opinions about it. He didn’t care - he just knew that he was done looking at it. And so he turned his gaze away in favor of looking to the queen addressing him. “There were no tracks, Your Grace. There were no smells.” He shook his head solemnly, eyes focusing on the table politely. He only let them rest there for a second until he felt another set of eyes on him. They belonged to the prince, he realized - a gaze that was young and full of vigor, wonder, and dangerous naivety. “They did not bleed,” he spoke, hollowly. Though, he wasn’t sure if he was addressing the queen to answer her question of anything unusual, or to her son to stop his excitement before it began.

It was too late for that, unfortunately. The excitement was already there, and the boy was already speaking out of his ass about sending Siravii back in there again. The decision was not up to him - if it was, he would have never given it a second thought. However, it seemed that Soma had other ideas.

“This does require a unilateral effort. The Whitewood is holy ground; it is not just ours or yours to protect,” Soma began, putting on airs as he so often did when he was speaking on behalf of the desh - who was right there to speak for himself. Tell me that you’re not agreeing to this, Siravii pleaded in his mind. It sounds a lot like you’re agreeing to this. “A team should consist equally of individuals chosen by Desh Aloth and Queen Seifr.”

**** sake, Soma, you stupid ****.

The desh hummed thoughtfully at the idea, looking intently to Fyr. “You have your mother’s eager hand for leadership. Like a leader, then, surely you will be heading this investigative team that you’re preparing?”

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PostPosted: Sun Oct 14, 2018 4:35 am 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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"He will," answered Seifr immediately. Fyr straightened his back a little more. This was a rare show of trust from her side, and he was determined to show he could earn it. Even better, the leader of the formal enemy seemed to recognize him as having worth! Definitely worth getting up at **** o'clock for, thought Fyr.

"Of course, your prisoner will come along as the chief guide," Seifr continued. "He is, after all, the only one with any real knowledge of where this thing was." She pinned desh Aloth with her gaze. "Will they need a guard? He's capable, you say, but there was only one thing when he fought it. He says he heard more. I don't feel certain of sending two people out to their potential deaths just because we think the danger is still far away."

"Wouldn't we rather attract danger to our doorstep if we send out a small army to look for tracks?" Fyr protested. Even if his mother hadn't looked at him when she spoke, it sounded suspiciously like supervision to him. Over by the monster's head, still inspecting it, Tïris nodded.

"A covert mission in the Whitewood sounds like the better option," he saw with his hoarse voice. Fyr turned his head so fast his neck cracked. He had not expected support to come from Tïris of all people. He was usually a 'the more swords, the better our odds'-type of paygan. "Besides, we can hardly justify sending armed troops, of either side, into the Whitewood when the war hasn't yet formally begun," Tïris said. Seifr nodded slowly, not entirely convinced, but enough.

"If you will agree to this, I invite you all to stay the night," she told the dark elf ensemble. "I would send them out sooner rather than later, but we are tired, and I'm sure you are, too." She whistled for the second time that night; servants appeared as if out of thin air, were ordered to prepare rooms for the dark elves, and promptly left to carry out the order.

Fyr eyed the prisoner, Siravii, with interest again. It wasn't until now that he realized they must look like strange, mirrored versions of each other; where Fyr had platinum blond, almost white hair, Siravii looked as if shadows were tumbling from his head, but otherwise, their physical likenesses were striking. Fyr smiled at him, hoping to make it clear he didn't share his mother's suspicion of him. "Sounds like a plan," he said.


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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Tue Oct 16, 2018 9:13 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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Sounds… like a plan?

Siravii choked back bile as his attention bounced between the occupants of the Oratory. The queen tensed at the thought of sending her son as part of a two-man team to track a whatever-the-fuck that thing was. Paygans on both sides seemed to agree on the effort, and about how best to go about it. Gods above, they were already talking about sleep, as if anyone could sleep after what they’d seen tonight. Finally, dark and sunken eyes rested on the prince, who seemed absolutely radiant with optimism. He smiled, and Siravii silently asked the gods for forgiveness for the kick he was about to give this proverbial pup.

“What’s stopping me from killing him?”

The room quieted suddenly, which SIravii expected - just maybe not that quickly. But it was said and done, and he held his ground about it. “I’m sorry Siravii,” the desh began quietly, firmly, as if somehow in some way he was the one who was expected to apologize in this situation. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. I’m sure I didn’t.”

In through your nose, out through your mouth…

Siravii focused on breathing as he tried to string words into sentences, but he couldn’t hear himself think over the racing of his own heart. He couldn’t look at the desh as he answered, nor could he stand to look at whatever horrified expression the prince would have to wear after being so casually threatened after exhibiting nothing but warmth and welcome. Instead, he looked at the queen, whose imposing form seemed much more bearable to size up. “If you send me back in there, with just your son, what’s stopping me from killing him?”

“Siravii..,” came the desh’s low warning.

“No,” he demanded - an inexcusable offense when addressing the desh, but one that he felt comfortable committing. He shook his head, backing up his bold assertion. “It’s not happening. You send one more, we send one more, and we have a better chance if one of those things finds us.”

Wood dragged loudly against tile as Soma pushed himself to his feet, his chair sliding against the floor beneath. “You will do no such thing you treasonous cur. On Fayhn’s name, I will see to it-”

“You can go with him then,” Aloth breathed out, almost too quietly to be heard over Soma’s rant. He and Siravii both blinked, and simultaneously the question both came to them:

What?”

The desh rose gracefully to his feet and folded his hands in front of his middle. He cast his gaze downward to the pallid and disfigured head, giving it a genuinely thoughtful look. “I said,” the desh spoke up, making sure that Soma could hear every enunciated syllable. “You can go with them. You’re my eyes and ears, and Siravii is my prisoner. You’ll handle him while the search ensues, you act with my full authority as it pertains to his treatment.” He waved a hand idly, as if he was brushing away any future rebuttals.

Ever since he was old enough to ponder existentialism, Siravii had always assumed he would be able to pinpoint exactly where and when his life would spin out of his control. By committing crimes against the desh and his people, he assumed. Normally when criminals are caught, though, they do their time and then they’re released back into the public to do the same **** they were doing before - only slightly more carefully. Not with Siravii though, he was facing a death sentence either way. He could go to the Whitewood now and die getting ripped apart by whatever horrors the trees hid, or he could refuse and go back home to be hung without question.

If he were being honest, he’d rather hang.

A hand wrapped itself tightly around Siravii’s forearm, pulling him to his feet. The desh, for as dainty a man as he was, had a surprisingly firm grip. Even when Siravii found his feet beneath him, the desh did not let go. “Go on then,” the desh urged. It wasn’t a question, it was a silent demand for Siravii to bite his tongue and eat his words.

It was easy for Siravii to look apologetic because he was. The prince had committed no sins against him except the sin of incredible ****ing naivety and blind optimism. “I am sorry, prince,” he apologized, only half-truthfully. He wasn’t sorry for using violence as an option to try to get more men to face these… things so he had a better chance of coming out of it alive. He was, however, sorry that it had to be the prince. It obviously was a shitty tactic; he should’ve threatened the queen instead. It would’ve probably worked better. “I wouldn’t try to harm you. I’d never throw my people into war like that. But make no mistake, if you and I go to the Whitewood alone, we’re dead men anyway.”

Siravii could feel the desh studying him from the side. His grip around Siravii’s arm tightened; he wasn’t buying it, but he would play the part as if he did. Aloth straightened his back and shook his head from side to side. “Make no mistake, Seifr. No harm will come to your son. If I might make a suggestion, send a guard from your roster to make sure that doesn’t happen. Should the prince come under threat, the guard and Soma should have no trouble putting it down.”

The desh enunciated the last few words and Siravii was not ignorant of the venom that laced them. Suddenly Siravii’s arm was free from the vice grip it had been in, and blood began to rush through it all at once. “If that sounds acceptable, we would greatly appreciate your hospitality. And your forgiveness on behalf of our prisoner.”

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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Sun Jan 20, 2019 3:33 pm 

eye of newt, tail of newt... rest of newt...

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During the whole episode, queen Seifr had not moved a single muscle in her face; not during the outrageously bold threats on her only son’s life, not during the prisoner’s apology. Fyr knew his mother well enough to know that that meant she hadn’t believed a word of either contained any measure of truth. Fyr himself only managed an expression of confusion and pity. Obviously, the prisoner was scared stiff of whatever was in the woods if he felt brazen enough to threaten a member of the royal family, not only to their face, but also in the presence of several very influential witnesses.

“I believe you,” he told Siravii with a gentle smile. He knew Seifr was, as she usually did when Fyr tried to behave in what he deemed a gracious manner befitting a kind ruler, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Let’s not go alone then. If your man,” he nodded slightly to Soma, “will accompany us, I believe I know of exactly the person who will complete this quartet. Mother, I wish for Atlas to accompany us to the Whitewood.”

An almost imperceptible cough escaped Tïris, but he otherwise made no indication that he had recognized the name at all. Queen Seifr just waved a pale hand dismissively.

“You know the soldiers better than I do, min. Take whomever you wish, but know that if you come to harm and they do not, I will naturally punish them most severely. Do pick one whose capabilities you are sufficiently confident in for a task such as this.”

She rose gracefully, rested her fingertips on top of the round table and beheld her visitors.

“I think we can conclude this meeting. It is awfully late, and I think that with Soma and my son, as well as the insider knowledge provided by your prisoner, the trip itself will be a trifle,” she said, as if they were hosting a picnic in the morning. With a final deafening whistle, the blue-robed servants, as well as a couple of menacing-looking, helmeted guards, came forth again, awaiting orders. “We are providing you all with suitable quarters. Rest easy tonight. I look forward to seeing you leave tomorrow.”

With that, she waved a hand at Siravii, whom the guards immediately approached, and he was firmly, though not violently, seized by each of his arms and marched off in the direction of the dungeons. A flash of pity hit Fyr - he would be invaluable on their quest tomorrow, but at the same time, he was a prisoner, and he understood why his mother didn’t feel inclined to let him sleep on their silk sheets. He bowed at the other three dark elves, gesturing them towards the beautiful double doors through which the queen had once again disappeared.

“This place can be a labyrinth for infrequent visitors,” he told them. “I’d follow the servants as quickly as possible, if I were you.” He waited politely until they had gone through them before he left for his own quarters. Now that nobody was looking at him anymore, a wide smile spread across his tired face. A real adventure!

*~*~*~*

A flat-chested, lean girl with gleaming chestnut hair and eyes were saddling horses in the courtyard very early the next morning as Fyr approached her. He greeted her with a warm smile and outstretched arms. She scowled at him.

“Lucky me, getting to go on your suicide mission,” she said. “Bet you’re all excited, right? Going into mysterious territory, hunting a wild killer-beast, along with the enemy. You know this stinks like ambush and not adventure, right?”

Fyr’s face dropped, though he wasn’t all that surprised to hear that tone from her.

“Don’t be so mean, Atlas,” he said flatly. “You’re with me because I trust you to be able to save my life, not act like my personal babysitter, and because,” he nudged her in the ribs with an elbow, grin back on his face, “I know you deep down would love to be the hero in a fairy tale, too.”

Atlas tightened the cinch on one dappled palomino horse with a snort. “That was a long time ago, ven,” she said, venom lacing her voice in spite of her kind name for him. Fyr gave up on her with a sigh and settled for scratching the horse between its ears instead.

“As long as you don’t kill me before the beast does,” he mumbled. Atlas didn’t respond, instead checking the packs on the horses containing rations, extra arrows, whetstones, and whatever else the queen had felt they might need.

“Sure don’t hope you take too long, there’s only enough here for about a week for four people,” she said indifferently. Fyr did not get to respond before the sound of footsteps made him turn, and he spotted the two dark elves - the former prisoner, again, followed by guards, but this time not led by them. Fyr gave them a cheerful two-finger salute - he was far too jittery with nerves and excitement to be more proper than that.

“Good morning,” he greeted them pleasantly, though the sun had barely risen. “You’ll find that Atlas has readied both horses and packs for you. Should you need other weapons or more arrows, the guards will be happy to accompany you to the armory before we leave.”

With that, he elegantly lifted himself onto his palomino and waited for the rest to get ready. The courtyard was tinted pink and gold with the sunrise. A gentle breeze toyed with his long, blond braid. Fyr took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what awaited him, but he was determined to do his best - whatever that would turn out to mean.


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 Post subject: Re: Cataclysm
View Likes PostPosted: Sun Jan 20, 2019 5:59 pm 

you catch more flies with honey but you catch more honeys being fly

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The rain came down with a ferocious tenacity, the steady tap-tap of water hitting rooftops and the packed earth below obscuring the sounds of murmurs and whispers. Siravii didn’t need to hear them to know that they were talking about him. About how the water at his feet ran red when it should run clear. About the body that lay crumpled at his feet, and about how it was begging for mercy just moments ago. About the fact that they both wore the same regalia.

A feeling of immense panic set in. Siravii’s sword fell to the ground, a thin mix of blood and water surrounding it. His eyes struggled through the grey wall of rain, straining to find a familiar face in a mass of unfamiliar silhouettes. “Sarae?!” he yelled over the storm, stepping over the lifeless form of his comrade. The silhouettes scrambled backwards to get away from him, except for one.

“Avi?” she called, but he found himself unable to answer. He opened his mouth to yell back to her that he was here for her, that he wasn’t leaving her, that she was going to be okay. But he couldn’t. “Siravii?” she called for him again. And again. And again…


Dark eyes snapped open as Siravii was startled awake. His heart beat furiously against its cage, and the thin layer of sweat covering his body made him shiver violently against the air of the cold, dank dungeon. Clenching his jaw and breathing through his nose to slow himself down, Siravii’s head rolled along the hard cot that was afforded to the Queen’s prisoners. Then he promptly rolled his eyes and turned to lay with his back to the door where Soma and the house guards stood.

“Up,” he commanded, with all the authority of the desh himself. “It’s time to leave.”

*~*~*~*


It was too bright. The temperature was too ambient. Stablemen and patrolling guardsmen seemed to carry about their business as if the day was perfect. And indeed, it was. If they all intended to march into the Whitewood and die, at least it was a nice ****ing day.

Siravii led the way to the stables, free of the terribly grabby hands guiding him by the arms. Instead, his guards hung behind them to make some sort of idle chat or another with Soma. Whatever the reason for their relaxing on his treatment, he didn’t care. Perhaps it was just a small, final freedom for a dead man walking.

In the distance, the prince appeared to be far ahead of them, already prepared and ready to depart. With him, a well-built young woman stood at the ready, yet looking every bit as eager to be here as Siravii was. Soma returned the prince’s greeting, while Siravii largely ignored it and darted to a sturdy looking mount that had been prepared for them. He looked it over carefully, hoping to find something wrong with its gear in order to delay their departure even further. Deft hands checked the saddle, the bridle, the saddlepack, and finally he sighed. No excuses or delays there, the horse was saddled perfectly.

At the mention of weapons, Siravii half-turned to the prince, then craned his neck to look back at Soma. “You’re arming me, now?” he asked, the corner of his lips curving upward just slightly. Soma rolled his eyes, and the prisoner returned to examining his horse. A sheath had been affixed to a side pack, and Siravii drew it out just slightly. It was by no means one of the dark elvish scimitars that he was used to wielding, but it would do.

“That. I need that,” he demanded suddenly, pointing at the waist of one of the two guards. The guard put a defensive hand over the sheathed dagger at his hip. Siravii’s eyes darted upward to meet those of the guards, then he snapped his fingers twice and continued pointing. “Oh **** off, the prince said you’ve got an armory, right? You can always get another one.” He gave a stiff smile and nodded his head in gratitude when the dagger was finally laid in his palm.

Soma shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to regain himself before turning to the guard named Atlas. “Thank you for readying the horses,” he said, though his gratitude only thinly masked his intended apology for his prisoner’s behavior. He climbed upon his mount, waiting impatiently for Siravii to fix the supplied dagger and sword to his belt before doing the same.

And like that, they were off. The day still carried on around them, and if it were not for the feeling of impending doom, it might have even felt like they were going on a pleasant ride around the capital city instead of making their way to the Whitewood to die. The road leading out of the city’s western gate was wide enough for entire caravans to pass through comfortably, as most trade routes were. And in spite of all this room, Siravii found himself leading the group by himself. Because he was the only one who knew where they were going, so Soma had said. But the last time Siravii checked, just about everyone with eyes knew where the Whitewood was, because it literally stretched the entirety of the border. He knew that this was just Soma’s way of keeping tabs on him - staying behind him and being able to react quickly if he made any sudden moves. It was smart and Siravii hated him for it.

Wanting to fill the void of silence, and knowing that Siravii was not about to jump to the task, Soma pulled his reigns and led his horse slightly closer to the prince’s. “Will this be your first expedition? From what I’ve heard of your mother, I didn’t expect her to send you out.”

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