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by vaell » Wed Jan 03, 2024 12:21 pm
xxxxxSAOIRSE DE ROTHSCHILD.
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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxa resident of vault 113.
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indentjanuary is always a special time of the year for the residents of merrowbeach. the ushering in of a new year brings forth a high of elation for most people, determined to make do what they could not achieve the year prior. people are anticipating what may be in store for them while others are dreading the prospect of what possible hardships they may come to face. regardless, cautious hopefulness and expectation seem to linger in the air, ready to be ignited by the promise of a few nights of merriment and gaiety. she supposed her father was right when he said people become filled with joie de vivre come this time of winter. serving as an escape from the mid-january blues, merrowbeach has made a tradition out of dedicating a few days of the month for winter celebration and festivities, beginning this friday evening and extending throughout the rest of the weekend. downtown would soon enough be brimming with folks eagerly looking for some form of entertainment or revelry, and oftentimes events coordinated through the town's center for the arts attract a considerable crowd. saoirse herself could testify for the awe and wonder artistic performances inspire in the community of merrowbeach, having spent time on stage as a performer for a ballet and in other instances as a marveling spectator in the audience. saoirse's efforts in the dance studio these past few months would culminate at the end of the town's wintertime festivities, starring in a well-known classic ballet such as swan lake, l'histoire de manon, the sleeping beauty, or the nutcracker ─ a favorite of hers, and the performance she was honored to lead in this year. the world of dance is a familiar one to saoirse and it often made much more sense to her than did the real, practical world. as of late though, she couldn't help but find her two separate realities encroaching on each other. ever since she was a young girl saoirse has attended most ─ if not all ─ merrowbeach festivities with a certain abril fox-strangways, her dearest and most cherished childhood friend whom she planned to spend tonight's celebrations with. much like the town has established it's own tradition, they too have. a small leather photo album in saoirse's room serves as home to a number of different memories the two of them have shared together over the years, evidencing how closely they've grown up and matured alongside one another. sometimes it was comforting to flip through the pages of the album after a long day at work or an exhausting practice at the dance studio. seeing photographs of her and a young abril playing along the shallow inlet of the coast as kids ─ a series of black and white candid images probably taken by one of their parents ─ could always manage to put a smile on her face even in the worst of times. saoirse was a sentimental person indeed; she liked to keep photographs, little letters accompanying christmas gifts, or other keepsakes most people may find trivial like movie tickets or receipts. she loved her friend as profoundly as any girl might their childhood companion, granted with a sense of awe and silent admiration. abril shone in ways saoirse did not, and she grew used to relying on her friend as the more outgoing of the two of them; in turn, the other woman understood her in ways other people did not. saoirse was still not far off from the shy, quiet little girl she once was but her friendship with abril has inadvertently helped her become more rooted in her identity. alas, saoirse was honored to be performing a ballet later this weekend; in fact, she was quite eager to show off her hard work on the stage but admittedly, there was another reason that might account for her growing enthusiasm today, curious as it may be. she's been restless at the barre today, and quite certain that if she remained stretching her leg for any longer she may fall into another fit of daydreams yet again. was it abril fox-strangways quietly infiltrating the recesses of her mind, or was she simply excited to embrace the beginning of a weekend full of carefree celebration? saoirse could not tell.
indentthe encore dance studio boasts a spacious room for the ballet company's practicing professionals, floored with a semi-traditional covering with wood battens laid on neoprene pads. the sprung floor is intended to minimize the stress on the bones and joints of the ballet company's resident studio dancers; with the load spread by plywood and good quality durable wood, the floating floor rests on an system of high density foam to absorb the shock of jumping by practicing dancers. other practice rooms in the studio have vinyl floor coverings that can be rolled up if they're needed for performances at different venues such as the center for the arts or merrowbeach's modest opera house. such vinyl floorings are easily mobilized because they rest atop the studios hardwood floors without any adhesive, requiring only a few tapes on the edges to be fastened up. she and the rest of her ballet company are often responsible for helping transport belongings such as floorings to different performance centers, just as they would likely be tasked with doing later this weekend. the studio walls are lined with floor-mounted barre ─ otherwise known as support bars ─ fixed to the walls of the room to provide support for dancers wishing to stretch in either stages of their warm up or cool down routine, such as saoirse was in the middle of doing now. floor to ceiling mirrors surrounded the main dance floor to ensure dancers could check their postures while practicing, interrupted only by a grand wall clock located near the top border of one of the walls. the ceiling height in the studio even permitted the addition of a few ceiling fans to help with the temperature and ventilation control in the room. a quaint piano occupies the space in the corner of the studio in case a dancer should wish to practice on live music, especially for a ballet and ballroom sequences. having finished practicing the third movement in the nutcracker pas de deux for the day, the melodies composed by the iconic pyotr ilyich tchaikovsky were no longer being played in the studio for saoirse. when she first arrived to the studio today after her shift at work she stowed her belongings and valuables in the studio's dressing rooms just down the hall. any props, costumes and accessories required to conduct recitals are located in a room adjacent to that very dressing room, also intended for the safe storage of equipment and the ballet company's collections of records, tapes and videos. other dancers have come and gone throughout the day as saoirse practiced, retrieving their items and departing, while others have come in to quietly begin their own stretching at the barre to warm up. save for saoirse and two other men, the studio was empty this time of the day. the young woman let out a sigh of relief as she carefully withdrew her outstretched leg from the stationary handrail of the barre, shifting on her feet a bit before alternating to elevate her opposite leg to ensure she's adequately stretched each of her two limbs. saoirse's pale blue eyes remained fixed on her reflection in the mirror though her features give away little expression. today she wore a plain black leotard complimented by a white tulle practice skirt over a pair of powder pink tights similar to that of her laced pointe shoes, an ensemble not uncommon for the ballerinas of her company. her short brown hair was pulled away from her face in a low, neat bun and though her wispy bangs were supposed to be held back by a thin black headband a few strands remained framing her face, enough as to hide the sheen of sweat that still sat above her brow. after a moment passed and she felt comfortable at the barre, saoirse lowered her chest to her leg to deepen the stretch in her quadriceps.
indentsaoirse was what some people might call a child prodigy, or at-least she came close enough to the small town equivalent of one. even as a young girl her ballet teachers would praise her for being endowed with an exceptional talent and unlike some dancers whose careers eventually fade out into a mediocre hobby, saoirse was fortunate enough to continue doing what she loved most by pursuing a professional career in dance. rooted in artist expression and technical difficulty, ballet is a demanding sport both physically and mentally. people often misjudge the strength, stamina and will required to dance ballet because seasoned performers on the stage make it look impossibly easy. the art form is so intricate that it almost paradoxically requires the dancer to practice abandon; if you think too much, you will almost certainly falter. it's taken years upon years of discipline, persistence, and overcoming injuries and setbacks for saoirse get to where she is today. it's not uncommon for the most talented of dancers to be promoted within their company very quickly ─ she's been acquainted with individuals nineteen and twenty years old in principal roles, compared to her being a prima ballerina for encore dance studio at twenty-three. nonetheless, such is a grand achievement to be celebrated at any age. and though expected to devote long hours dedicating herself to her craft, it's not uncommon to see saoirse serving coffees and pies at the stardust bistro and diner on main street when she isn't in the studio, a local favorite for most merrowbeach residents, owned and operated by abril's own mother, agnetha. saoirse has managed working at the diner for a few years now in order to earn some income on the side, having long grown used to the familiar faces of regular customers and their predictable set of orders during the time she has been employed there. the hospitality industry is often a stressful and taxing environment though she supposed sometimes it was worth seeing a certain someone whenever she decided to swing by and say hi. as silly as it may sound, she knew abril's favorite orders by heart. she preferred classic options on the menu, like a cheeseburger, or sometimes she'd even be in the mood for a strawberry shake topped with a swirl of whipped cream. even on days where abril seemed in a rush and saoirse would only see the blonde-haired woman for a few mere minutes before she was out the door with an iced coffee or a macchiato in hand, saoirse would often find herself thinking about their brief, transactional conversation hours after it already passed. sometimes saoirse wished she was more confident reaching out to other people but she has always been more observant than she has ever been meddling. if life was a movie or a tv show, she felt certain she would be dedicated the role of a background character with two seconds of screentime per season, a notion that didn't particularly seem to bother her. reserved and good-mannerly, not a single citizen in the town of merrowbeach would be able to conjure up anything devastatingly horrid about saoirse's character but then again, neither would they be able to comment on much about her as a person either. in highschool she had a few short lasting friendships though nothing significant; everyone else always had someone they were closer with, someone who they preferred to spend their time with. maybe for her that person has always been abril. there was a certain comfort in knowing someone as well as she liked to think she knew the other woman. they've experienced girlhood together, grown well acquainted with each other's families, and their respective involvement in the community and the fine arts kept them connected over the years. saoirse may not be the most proactive in terms of initiating plans with other people, but she does show her appreciation for what friendships she has in small yet meaningful ways. for instance, whenever saoirse has an upcoming performance at a large venue in town she often makes sure to extend an invitation to abril in case she would like to come. after all, it's always nice to think she might see a familiar face the night after a long performance on the stage, and above all else, she wanted to continue sharing this important part of her life with her friend.
indentwhere other people such as abril herself have been continually supportive of saoirse and her career in dance, she hasn't always felt the same unconditional support from her own parents ─ more particularly, from that of her father. jacques de rothschild lacked the creative mind she and abril seemed to share. where saoirse saw hard work and dedication in her craft, her father only ever saw child's play and a waste of time. clearly he did not consider she might one day make a career out of her favorite childhood hobby when he first signed her up for ballet at only four years old, a mistake she was sure he must dearly regret to this day. heading merrowbeach's downtown bank as managing director, jacques has made a name for himself in ways his daughter would never dream of. assertive, strong-willed and charismatic, her father makes the perfect businessman. as a prominent figure in the community who demands respect and authority, his fellow colleagues and subordinates either love him or they hate him, though he's doubtlessly garnered a predominant reputation as an arrogant man by the town residents as a whole. it's possible her father yearned for her to follow his footsteps into the world of business and thus one day take over his operations downtown but unfortunately for him that reality would never come to fruition. saoirse didn't think she much liked the idea of becoming her father either. a jacques jr. is something the town of merrowbeach could go certainly without, though even the idea of her being anything like her father seemed an impossible notion to grasp. she and jacques possess dispositions strikingly dissimilar and maybe that is a part of why he seems to resent her so. her father is the sort of man to trample other people's feelings with such an insensitivity that it almost seems cruel. it should come as no surprise why someone as emotionally tuned as saoirse has a hard time entertaining the company of her father at all. it's probably a good thing they both spend a lot of time outside of their common residence, otherwise the whole neighborhood might be kept awake from hearing their nonsensical quarrels every waking hour of the day. her mother seems to be the only one in their household with a perfectly level head on her shoulders, calm and sensible even in difficult or sensitive situations. niamh de rothschild would much rather facilitate compromise in an argument than she would like to see bitter feelings continue to swell. perhaps that is why she and her father are such a good match for one another, despite being so different by nature. her mother works at the town's joint clinic and drugstore alongside abril's father arthur, her job as a pharmacist being rooted in customer service and ensuring each party is appeased with the outcome of their access to medication, a responsibility that seems to extend in to how she conducts her own personal life. saoirse considered her mother to be respectful of her career-related decisions, especially in comparison to that of her father. she may not fully understand the allure of dance having never been involved in the art form herself but nonetheless she granted her daughter the support she needed. on the nights where saoirse's father might miss her ballet performances with some lousy work-related excuse, be it whether she arrives late or not niamh always found a way to join the crowd of onlookers, and her efforts did not go unnoticed by her daughter either. saoirse appreciated her mother's desire to be involved in her life and the curious interest she held for what her daughter evidently loved to do. it's not easy feeling confident in your career choice if everyone else is constantly shaking their heads in disapproval or questioning how you will ever be successful enough to make a feasible career out of dance. saoirse did not care if people thought her naive or a dreamer. she knew what she wanted for herself and this was it.
indenta final exhale escaped saoirse's lips as she raised her torso from her leg, allowing her ankle still propped on the barre to return to the ground. her attention flickered to the round clock anchored on the wall above her, eyeing the hand of the clock and it's position on the face. hm. it appeared she was running on time today, if not somewhat ahead of schedule in regard to her plans of meeting abril. the woman rolled her shoulders back, feeling her limbs grow more relaxed now that she's had the last hour or so to recover. she came in to the studio today to tackle some weak spots in the second act of the nutcracker, where her prime number is a pas de deux called the dance of the sugar plum fairy. apparently, choreographer marius petipa wanted the sugar plum fairy's music to sound like drops of water shooting from a fountain. russian composer tchaikovsky suggested the use of the celesta, an instrument that he said looked like a piano yet sounded like bells. fearful that another composer may catch wind of it and use the celesta before he might, tchaikovsky went so far as to ask his publisher to keep the purchase a secret. the instrument has since been forever identified with the sugar plum fairy. the studio was relatively quiet right now save for the slight creaking of the barre as two other dancers finished their warm ups. saoirse momentarily lowered herself to the ground in order to pull apart the bow of her point shoes securely wrapped around her ankles, allowing the ribbon to come undone. she threw a glance across the room as she collected her pointe shoes, looking into the mirror on the wall to make eye contact with her colleagues. followed by a meek wave of goodbye, saoirse sought to escort herself out of the studio room. the dressing rooms, though relatively small in comparison to the studio itself, have a special place in saoirse's heart. when she first joined merrowbeach's professional ballet company encore she felt as though she was finally fulfilling the dreams she once had as a child, having achieved her own permanent spot in a studio's dressing rooms. since then, the dressing rooms have become a sort of sanctuary throughout the course of her days as a professional dancer. though certainly not the most glamorous of spaces, this room has been lived in and witnessed all of her and her colleagues' good days and bad. along the walls of the room each ballerina in the company has their own light surrounded mirror, some with pointe shoes hanging haphazardly from the frame and others with personal mementos like photos stuck into the corners of the mirror. this room is where the beauty and elegance of ballet meets the ugly on a daily basis, with tutus and sweatshirts hanging amongst one another, a portable bed in the corner for long days and power naps, and piles of leotards and tights thrown amongst sewing needles and glue. each and every day this room is buzzing with the emotions of it's dancers. the dressing rooms have effectively proved a place of refuge, a momentary escape where they could collapse on the floor during an interval or express their exasperation during a rehearsal. they could cry when it's all become too much, or they could laugh out loud about it. saoirse has shared a multitude of moments in this room among the mess it can become during peak performance season, complaining and encouraging, laughing and crying. she and her colleagues have experienced an unimaginable number of situations together within these four walls. it holds not only their belongings but also their achievements and problems. it's a place where they can momentarily let their feelings out so they can keep it all together once they are on the other side of this door. saoirse's own counterspace was relatively neat and tidy save for a comb, an open makeup bag and a few hair pins from when she hurriedly threw her hair up after work today. instead of sitting down in front of the mirror she instead leaned forward to examine her profile, pulling the tie out of her hair and shortly thereafter the headband. saoirse ran a few fingers through her hair, trying to smooth out the frizz and alleviate her disheveled post-workout look before resorting to using a comb. she placed a hand against the counter in order to get closer to the mirror, determined to make herself appear somewhat presentable despite how much she was working up a sweat earlier. she was sure abril wouldn't care much for her state, but still, a part of her wanted to avoid looking a complete mess in front of the other woman who always seemed so put together herself. once saoirse was satisfied with her hair she quickly changed into a pair of black tights, a red-and-blue plaid miniskirt and a fitted white tee, leaving her pointe shoes and clothes on her counterspace. pulling on a pair of red mary janes and grabbing a crossbody bag, scarf and leather jacket she left hanging on the back of her chair, she was finally out the door.
indentsaoirse pushed open the studio doors only to be greeted with a bite of cold air, hastening her efforts to tie her red scarf around her otherwise exposed neck. the encore dance studio is located only a few blocks off main street, meaning her usual transitions from work to dance are almost seamless due to being within an ideal walking distance of each other. the building itself is mainly comprised of brick, with large black letters printing the words "encore" above the archway of the entrance in a script font. the dance studio is plain on the exterior and certainly appears more modest than the furnishings inside, making it hard to discern how old the building truly is. in her earliest days dancing with the company, she got so excited she once snuck abril inside to give her a quick tour of the new studio she belonged to. the senior dancers at the time probably just shook their heads and laughed at the sound of the two of them giggling throughout the hallways like girls. the memory often brought a small smile to her face. it made her wonder how often the other woman reflected on the time they have spent together. last year, when the two of them were browsing booths featuring the works of craftspeople and their goods during the town's annual wintertime street fair, saoirse had come across a delicate pearl necklace with a golden toggle clasp. she couldn't help but feel as though the piece of jewelry would suit the other woman, and as a small token of her appreciation for their friendship, abril would later find out she bought it for her that night as a surprise. she supposed gift-giving helped her convey the words she did not know how to speak out loud, nor felt the courage to. perhaps the other woman understood that. it didn't help much that saoirse often found herself stumbling over her own words in the face of abril's own sure demeanor. conversation and sociability has never been her strong suit despite the fact she has no real qualms toward socializing with other people. she liked to speak ─ granted, with some people more than others ─ but dialogue wasn't something that came naturally to her. instead, she often found she was the very person holding herself back. maybe she loved dance so much because it was a way she could express herself without the use of words. her shyness has been a hindrance to some aspects of her life, especially in terms of coming out of her shell, broadening her horizons and establishing a network of social connections, though remaining on the outskirts of a party is not nearly as bad as what other people make it out to be. judge her as you may, but sometimes saoirse truly believed that keeping to herself helped save her breath on people and that inherently made her relationships much more intentional. she need not waste her time telling people things they cared not to know, and in return other people did not expect that of her. enjoying a quiet life can be something beautiful. she adored abril and sometimes that meant admiring her from afar or finding comfort in the sound of her voice in conversation with another. her feelings for the other woman oftentimes felt so strong that sometimes she didn't even understand what they quite meant. there was nobody she would rather spend her time with than abril, and there was certainly no one else who made her feel the way the other woman does. it's possible she's gone most of her life without even recognizing the sheer devotion she's grown to have when it comes to her childhood best friend. then again though, the very question of abril's own feelings remained unbeknownst to her. was it just saoirse who felt this way? such a notion seemed impossible when they've always been toeing the line of something bordering fascination and attraction for years without breaching the restraints of their friendship. there was just something there, though hard for even her to place.
indentas saoirse emerged from the building her eyes landed on the back of abril's head, all of a sudden feeling a rush of giddy excitement warm her blood. a hand nervously fiddling with the scarf wrapped around her neck saoirse took a few hesitant steps toward the bench, approaching the other woman so as to not surprise her from behind with her quiet presence. saoirse could not resist a sheepish smile from crossing her face when she cast her sights on abril fox-strangways. "..hey," she greeted timidly, drawing abril's tote bag into her lap so that she could sit down beside her on the bench. abril's getup ─ though more plain and simple than saoirse knew abril was inclined to wearing ─ still managed to draw her eyes to the other woman. saoirse could only hope she didn't do too pitiful a job trying to look as though she did not just come from a grueling workout herself. growing self-conscious she tucked a lock of brown hair behind one of her ears, her eyes momentarily flickering to her feet in order to temporarily relieve her from making eye contact with abril. "i hope you weren't sitting around waiting for too long?...i'm sorry if you were. i honestly thought i was on time today, unless that silly old clock in the studio is broken again." she mumbled that last part, adjusting her clutch on abril's tote bag. the fabric felt stretched taut with whatever the woman put inside of it, and it's contents appeared more heavier than usual. if she had to guess from touch alone, there seemed to be a few books inside. saoirse was tempted to ask abril just what books were worth lugging around town with her but she knew it wasn't a polite thing to intrude on another's affairs. maybe abril simply went to the library before she decided to meet her and picked out a few intriguing fictional novels in the meantime. the notion wouldn't be unordinary, and that seemed to be enough to keep saoirse from taking a look inside of her bag. still, saoirse was an avid reader and she was curious to know what her friend might be delving into. perhaps she would inquire of her later should the time be right. silently returning abril's tote bag, she took the opportunity to link the crook of her elbow in the other woman's arm. "we might as well get a move on. i was thinking we could head over to my place, unless you have any objections?" truthfully, saoirse would prefer visiting abril's house but she decided she may as well invite the other woman out of courtesy. she always considered abril to the be the more stylish out of the two of them ─ her closet included ─ but she was certain the other woman would be more than willing to shift through saoirse's wardrobe to help her pick an outfit for the beginning of the festivities tonight. besides, saoirse is often more inclined to wear pieces normally shoved to the back of her closet if abril was the one suggesting a certain outfit might look good on her. it's not often she feels confident in her own fashion judgement though having her friend guide her certainly made matters easier. once standing, saoirse remained arm-in-arm with abril as they began their stroll down the street from the encore dance studio. fortunately for the two of them the walk to the rothschild residence would not be a long one. she much doubted either of her parents would be home to greet her and her friend at this hour so the house would likely be empty once they arrived. around them, the commercial district of the town was bustling with life no different than when saoirse first headed to the dance studio earlier today. the rumble of traffic and one-sided conversations passing this way and that as people walked down the street or emerged from local boutiques reminded saoirse of what anticipation simmered within the town of merrowbeach and it's inhabitants. tonight was bound to be filled with festivity, cheer, laughter and enjoyment, and saoirse was eager to take a break from the demands of work and dance. even better, she got to spend some time with abril for a change.
indenthaving been walking in relative silence save for the buzz of the town, saoirse's eyes briefly flickered to the other woman. "what did you get up to today? i can imagine you've been working hard lately, busy bee that you are." saoirse teased, her tone affectionate. she knew this time of the year was a hectic one for someone as community oriented as abril. the other woman frequently involves herself in fundraisers or local projects and saoirse knew the town's wintertime festival was no exception. she probably spent today much like she spent the last week, caught up in assisting with preparations any which way she could.
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by vaell » Sun Feb 25, 2024 6:43 pm
xxxxxCALISTAiiATHANASIOU.
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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe revenant princess of the eidolon.
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indentstrategically situated at the highest point of land in the cochrane district, snowcapped foothills and crags jutted out from the earth around elkmire castle as though hungering to swallow the keep whole. light was beginning to breach the mass of mountains in ishpatina ridge, the sky suspended between the certainty of night and the break of dawn. from her guest chambers calista could spot a shroud of mist looming over the atidurn pass, obscuring the only viable passageway to and from the remote stronghold. the steep flanks of the mountain range grant the ruling house of stavropoulos the chief advantage of inaccessibility, making assaults on elkmire castle difficult and depending on the whims of the weather, sometimes even impossible. how strange it is being here again, calista mused. no longer a guest on the account of war. the last time calista stepped foot in the halls of elkmire ─ let alone laid eyes on the surrounding countryside of koiláda tou chrysoú ─ was after the battle of xauburn, when the eidolon's two year-long war effort against the northlanders of black river finally came to an end one dreary evening on the outskirts of adapolis. even despite the fervid reception that awaited calista in the city of uhelchester come word of her triumph, she could still remember that night well; how victory tasted and how it smelled, bitter and metallic on her tongue like spilled blood. parts of the battle at xauburn came more readily to her than others. she could recall the aftermath of the battle most vividly, dragging her longsword on the wet ground beneath her as she trudged through the thick fog that settled over the battleground of the xauburn gold belt. her mind implored her to keep moving but at that point she had no idea which direction she was even heading in. the weight of her sword felt exceedingly heavy in her hands, its hilt threatening to slip from her grasp altogether. is this what a slow death feels like, she'd wondered, warmth leaving the blood that splattered her face as soon as it congealed. tears left long streaks through the dirt and grime on her cheeks, a result of the fresh memories of so many of her men struck down around her. for all she knew she was one of the last survivors, the northlanders refusing to yield even as their own numbers dwindled with each fresh charge of eidolon soldiers. calista knew then that even if she did live she would be marked forever by the sight of so much death around her. thousands, they'd said. it had to be thousands. laying claim to the goldfields of cochrane and reaffirming the eidolon's control over the mines of huadale west, croseus, and urymont immortalized calista in more ways than one. her departure from cochrane and subsequent arrival back to the capital city of gore bay was marked by celebration in the streets and weeks of festivity to commemorate her military victory, yet surviving the carnage that night despite the terrible slaughter of her own military host would not grant her the same sort of commendations her queen mother once received after the war efforts she led in greater sudbury. queen anastasia's people hailed her the immortal queen of the heartlands after she survived inside the walls of rayside-balfour, apparently having been separated from her own military force long enough for ballads to be written in her honor. unlike the renown her queen mother garnered during the infamous war of the sault, the battle calista waged at xauburn isn't sung throughout taverns or inns, the prospect of the eidolon's beloved revenant princess coming perilously close to death miles away from the familiar call of lake huron's north channel no more than a tragedy weaponized by the likes of their western rivals. sometimes it felt as though she was embroiled in a strife that was not her own, viewed only as a mere extension of the women that came before her, a vessel intended to mindlessly see through their goals and aspirations before they are lost to the tides of history. calista knew better than to think she was the haunted, though. like the daimon said to dwell beneath the subaqueous caves of spirit island, she is the haunting. calista has seen the look on her mother's face before, watching yet another man mercilessly fall at her daughter's hands in the gore bay colosseum, not much different than if she'd seen a ghost. it begged the question; did her queen mother ever succumb to doubt, looking upon the face of her young heir if only but to wonder if their bloodline may truly be doomed, plagued by the what the people of the eidolon call maniae? what has been said about her family's bloodline by the tribes of manitoba is no different than claiming they might be accursed by the daughters of nyx, baleful rumors birthing life to a heinous prophecy that has since been circulating the lands of annexed canada from the days of her grandmother juno's rule. calista knew her closest kin have tread carefully around her ever since she was a mercurial young girl, though they would never admit being worried she might be the one foretold to send their dynasty into ruin. what did her uncle galen once tell her, though? ─ "to be mad in a deranged world is not madness; it's sanity." calista didn't believe in destiny, be it falsehoods conjured by their enemies to challenge her family's right to ascendancy or not. destiny is only a cage this world forced her in since she was a girl, her hands bound by the manacles of those who came before her and her ankles by fetters constructed by the fearful hands of her own living family. destiny is little more than a torture rack stretching her ever so slowly until one day her limbs might finally dislocate and be ripped from their sockets. destiny is what sought to smother her in the middle of the night before discarding her lifeless corpse on the shallow inlet of lake huron. the concept of destiny has been ─ and always will be ─ calista's greatest adversary.
indenta curious chitter called out to the revenant princess, drawing her attention away from the mountains that lay beyond elkmire castle. calista turned away from the arched windows and to the sight of her peregrine falcon talos. across her room the regal bird sat perched inside an iron cage finished in antiqued bronze, the torchlight from sconces on the walls casting a gleam on its metal bars. the guest chambers calista occupied for the time being were located adjacent to house stavropoulos' own apartments, its walls paneled with richly carved wood and furnished by the presence of a few scarlet and emerald wall hangings emulating their hosts sigil of a golden rose. though her bedchamber was not as large as that of her ruling lady cousin's, it still housed a sizeable canopied bed, ebony colored rugs, golden-tinted round windows and a modest vanity table with a beaten silver mirror to boot. she could spot her reflection in its scratched surface from where she stood, an ashen and ebony pelt of a dreadwolf covering her shoulders and a navy blue cloak fastened at her collarbone. down the length of her cape a pair of rearing lions were stitched in gold thread, the sigil of her house on proud display. a beautifully tailored golden velvet dress hugged her frame, though the garment revealed very little of her skin for even her arms were covered with sleeves to help ward off the cold. her long dark hair had been piled at the crown of her head and secured by an intricate golden headpiece adorned with jewels, with several rows of loose braids draped over the back of her bare neck. when calista was a young girl she would have scoffed at the idea of being bedecked with such finery. growing up a competing gladiator in the gore bay colosseum she used to favor tunics and trousers over the impracticality of dresses and jewels meant to be donned by girls of her station. even now calista felt as though she looked strange so heavily adorned. her older brother adonis used to remark she was more a brute than a girl ─ a gibe that often proved itself true when the two children would proceed to get into a scuffle. nonetheless, coming face to face with what brutality and bloodshed exist outside the sanction and rules governing the gore bay colosseum forced her to harness the defiant habits she once bore as a temperamental child who spurned tradition and authority. on the battlefield there is no one betting the last nomisma in their name for your victory. no southern palm branch will be handed to you come your triumph, and no crowd of onlookers will be cheering for the game of cat-and-mouse you play with your opponent. what years she spent a youth consumed by the adoration she garnered from the seas of people who would flock to the gore bay colosseum to watch their revenant princess take on heinous war criminals or seasoned competitors only culminated to a string of unfortunate mishaps in the north come her involvement in their military campaign in the kenora district. calista's early penchant for the unpredictable made for dubious warfare strategy and it did her no favors when it came to currying respect with venerated figures positioned at the helm of the eidolon's military. most of her early adulthood was spent this way, seeing through rash choices and facing the dire consequences, no different than how she used to repeatedly defy the rules of engagement in the gore bay colosseum. it's no wonder why putting someone as notoriously wild and untamed as calista athanasiou in heaps of finery seemed akin to forcing a lion to perform a series of circus tricks. though she still makes a point to dress in martial wear as often as possible, preferring a suit of decorated golden plate, calista has become equally comfortable in a lady's garb. the blue train of calista's cloak trailed behind her as she made to cross her chamber to approach the waiting peregrine falcon. talos restlessly shimmied along the length of the wooden perch in the cage when she neared, chirping in greeting as the princess gingerly reached a hand toward the metal bars of its enclosure. she watched the raptor fan its wings in anticipation, revealing rows of barred white feathers beneath a plumage of pale pewter. a glint of amusement in her eye, calista pulled open the latch on the cage door. the peregrine falcon all but darted out of the cage with a few beats of its feathered limbs, hook-shaped talons outstretched to aim for a place on her shoulder. talos landed on the furry pelt she donned, momentarily grappling for stability before finding sure footing. once steady the peregrine cocked its head around to survey calista's bedchamber from its newfound vantage point atop her shoulder. she watched the vigilant bird of prey from the corner of her eye, taking heed of her companion's agitated bearing. it seems you and i both tire of this stay already, calista observed. their trip north from the capital city of gore bay traversing through the lands of the sudbury district and even parts of the temiskaming shores made for a long and tiresome journey to the border of gibraltar and the heartlands, where an encampment teeming with tribesmen of the mythic dawn would soon be awaiting reception from the eidolon once they departed elkmire castle. calista and her royal family have occupied elkmire keep since last nightfall, an arrangement conceived out of convenience for the castle's proximity to the gibraltar border, granting them and their retinue rest before recommencing the final leg of their trip to the eastern border. given the circumstances, calista deemed it fortunate talos seemed to bear a mild temperament today for neither she nor the peregrine have ever been keen on trading in the blue skies of spirit island for four suffocating stone walls. in the eidolon birds of prey such as the peregrine falcon have long been revered for their sharp vision and hunting prowess, becoming a symbol of focus, intelligence, and celerity. the ancient practice of falconry itself has evolved from a mere hunting technique into a refined art and a symbol of status among the upper echelons of their tribe. in fact, it was calista's uncle galen who presented talos to her as a gift on her sixteenth name day, a fledgling once taken from a nest in devil's rock as a downy bird still unable to fly. the falconers in the timiskaming district are known for their expertise in rearing an imprint, an arduous and time-consuming undertaking according to her uncle.
indenta meek voice hesitantly sounded from the hall outside calista's chambers, interrupting her train of thought.
indent"my princess?"
indentcalista turned her gaze away from talos, recognizing the familiar voice of one of her handmaidens. lady andromeda bouras. the only daughter of the ruling lord of the timiskaming district and warden of the east, lady andromeda was brought up on the shores of lake timiskaming's wabi bay near the gibraltar border. aside from dominating the sport of falconry as a result of their control over the territories of devil's rock, the house of bouras is also well known for partaking in the practice of archery, an art lady andromeda herself has learned to master. calista eyed the door separating her and the other woman. a moment seemed to pass before she responded at all. "enter." calista simply commanded. the door to her bedchamber creaked open and with it came the lithe form of lady andromeda swathed in a sea of purple and grey and trailing closely behind her, the raven-haired lady bellona drakos. much unlike calista who regarded her personal attendants with mild disinterest, the peregrine falcon on her shoulder carefully watched the two ladies enter her room, keen eyes following their movements as they approached their princess. lady andromeda ─ no different from usual ─ appeared unsettled under the watchful gaze of the raptor, momentarily averting her eyes to the ground below her as she and lady bellona curtsied before calista. "your highness," she raised her gaze to meet calista's own. "the lady lucina has requested your presence in the great hall before we take leave."
x
indentthe great hall of elkmire, though empty save only for calista and the set of royal guards posted outside its great oaken doors, was once populated by dozens of martial champions reporting in campaign briefings during the time she spent waging war in the district of cochrane. in fact, entire ranks of legionaries mustered at the city of uhelchester during the battle of xauburn. the revenant princess found herself standing where she and a handful of lord commanders of her own legion once presided over the fate of the northlanders of black river at the table of chártis, a long table carved from black basalt and painted in the form of a map of cochrane and its neighboring districts. an empty gallery lined the perimeter of the chamber around her in concentric crescents to accommodate a military presence that has not been required within these walls for years. banners depicting old glories hung in rows along the walls of the hall, some woven as tapestries. between the proud displays of wealth and influence the house of stavropoulos liked to flaunt hung their coat of arms, a golden rose on a green and red field. calista's eyes flickered to the empty throne at the end of the hall, carved from the same dark, fine-grained volcanic rock from the abitibi greenstone belt as the table of chártis. calista did not bother to turn when she heard the sound of guards forcing open the grand doors of the hall behind her. instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the elkmire throne, anticipating the sight of her lady cousin from the corner of her eye as the sound of heels clicking against the stone floors of the keep drew near. "my princess," the woman greeted from behind her, her piercing voice one that made calista want to gouge her own ears out. she was quite certain lady lucina would have breezed by her without so much a glance if duty did not compel her to uphold an modicum of respect and yet here she was, coming to curtsy before the revenant princess. "cousin." calista spoke dryly, feeling the brief touch of the woman's hand on her arm as she rose from her curtsy, far too familiar and much too friendly for what ill terms they were on. even the smile on her painted lips seemed unnatural too for the lady of cochrane has always held herself with a rigid demeanor, more often scowling than is she smiling. "thank you for heeding my request. i thought we might have more time to dredge up old tales of glory and conquest from the time we last spent together, but alas.." lucina trailed off, resuming her approach to the modest dais of the elkmire throne. her words reeked of false affection, almost laughably so. not to mention lucina all but made her wait on her arrival ─ deliberately, calista was sure. the revenant princess watched her cousin's scarlet skirts stream behind her like a cascade of water over the steps she ascended to her seat. beneath a decorated baldachin, gnarled rose thorns carved of basalt twisted around each leg of the elkmire throne, spicules pointed like daggers extending to the height of the seat. her lady cousin wore a blood-red gown that matched the field upon which the stavropoulos rose was displayed on their coat of arms, her dress appearing to have been crafted with satin and intricate filigree like detailing stitched in with golden threads. ribbing and other visible stitching corseted her chest and accentuated the finer parts of her figure, glittering golden leaves and flowers sewn into the flowing fabric she wore. the other woman wore her black hair in an elaborate waterfall braid, her forehead encircled by a simple golden circlet whereas the rest of her tresses fell past her shoulders in a cascade of locks. calista folded her arms across her chest expectantly, observing the lady from where she remained standing. "is that why you called on me, so that we might fondly reminisce the happenings of the past?" she questioned, raising a quizzical brow. the peregrine falcon on her shoulder shifted its weight, opening its wings to swoop down and land on the table of chártis beside the revenant princess. lucina only regarded calista with a look of amusement. "no," she clarified, letting out a quiet laugh. "no ─ i only wanted to personally bid you farewell before your travels to the gibraltar border." the lady of cochrane leaned back in her throne, perhaps in one of the only instances in which she might ever be able to look down upon calista from a position of her own authority. a moment passed before she spoke again. "you know, when i caught wind of your betrothal a few months back, i was surprised." calista could feel her jaw twitch though her features did not betray what agitation the other woman stirred in her. "and what of it?" she ground out. though calista has never been particularly proficient in navigating the vagaries of veiled insults or hidden snipes inherent to life at court, it was not hard for her to understand why her lady cousin might have called her to the great hall to begin with. truly, calista knew lucina could care less about her leaving elkmire so soon; in fact, she probably counted down the hours come the departure of her and her royal family. what she wanted was to see calista squirm with discomfort by dangling her premediated fate above her head, for she knew how vehemently the revenant princess valued her independence. lucina only shrugged. "i suppose i did not expect the rumors to birth truth. you have always been such a force, beloved cousin. it's hard to imagine you tied down. i'm not sure if i should congratulate you or console you...." she paused for a moment, scrutinizing calista with a critical eye. "it's quite possible you might fit in with that pack of religious zealots just fine though."
indent"careful." calista warned her. "those religious zealots you speak of are going to be people of the eidolon no different than people of the mythic dawn come our union."
indent"oh dear...you sound like you already convinced yourself this is what you wanted. is it, cali?" the lady probed, undeterred. even her cousin's sobriquet for her was enough to make her want to cringe. quickly growing tired of lucina trying to toy with her, she let out a sigh of exasperation. "my wedding to prince halvor is for the greater good, cousin, a notion that seems lost upon you more often than not. perhaps my queen mother ought to have offered your hand to the mythic dawn on a silver platter instead ─ only, i'm sure they'd find you a lot less palatable with what faithless history your house has sown. who knows what might happen when prince halvor and i are to wed. cochrane may just become another parry sound under our decree." lucina narrowed her eyes at the latter, for what calista so boldly insinuated was not lost upon her. even if she was just being derisive, the former lords of parry sound were no longer, their district territories now an extension of gore bay and the southernmost heartlands. "so now you seek to threaten me in my own keep, cousin?" she let out a mirthless laugh, the sound bouncing around the walls of the great hall. "i'm sure soon enough you'll try to have me hung or burned at the stake for being a heretic when your husband-to-be forces you to turn to the mythic dawn's valëkrya. even sooner you'll be tearing down the statues of athena in gore bay. isn't that so?" lucina's voice dripped with a hatred not unusual for lords and ladies of high renown who feel threatened when it comes to their alliance with their eastern neighbors. while the most prevalent beliefs in the heartlands revolve around deities derived from hellenistic worship, religion plays a very insignificant role in the governing of the eidolon itself, a notion that differs greatly from that of the mythic dawn whose ancient history is known for being steeped in holy war and the massacre of other religious groups. many in the heartlands fear the prospect of religious assimilation, of having to forsake their own gods lest bloody hunts for non-believers should ever ensue. even calista had her doubts at times. after all, what made her queen mother so sure they would not come to be swallowed whole by the mythic dawn's religious fanaticism come the future? perhaps a lifetime spent trying to maintain their alliance with the gibraltar tribe meant she willing to make sacrifices, and if not to ensure their collective futures together, then to prevent what foreign diplomacy she has cultivated from falling to ruination altogether. the lands of annexed canada have not yet seen two major tribes successfully merge with one another to create a blended way of life, and her queen mother was a determined woman. calista and prince halvor's betrothal turned a new page in the history books, one that many hoped might usher in a new era of prosperity and unprecedented dominion for the mythic dawn and the eidolon. no one should dare cross an alliance as mighty as their own come their integration with one another; after all, the heartlands and gibraltar are among the largest territories in canada, each with a wealth of resources to be exploited. granted, criticism is bound to surface come word of an arrangement as binding as a union of marriage between the respective heirs to the sunburst throne and the hallowed throne. her lady cousin's condemnation of her marriage came as no surprise, though her worries did pose curious ─ after all, lucina stavropoulos was by no means a godly woman. as much as she might try and play the hand of a distraught devotee, calista could wager lucina did not fear the loss of practicing her beliefs in her own homelands. it seemed much more likely she only wanted to provoke calista over the matter. she and her cousin have been at odds since they were children, seemingly. though evident during her time spent in cochrane during the war it only came more apparent to calista later in life, this idea that lucina has always been betting against her. the resentment she bore for queen anastasia was one that did not discriminate. a girl who assumed ladyship over her house at the age of sixteen while her lord father remained a captive in the dungeons of legio gemina keep, the rest of her family sent to slaughter by the command of calista's own queen mother, lucina has never seen a friend in calista. her cousin's bitter grudge against her family ─ despite her own having committed treason of the highest kind ─ only festered as the years passed. lucina went from being a youth who placed bids against calista behind her back during gladiatorial games to a woman who refused to compromise even during times of strife. during the military campaign calista waged against the northlanders she had to manage warding off not only their rivals occupying major gold mines in the district, but her own cousin too. ever since the uprising of cochrane staged by the houses of stavropoulos and cirillo, gore bay soldiers have been stationed at major strongholds in the region. doubtlessly, calista's presence in elkmire a few years ago stoked a new flame of fear in her cousin who, like prey being hunted, became threatened and hostile. lucina likely loathed the idea of the revenant princess exerting any form of authority over her in her homelands. considering her family's uprising revolved around their independence from the royal house of athanasiou, becoming kings and queens of cochrane in their own right, calista wouldn't be surprised if lucina was frightened by the idea of not having complete control. she might have thought calista a privileged, self-important, bumptious and condescending woman come her involvement at xauburn but the other woman certainly owed her more than what meager respect she offered her now. "dare i say you sound frightened?" calista's mouth curved into an impish smile. "come now cousin, do you honestly think i would let elkmire fall to the hands of a mythic-borne lordling when thousands of my men died fighting your battles?"
indentlucina leaned forward in the elkmire throne, peering down at the revenant princess. unlike calista, she was adept in the art of deflection and knew it was easier to aggravate the revenant princess by evading her jabs altogether. "dear cousin, it wouldn't matter in the slightest even if you did install a nobleman of the mythic dawn in my stead. don't be so naive. do you know what it is they do to non-believers? what they will do to your people? i'm certain you've heard tale enough. even if you come to worship their deities you will never be one of them. you know that, don't y─"
indent"do not lecture me as though i'm a child!" calista interrupted, the hiss of her voice ringing sharp in the quiet hall. the smug look on her cousin's face did little to quell her growing vexation. lucina had calista right where she wanted her, no different from a trapped animal falling victim to a set lure or a wild beast being poked and prodded in a game of venationes. and of course calista took the bait. she refused to be her cousin's plaything for any longer though. turning toward the table of chártis, calista extended a hand toward talos as though to invite the peregrine to return to her. the raptor seized the opportunity to reclaim its rightful spot on her shoulder, hooked talons threatening to snag the fabric of her dress on its climb to the height of her arm. the revenant princess glanced to the elkmire throne with a scowl. "go on then," she growled. "speak your parting words and be done with it. bear in mind if it weren't for my martial support at xauburn, you would be a slave at the hand of the northlanders right now without a throne to sit. you'd be wise to remember that." she added, eyeing her cousin critically. calista gingerly brushed a hand against the crown of talos' head, eliciting a chirp in response.
indentlucina worked her jaw. the lady struggled to refrain from countering the other woman but even then her cousin knew better than to overstep her station with a retort. she and calista were kin, yes, but the change in her demeanor was enough to remind lucina of her position. the other woman shifted in the elkmire throne, leaning back slightly. the barbed stems of carved roses framed her seated position. "safe travels through ishpatina, your highness." her curt farewell sounded more hollow and rigid than it did sincere or warm, but calista had already turned on her heel by the time she was speaking, making her way toward the great doors of the hall. the set of guards stationed in the hall were prompt to open the doors come her approach. her lady cousin's words echoed behind her as she swiftly made to depart the hall. "do remember to watch out for any mountain lions lurking about atidurn pass," lucina called, almost tauntingly. "they are known to be quite vicious around these parts."
indentindentindentindentindentindentindentindentindent──
indentas suspected the journey on stratnach road from elkmire castle grew to be a tiring one, if only for the company calista had to keep. her family is usually bearable enough ─ granted in small doses and at even smaller increments of time ─ however their extensive traveling together has begun to grow increasingly exasperating by each passing hour.
indentmounted sidesaddle on her ivory stallion fortuna, calista held the horse's reins with a pair of dark leather gloves dyed the same navy blue as the cloak on her shoulders. she could hear the call of snow buntings and black-capped chickadees amid the sound of hooves clopping against the soil and stone aggregate underfoot. overhead talos circled the sky above the eidolon party, light wings gliding on the breeze in the air. calista would not be surprised if the raptor was assessing the flat stretches of land they traversed through, populated with deciduous trees and eastern white pines smaller birds would likely flock to. oftentimes peregrine falcons target birds like ducks and shorebirds along the shorelines of spirit island, capable of taking on prey as large as loons, geese, large gulls, or even as small as songbirds. seldom are small mammals and insects their target, and rarely carrion. calista has seen talos stoop in spectacular dives to strike prey out of the air before, sometimes even knocking larger birds out of the air, fed upon the ground where they might fall. a modest distance in front of calista and her siblings rode their queen mother on a dark stallion, escorted by a pair of her personal guards, knights and servicemen of the imperial shields who also reinforced the rear of their procession, as well as several of her own advisors. the revenant queen was directly accompanied by their uncle galen, the liege lord of sudbury and the ruling lord of house ateos. in their culture the role of the queen mother's brother often seems a puzzling concept for outsiders to grasp. foreign diplomats might expect the queen to travel with her king consort instead of her brother galen, however calista's father balisarius remained in gore bay in her queen mother's absence, meaning his formal introduction to their royal guests would come upon their arrival to the southern city. calista did not find such a notion bizarre. after all, her uncle galen has raised her since she was a young girl. he was the one who helped her hone the art of the blade and during her adolescence he took on most of the undertakings one might expect of a mentor or a father. calista did not harbor any ill feelings toward her father for his lack of involvement in her life nor could she understand why anyone might be inclined to think that she might. king balisarius drakos was once a famed gladiator but as the years drew on he grew far more interested in attending gladiatorial games as a spectator, a pastime he could no doubt indulge in more frequently without the expectation of guardianship. she supposed it was not only outsiders who questioned the eidolon's longstanding traditions of adhering to a matriliny though. catching wind of her brother adonis muttering something to himself, calista cast a glance in his direction. "talking to yourself again?" she teased.
indentadonis caught her gaze and held it. the prince glowered when her own did not falter. "what do you want now?" he spat. her brother bore the traditional hallmarks of a heartlander and indeed of an athanasiou; dark was his hair, and dark were his eyes. the prince was adorned in a high-collared navy doublet and jerkin both made of velvet, a relatively simple cut but finely made. over it he wore an extravagantly embroidered short-cut cape of cloth-of-gold lined with ermine. a belt was drawn across his waist, a long dagger in an engraved sheath on the left. the finishing touch was a golden lion brooch that fastened his cloak to his shoulders. riding at calista's opposite side was her younger sister cybil. overhearing their exchange, the younger woman was eager to chime in. "leave him be, he's probably just whining again." her remark amused calista. her sister had no right to talk about whining given the fuss she's been making since they departed elkmire castle but still, any jab at adonis was a jab she would entertain. much like calista herself, the youngest daughter of the revenant queen looked every inch a wealthy princess of gore bay. her mousy hair was pinned back from her face and piled artfully atop her head, the rest of her locks falling to the middle of her back. her gown was resplendent, a dark navy embroidered heavily with gold thread in an ostentatious display. the three lion cubs of the eidolon looked utterly united, a perfect display of joint power if it were not for their constant childlike bickering. "the poor baby just isn't getting enough attention. would you like it if you were the one betrothed to prince halvor instead of calista─?"
indent"i'm sure we can have that arranged. in truth, i'm amenable to the idea so long as he is." cybil giggled over calista's rather flippant comment, a sound brimming with delight over their brother's mockery.
indent"by the gods!" adonis snapped, evidently affronted by their exchange of banter. "enough. and to think i thought you two more mature. especially you, calista, being the heir to our esteemed hallowed throne and all─ but i suppose i can't hold it against you. the fairer sex are always less inclined toward reason and far faster to team up and accuse, to torment."
indent"and yet you still did not answer our proposition," calista challenged him, dismissing adonis' strongly prejudiced attitude toward women as though it were commonplace. she was determined to get a rise out of him. "and not objecting at all certainly means something. does my older brother have something he'd like to admit? perhaps that i am whisking away his one true beloved bound in the shackles of a political marria─"
indent"you truly are a dolt, aren't you?" adonis quipped bluntly, unceremoniously interrupting her midsentence. "maybe if we had another respectable man around here i wouldn't be so humiliated all the time. one with a spine, that is. our father does not even receive invitation to ride with us nor does he fight for one. he's just as pathetic as the rest of you lot if you ask me."
indent"you're implying our uncle galen ─ and what trusted advisors accompany us now ─ do not count as fellow men? interesting indeed."
indent"uncle galen has a soft spot for you. call it pity, i suppose. in any case he's not exactly what comes to mind when i think of someone asserting some real power around here."
indentqueen anastasia glanced over her shoulder, seemingly upon the sound of their bickering. her expression was hard to read though it certainly appeared somewhat pointed. calista caught her gaze for a brief moment.
indentgently tugging at fortuna's reins, calista advanced to her queen mother's side at a modest canter. behind her she could hear adonis mumbling something along the lines of her 'running to mommy dearest' though his comment did little to ire her. queen anastasia acknowledged her daughter's approach without so much a glance. her eyes remained trained on the road ahead of them. "calista." her tone was curt. the raven-haired woman was quite the imposing sight, her style of dress decidedly more severe in nature compared to that of her children. a golden armored corset compressed the bodice of the long dress she donned, a gown colored the blue of house athanasiou and trimmed with gold thread. engravings of ornamental designs lined the plate around her waist, including the depiction of two rearing lions at her chest. at her neckline a round pendant displaying the head of a lion hung from her throat in a long golden chain. queen anastasia's ebony tresses were pulled away from her face to accentuate her sharp features, her hair secured in the fashion of an artful chignon at the nape of her neck. even the crown atop her head was an ornate display of queenship. sharp black blades protruded from the golden band on her headpiece, beset with stunning sapphire gemstones to match the rich fabric of her dress. the precious stones glinted in the sunlight filtering through what trees they passed. her queen mother emulated martial style even in her finest of wear, a notion that did not strike calista as surprising. a woman preceded by a staggering history of cold-blooded, vicious war campaigns and countless years spent conquering the gore bay colosseum prior to her ascension to the throne even in spite of her mother's disdain for her, the revenant queen of the eidolon held herself in a way that made clear she was not one to be trifled with. even calista felt as though she must straighten in the other woman's presence herself. queen anastasia's stony demeanor seemed to be the consequence of her experiences as a youth, the rage she accumulated over the course of her adolescence driving her to not only enact bloody war against manitoba tribes infiltrating major domains in the heartlands, but enabling her to succeed in doing so too. she was certainly no longer a girl suffering at the hand of her mother in front of thousands of commoners and highborn alike. queen anastasia's mother juno sought to humiliate her heir a countless number of times in the gore bay colosseum before her reign came to an abrupt end, an observation widely acknowledged if not witnessed by many. your grandmother's rule was one tolerated out of fear rather than one built on the respect of her people, her queen mother once recounted. juno's growing inclination toward achieving bloody glory over their rivals ─ particularly her selfish desire to exclusively reap the acclaim that came of such military excursions ─ certainly made for a tenuous period of foreign diplomacy for the eidolon. even what prosperity juno brought to the heartlands after laying claim to the kenora diamond mine during the war of the blood diamonds in league with their eastern allies was said to have been rather short-lived. juno was still possessed with the notion that her own court was infiltrated by loyalists seeking to carry out the agenda of her late aunt the usurper. as a result, she would go on to irrationally accuse and sentence a number of prominent aristocrats and some of her trusted advisees to their death, either by their own hand or in a public spectacle at the gore bay colosseum. juno was known to be as erratic and unpredictable as she were cruel and unkind. apparently, she started to think herself more a god than a mortal, a belief that is not hard to discount when considering her rather untimely death. it seemed a haunting notion to imagine, her grandmother standing in the arena so confident and sure, no doubt drunk on the worship from her people, unsuspecting of what beast lurked in the shadows free from its lair. surely by the time anyone in the crowd noticed the nanook loose in the arena juno's throat had already been slashed open, her limp body tossed to the ground by the starving beast who no doubt eagerly satiated its hunger on her royal blood. the ice bear would have been apprehended immediately by order of the overseer of the colosseum but only then it would've already been far too late. calista warily observed her queen mother from the corner of her eye. it has been said that anastasia ─ despite the atrocious relationship she bore with juno ─ took to her public displays of mourning quite seriously, and like a woman weeping blood she was often styled in high-necked black gowns, sewn with dozens of blood-red gems cut in the shape of teardrops. curiously enough calista's uncle galen once mentioned her utter lack of tears over the matter. in fact, she was sure he mentioned anastasia seeming a new woman come their mother's unfortunate death. released from the tribulations and suffering juno once inflicted upon her, anastasia was quick to come into her own agency as revenant queen, and even quicker to establish herself a competent ruler. what perceptions people held of anastasia from her being forced to participate in impossible gladiatorial games hosted by juno were quickly buried come her grand successes over the stone hounds of manitoba in the districts of sudbury and thunder bay. even despite juno's attempts to debase her reputation anastasia was always going to be a force to be reckoned with, having seized a major expanse of territory in the thunder bay district at the ripe age of seventeen ─ a victory that supposedly turned juno against anastasia to begin with, with the former being unable to accept the notion of her successor outclassing her by any means. calista looked over to her uncle galen when his voice suddenly pulled her from thoughts. he rode opposite to her queen mother. "not a greeting in store for me? good to see you too, princess." he jested playfully. she was thankful for the familiarity of his light demeanor right now. "ah, uncle." calista offered him an apologetic smile. "how are you faring? it's been no small trip from sudbury, has it?"
indent"no," he chuckled in agreement. "but getting out of that stuffy mine is good for me." only her uncle would refer to his ancestral seat as a stuffy mine. even her queen mother could not mask the glint of amusement in her eye. "i can imagine the journey all the way up from gore bay has been more taxing than mine own though, or so i hear. what say you, calista?" the older man seemed to search her expression for a moment, as though trying to gauge her current temperament. galen wore the simplest of the athanasiou finery on display, donning a long, white surcoat clasped in the center by the sigil of his house, a golden fox. emblazoned underneath his collar were ornate flourishes of black thread. she noted the man's beard and hair had been trimmed and cut respectively to look much neater than usual too. calista was quick to tear her gaze away from her uncle's own. "it has been long, yes, and tiring." she said simply, her tone coming off rather blunt. calista's eyes remained fixed on the patchy road stretching through the sparse woodlands ahead of them so that she might avoid the sight of his frown. her uncle galen was far too accustomed with her habits, more so than even anastasia herself. he knew she was seeking his and her queen mother's company for a reason rather than entertaining that of her siblings. a part of her wanted to remain distracted during their journey on stratnach road. what her lady cousin said to her last they were at elkmire seemed to echo in her mind like a hatefully incessant reminder of her future: i'm not sure if i should congratulate you or console you. she could almost picture lucina's smug face, wearing that horrible grin she so desperately wanted to wipe from her perfectly sculpted features. calista did not want anyone's pity. there was nothing to pity. or was she lying to herself? maybe a part of her was resentful toward her queen mother. after all, the other woman spent years of her own life unmarried, apparently partaking in carefree endeavors of self-exploration all the while impressing the masses with her swordsmanship in the gore bay colosseum. by the gods, she only married her father because he survived the brutal series of venationes she arranged, proposing that any man who could overcome her games should be fit to win her hand in marriage. and that was only after she relented from a previous announcement, that being she would only marry any man who could best in her in the colosseum grounds. she even took a horse from each man who failed in his attempt. when it became clear to her that she would best each of her opponents, only then did she make amends to her prior declaration. the notion was an oddly frustrating one to grapple with. the other woman had the right to dictate her own fate. she inherited the hallowed throne and did as she pleased for a time. when she eventually came to wed it was fully on her own terms. she was not married off like some political pawn to gain the eidolon more power or land. she may have been tied down to a man at the end but it was a relationship she ultimately chose. calista had to wonder: when in the history of house athanasiou has the heir to the hallowed throne been forced to bow her head and comply with a marriage proposal, least of all to a foreign house? she supposed her grandmother juno was an exception, her marriage to calista's grandfather lord demonax cirillo of the archipelago being one arranged by her aunt who seized her rightful throne from her. calista's situation was far different though. she was no captive like juno was once. calista's queen mother stole her ability to choose from her ─ a prospect that surely a younger anastasia would have been furious over herself ─ and she treated her no different than her younger sister cybil, married off to a wealthy lord to grant her family more influence throughout the territories of the heartlands. perhaps that is it, then. the whole situation was simply infuriating. calista has done fine for herself this long without a husband and she hardly thought it culturally appropriate to engage with the mythic dawn in such a manner. her queen mother was not only threatening calista's autonomy but choosing to undermine centuries of an established matriarchy, whereby dynastic descent has been reckoned solely through the athanasiou female line. once calista married into the mythic dawn's royal family would she not inherently loose some of her power? their gibraltar neighbors certainly do not adhere to the same rights of primogeniture as they do. granted, they rule over two separate territories through two separate thrones and seats of power, but would having a blended way of life not change that in the end? tradition was being sacrificed for power, almost blatantly so, whether or not anyone was willing to look it in the eye and call it that. she was raised to understand the role of the ruling queen as being one not dependent ─ or even subservient ─ to a man, let alone to the husband she might take on. it was a bizarre concept to her, this possibility she might have to answer to another ruling authority, and it was one that by nature she did not like. since she was a young girl she has been under the impression she would come into a power of her own, and to potentially have that stripped away, or at-least diminished in theory, was quite hard to come to terms with. either way, calista hoped prince halvor did not expect much from her. it would make both of their lives significantly easier if they could both just perform their duties and carry on their own pursuits as they pleased. she was to be the revenant queen of the heartlands one day, not merely some consort to hang off the arm of a man born outside of her culture. everyone would certainly do well to remember such a notion come their wedding.
indent"...i'm going to be getting my boots caked with mud! and my skirts, oh gods. one of the finest dressmakers in gore bay fashioned this─"
indentcalista glanced over her shoulder upon hearing cybil's complaints. the expression upon her face was not a particularly impressed one. a moment passed before she shifted her gaze back toward her queen mother and her uncle. "if it's not too late, may i request we make a detour? i'm thinking it might be wise to drop cybil on lord bakirtzis' doorstep before we squander our chances with the mythic dawn altogether. we've travelled long enough already. what's a few more days to thunder bay?" behind her she could hear cybil's appalled protests at the mention of her betrothed, though the sound of her voice was almost drowned by her uncle's boisterous laughter. both became rather irrelevant when calista began to notice the change in their surroundings though. the gradual recession of towering trees into rather stumpy ones indicated they were proceeding to the timberline of the sparse forest they were travelling through. "your majesty," a serviceman interjected from the the lateral side of their procession. "the camping grounds are upon us." upon hearing confirmation of their subsequent arrival, calista tensed without realizing it, gripping fortuna's reins for a fleeting moment before forcing herself to regain her composure. she had to remind herself it would not bode well for her if the mythic dawn thought she looked as though she'd seen a ghost upon laying eyes on their encampment. even despite her efforts, why did her throat feel as though it were closing though? this sort of unease was much unlike her. calista swallowed thickly when the trees eventually gave way to the sight of old palisades, tall stakes protruding from the ground to fortify the encampment site frequented by the royal families of the mythic dawn and the eidolon over the years, an area located at the border of the heartlands and gibraltar. despite the feeling of dread pooling in her stomach, a part of her remained hopeful. in particular, a certain søren kolbeck crossed her mind. she should see him here, amongst the many...
indentonce in the clearing, queen anastasia was the first to dismount her steed, one of their attendants taking the reins of her queen mother's stallion. calista gently pulled fortuna's reins toward her body to urge her horse to come to a halt as well, her eyes only briefly flashing across the reception of the other royal family outside the palisades before she followed in suit with her queen mother. calista's dainty pair of heeled shoes made contact with the earth, her navy cloak twisting behind her when she turned to face fortuna. she gave the stallion a reassuring pat on the neck before allowing the horse to be tended to by another one of their men. casting a curious glance up to the sky, the revenant princess spotted talos diving down to perch among the palisades. the raptor looked out on the eidolon's impressive retinue, preceded and flanked by bannermen hoisting house athanasiou's sigil of a crowned golden lion on a navy field. while the rest of their procession proceeded to slow to a stop, calista was quick to join her queen mother and her uncle, heedful not to appear careless or distracted when formal introductions were to be made. her siblings made to do the same. determined not to dirty the hems of her skirts, cybil gathered the fabric of her dress in bunches to keep her skirts from dragging on the ground underfoot, her caution far different from the way adonis carried himself, confidently swaggering over to take his place at his family's side once they approached the royal family of the mythic dawn. "king ulrik," anastasia greeted the man cordially, paying him respect with a bow before giving his wife the same courtesy. "queen aoibheann. it will be good to see you both setting foot on heartlands soil again. we welcome you." the revenant queen glanced toward calista expectantly, who in turn took a step forward to stand at her side before the rulers of the mythic dawn. "please, allow me to reintroduce my daughter and heir to the hallowed throne, princess calista athanasiou." calista lowered herself to a curtsy when her queen mother presented her to the king and the queen of the mythic dawn. between the two rulers, queen aoibheann was certainly more of a familiar face given her frequent visits down to gore bay, oftentimes on the account of foreign trade and diplomacy. her queen mother has grown fond over the other woman too, as far as calista understood it. it would appear they have grown to have a sort of companionship with one another since their initial introduction to each other years back. queen anastasia continued on to address the lord standing on her opposite side. "and accompanying me today is my brother, lord galen ateos, the liege lord of greater sudbury." calista's uncle offered the two rulers each a bow. "king ulrik, queen aoibheann. it's an honor." galen said. both cybil and adonis paid their respects to the foreign rulers once their queen mother called upon them to do so, but calista was hardly paying mind to what was going on around her, and she certainly did not care much for standing around like a prize to be shown off to the royals of house kolbeck. there was only one person whose attention might matter to her at all, and only for him did she find herself hoping she looked every part the regal princess she was fashioned to, a notion that would not typically concern calista otherwise. the revenant princess raised her eyes to survey the members of the royal kolbeck family, briefly searching for a familiar face among those in attendance. should her gaze even momentarily fall upon søren calista was sure her eyes might linger a moment too long. her wandering attention would be quickly reeled in by the sound of her queen mother's voice though. calista averted her gaze when the revenant queen looked to both king ulrik and queen aoibheann once they finished exchanging formalities between their families. "i do trust the journey to the border was uneventful?" she inquired. "i understand it is no short trip from khyobel either."
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vaell
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by vaell » Sun May 05, 2024 1:42 pm
xxxxxxxxGWENDOLYNiiM'HAEL-MERAUD.
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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe royal advisor to the arkhian crown.
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indenton the banks of the brazeau river invidia bore witness to the purification of her intended vessel.
indentanduru sahōdariya obaṭa āyācanā karami. their chants were drowned by the deafening roar of blood in her ears, by the water drowning out her sense of hearing. despite the frigid waters gwen was burning from the inside out. the pulse in her temple throbbed as she fought against breathing in a lung full of water. even her chest felt as though it would soon tear open from exertion alone. if she were not held so firmly beneath the surface of the river her limbs would have begun to thrash by now, a frenzied grasping at nothing but the currents of water. gwen strained her eyes upward, trying to make out the faint shimmer of the surface, but it seemed impossibly distant. light danced and twisted, teasing her with the promise of air. she could feel the weight of water pressing down on her, distorting her view of the world above. she was losing air. the internal pressure in her body was growing unbearable. even time itself felt as though it were stretching out, seconds beginning to feel like minutes. everything gwen felt was instinctive. total. consuming. she was reduced to an animal who knew nothing but the urge to claw and rip and tear and push, driven only by a surge of desperation to survive. submerged in a cold black abyss, gwen faced the precipice of life and death just as the dark sister intended. here she was forced to acknowledge how easily man could be reduced to nothing but bestial instinct. she had no choice but to yield her imagined authority, to realize that which tethered her to the physical world could be stripped away in an instant. anduru sahōdariya obaṭa āyācanā karami. before gwen could realize what was happening, she was being pulled from the water by her sisters of styx, damasandra helsing and maeve dragomir. struggling to breathe, she swallowed as much air she could the moment her head broke the surface. she could feel their grasp on her shoulders tighten as she staggered forward. the black veil intended to shroud gwen's visage clung to her face now, heavy with the weight of water absorbed by the sheer fabric. her body wished to panic when she realized no breath she could take in would be complete, hindered by the presence of the wet veil. her chest was heaving in desperation, greedy for air. all she could see through her obscured vision was a woman stood in front of her swinging a thurible back and forth, repeating the same words over and over again ─ anduru sahōdariya obaṭa āyācanā karami ─ and just as soon as she was forced above water she was thrust back down beneath the surface again. gwen gasped. the river closed in on her again. her lungs pulled in deep, reaching but finding nothing. everything seized come her first breath of water. her body was suddenly fighting a battle it could not win: she was fighting to breathe, yet fighting to cough, to expel what water would come to rush into her lungs. a chilling sensation akin to fear shot up her spine, though quickly her fright turned to horror. it was painful, more than she remembered. her lungs suddenly burned something fierce. her chest was erupting in agony, and soon convulsions would take her body if she did not regain air. she tried to thrash against the two women holding her under though her efforts were in vain, only expending what little energy she had left. gwen could sense her vision narrowing, her limbs growing heavy, sinking. her vision swam with shades of grey, brown and blue. there it is. the world, it was fading away to a distant point, a mere speck on the horizon. she was not in this body. she was not drowning. anduru sahōdariya obaṭa āyācanā karami. this is what it meant to be purified. only when gwen could submit to total detachment and complete surrender could she ever be untethered and free from this physical vessel. anduru sahōdariya obaṭa āyācanā karami. the wave of acceptance that came over gwen and encouraged her body to go slack and cease its futile fight did not come from a place of hopelessness or resignation. this was not her welcoming death. this was her stepping into a rebirth. when next did her sisters of styx pull her from the river she would be born anew, a woman having come face to face with her own mortality. she would stand once more blessed by the dark sister. anduru sahōdariya obaṭa āyācanā karami. the words coming out of the mouths of the women around her suddenly became clear again, and hands were pulling her heavy body from the water. gwen sputtered when she surfaced, casting out the water filling her mouth, leaving an earthy taste behind. her lungs burned. though close to choking to death no one surrounding her dared interfere. this ritual was an undertaking of gwen's own. an augur must undergo purification rites to ceremonially prepare for communications with the divine, and gwen has been called upon to take the auspices for saint-arkh's military endeavors. in the cimmerian chantry purification rites are typically associated with a number of ceremonial acts of customs in an attempt to establish a higher degree of purity in relation to the ascendant plane, and neither fasting nor water immersion are considered uncommon practices. someone ─ damasandra, was it? ─ did lift the veil from her face, draping the fabric past her hairline so that her features were no longer concealed. gwen blinked away the sting of murky water in her eyes. she found herself surrounded by four expressionless stares, women of the royal clergy dressed in simple black robes. as customary of the purification ritual, gwen's face was the only one exposed now, stringy pieces of dripping ebony hair stuck to her pale skin. she slowly breathed in the cold winter air. now that she could regain her breath it felt as though slivers of ice were crystallizing her innards like little blades. by virtue of only donning but a thin black dress, a chill was beginning to rapidly spread outward from her core. the wet material hung from gwen's lean figure, clinging to her frame despite normally being a shapeless garment. the five women would certainly pose a curious scene to behold from the arkhian military grounds. the women of the royal clergy encircled gwen where she stood in the brazeau river, having waded in water up past their knees. beyond the circle of the clergy, the river's surface bore signs of winter's embrace, a delicate veil of frost creeping steadily across its expanse. the brazeau river lay ensconced in a shimmering sheath of ice, its edges frozen by the encroaching cold. flakes of snow fell from the sky. gwen shivered.
indentthe royal advisor was escorted back into the thick of the saint-arkh military encampment by her clergy. behind gwen, lilith blackwood and judith obadia each swung a metal censer on its chains, tendrils of smoke rising from the incense burning within. the soldiers they passed would stop what they were doing to lower their eyes in deference to the sacred presence passing through their midst, whispering words of worship beneath their breath as gwen tread by barefoot on the uneven, frozen grounds. the discomfort would only be fleeting, she told herself. it would not last. she could bear this, and much more. being uncomfortable was a necessary part of the purification process. it was a necessary experience for most things in life.
indenttheir procession through the campgrounds came to an end when gwen and her clergy were back within the shelter of her allocated tent, one among the many occupied by prominent military figures. a tented canopy with rich cloth dyed ebony and mauve, the tent itself was aglow with the light of braziers within, flames casting intricate patterns of shadow and light upon the canvas walls. the interior of the tent was illuminated not only by the practical light of braziers but also by the soft, golden glow of flickering candles arranged in an intricate pattern around a makeshift altar in one corner. the scent of herbs and oils hung heavy in the air, mingling with the smell of leather and sweat that permeated the encampment itself. incense burned in ornate censers, fragrant tendrils curling upwards towards the canopy above. here, amidst the trappings of military command, gwen could find solace in the rituals of her faith. lilith made sure to attend to gwen while their sisters of styx occupied themselves with the preparations of breaking her fast, a customary tradition preceding any conduction of augury. what weakness gwen felt now was largely due to not having eaten a proper meal since the last day past. rubbing her hands together to ward off a chill, the royal advisor approached a lit brazier in the middle of the tent, welcoming the pleasant feeling of warmth emanating from its burning coals. unsurprisingly, gwen's first instinct was to pull the damp dress from her shoulders. skarrynden's frigid winter air penetrated the soaked material, rapidly wicking the heat from her body. not even the presence of a fire could chase off the cold she felt. with some assistance, gwen managed to remove the garment from her body. the drenched article of clothing fell limp at her feet, replaced with a set of ebony robes meticulously emblazoned with the heraldic bearings of saint-arkh in deep purple thread. as the other woman pulled the fabric over her shoulders, gwen found herself staring into the fire, fantasizing over the prospect of life back in duskhelm. she thought of ravensage keep, of being able to call upon a servant to draw her a steaming hot bath in her own private apartments in the castle. her body ached in yearning at the thought. once her robes were secure, lilith stepped away from her. gwen allowed her eyes to flutter shut as lilith joined her sisters of styx now, the women beginning to encircle her where she stood in front of the brazier. she inhaled deeply, the smell of incense penetrating her senses, a warm, rich and complex aroma of spices reminiscent of burning artemisia absinthium. the herb contained compounds thought to induce altered states of consciousness, making it easier for diviners to access the ascendant plane and receive messages or visions. as judith and lilith began fumigating her with incense, gwen's eyes reopened. the flap of her tent rustled, and she could spot maeve approaching with a ceremonial blade in one hand and a clucking, nervous chicken held firmly in the other. she must have retrieved the bird from one of the wooden crates they brought with them from duskhelm, specifically intended for the use of divination or religious purposes. damasandra now held in her hands a shallow, wide-rimmed bowl. it was empty ─ then a surprised squawk sounded out ─ and the vitality of the chicken drained into the contents of the receptacle. vermillion splattered on maeve's sleeves as she held the lifeless hen. almost symbolically, the impurities of gwen's mortal vessel were ritually transferred onto the animal, gained and then lost just as quickly. gwen's gaze became fixed at a point on the opposite side of the tent as judith and lilith dipped their fingers into the bowl, their digits now stained scarlet as they stepped around the brazier to gwen. anduru sahōdariya obaṭa āyācanā karami. that same chant they whispered, roughly translated to 'dark sister, i call upon thee'. she closed her eyes once more, surrendering herself to the ritual. she felt the sensation of fingertips slowly beginning to drag across the innermost portion of her closed eyelids to her temples, forming a line of warm, sanguine fluid across her skin. as they anointed her, the women proceeded to drag their fingers from the lower waterline of her eyes down her cheek to mark another harsh line, a trail of crimson making it appear as though gwen herself was shedding tears of blood. the life force of the chicken served as a symbol of sacrifice to invidia, an exchange for the blessing of making her will known to them when gwen would take the auspices. purification is invariably required before any contact with the sacred, an undertaking required prior to any major endeavor to ensure their success and a right relationship with the dark sister. death and rebirth are central principles to the chantry's practiced rituals. when gwen was submerged in the river, her mortal vessel and the physical world were symbolically put to death and then renewed in a purer and better state. additionally, blood itself is associated with both life and death, and consequently important to the renewal process as a whole. when next did gwen open her eyes, her blue irises interrupting the dried scarlet line across her eyelids, her gaze focused on the bowl in damasandra's hands once more. her sisters of styx dipped their fingers into the liquid again, proceeding to mark gwen's forehead, wrists, and palms with religious symbols associated with invidia, including letters of saint-arkh's ancient tongue spelling out broken prayers and enigmatic depictions of a darkened sun. as lilith finished marking a few cryptic words across gwen's forehead, red markings encircling her forehead like a thin band, damasandra presented gwen with a second dish. this one was filled with a thin, clear broth, seemingly a blend of water and an assortment of several herbs ground together specifically intended for her to break her fast. the woman presented the drink to her lips, standing across the brazier. though the infused water tasted nothing near delicious, nor would it prove filling in any capacity, gwen still had to suppress her own eagerness to consume the offering. she took the liquid down in several gulps as damasandra tilted the contents of the bowl into her mouth. behind her, lilith and judith retrieved a rather impressive headpiece to place upon gwen's forehead. a fusion of ancient craftsmanship and eldritch design, a circlet forged from darkened steel wrapped around the crown of her head, its surface etched with inscription much like that marked on her body with blood. from its crown rose a series of jagged spikes, veils of midnight-black silk cascading from each point, flowing like liquid shadow around gwen's head and shoulders. within the folds of the fabric, subtle markings of saint-arkh's heraldry danced and shifted. adorning the veils covering her face were clusters of obsidian shards, their glossy surfaces reflecting the faint glimmer of the crackling fire before her, woven into a lattice to only partially conceal her face, leaving only the barest hints of their visage visible beneath the shroud. typically gwen would don an eye covering, a separate piece designed to fully obscure her sight while enhancing her connection invidia. it was fashioned from smooth, black leather and snugly conformed to the contours of her face, leaving no gap for even light to penetrate. the veils she wore today would have to suffice for the sake of practicality though. finally, her sisters of styx secured a few chains of blackened metal around her neck, amulets and talismans layered on top of each other with pendants in the shape of saint-arkh's sigil.
indentwith gwen now fully donning her ceremonial attire she truly did resemble a conduit to forces dwelling beyond the veil of mere mortal understanding. stark markings of vermillion stood out against her pale skin, tracing ritualistic patterns of ancient rites, twisted sigils, or passages invoking the name of invidia. each streak and smear was deliberate, serving as a testament to her devotion to the faith. her being among arkhian soldiers ─ sharing their camping grounds, breaking bread with them as equals, being apart of their victories or losses ─ has certainly helped bolster the waning confidence of their military forces these past few days. the royal advisor's recent appearance in skarrynden was commanded by the king of evenfall himself when news came of saint-arkh's military struggles up north. in the tribe of saint-arkh the military and the faith are inseparable, bound together by a covenant forged in blood and darkness, where victory is not just won with swords and spears, but with the power of the divine. gwen's presence intended to serve as a reminder of their connection to the goddess of the night, who ultimately guides their actions and shapes their individual destinies through the stygian path. the men and women who serve saint-arkh must be emboldened by the knowledge that victory is within their grasp, that their faith will carry them through even the darkest of times so long as they remain steadfast in their service to invidia. what their soldiers needed was a renewed sense of purpose and determination, and gwen was supposed to be the one who offered them that beacon of newfound invigoration. additionally, as someone well versed in the practice of augury, it was expected of military leaders to consult gwen if they sought to invoke invidia's judgement concerning their military campaign against the tribe of stellarun. considered to be a historical practice within their tribe, the interpretation of omens and signs are often considered crucial for ensuring the success and safety of arkhian military endeavors. typically, a number of different rituals can be employed to take the auspices depending on the circumstances, including the inspection of animal entrails, examination of celestial phenomena, observation of sacrificial offerings, or even the study of bird behavior, one of the most well-known forms of augury within the cimmerian chantry. when it comes to assessing the soundness of military campaigns, the behavior of certain birds, including eagles, hawks, ravens, or chickens, can be interpreted as favorable or unfavorable in the eyes of an augur ─ and it just so happened that gwen knew today would be an auspicious day for the tribe of saint-arkh. the importance of ensuring their military leaders feel confident in their decisions was not a notion lost upon gwen, and she felt it best to take matters into her own hands. as she was only recently installed to her position in duskhelm, serving the royal house of nocturne after the king's disposal of her predecessor, she was not particularly keen on running the risk of plummeting the spirits of their military by declaring invidia did not look down upon their war efforts favorably. what transpired in skarrynden today needed to reflect well on her tentative relationship with king burchard. the matter was simply non-negotiable, even if that meant potentially conducting divination in accordance with her own interests in mind. tampering with the results of augury for personal gain is considered highly unethical in the eyes of the chantry, a deceitful and dishonorable violation of the code of their faith, and yet if there is no one to question you, or no one who will, then there is no possible chance you can mutilate your own reputation or credibility. gwen spent a large portion of her life serving the house of macbeth in viviencia as the noble house's dark augur, and there she did what others could not achieve, weaving the ideologies of the chantry into their governing practices and the ways in which they maneuver saint-arkh's political landscape as a whole. she transformed a reluctant great house into an obliging one that would gladly carry out the bidding of the chantry should the need arise. what gwen has done for the faith far outweighed the relevance of a single taking of the auspices on a dreary, snowy day in skarrynden that everyone would soon forget about in a years time. besides, gwen was not actually undermining the chantry's ethical standards. she was doing what she had to in order to ensure saint-arkh did not face defeat at the hands of their enemies, and if that was considered a betrayal of trust and a violation of religious principles, then she did not know what was considered moral and right. gwen was acting to ensure a net positive result for the whole of the tribe, even if that meant incidentally abusing her position of power as one of the chantry's most esteemed augurs. she could not imagine what effect an ominous interpretation, rather than an auspicious one, may result in. gwen only knew that this was the dark sister's will. she knew because there, held beneath the currents of the brazeau river, invidia did not seek her retribution upon her most vulnerable state. even before she underwent her purification ritual gwen had already long been skewing the results of the augury in her favor, selectively feeding the chickens that would later be used for ritual purposes. she held back on their food intake in order to make them more famished, which would likely lead to a more favorable omen. and yet still, here she was standing now, garbed in the symbols of the dark sister and more confident in her choices than ever she had been before. gwen did not feel remorse for her actions because she did not see them as inherently wrong. this day was necessary for the rest of her destiny to unfold in the manner the dark sister intended. after all, she was invidia's chosen vessel. she has known this since she was a young girl.
indentwhen gwen did step outside of her tent again she was greeted by cold air crisp with the bite of winter. small flakes of snow drifted down from the darkening evening sky, settling on the folds of her dark robes as a reminder of the harshness of the season. lilith and judith, ever dutiful, made their way to retrieve the crate of chickens outside the stables without needing any prompting. their breath formed clouds of vapor in the cold air as they moved, footsteps muffled by the thin blanket of snow beginning to cover the ground. damasandra and maeve remained at gwen's side, their own outfits mirroring her own albeit in a much more simplistic, humble fashion to indicate their own positions within the clergy. they both donned only simple robes and a single thin black veil to cover their faces, each holding a metal censer of incense in their hands, chains wrapped tightly in their fingers. while lilith and judith were fetching the chickens, gwen decided to begin navigating her way to the command tent where their military generals were likely convening and awaiting the clergy. the two women followed her in silence, maintaining a respectful distance behind her as she walked ahead of them, censers swinging almost hypnotically on their chains.
indentonce gwen approached the command tent, damasandra and maeve were quick to arrive at her side, pulling back the cloth entrance so that she might proceed inside before them.
indentwhat sounds of conversation were coming from within faltered once the military leaders inside began to take notice of gwen. one man, positioned directly across from the entrance, was the first to recognize her, his words tapering off mid-sentence as his gaze landed upon her. his sudden silence seemed to ripple through the tent, prompting others to turn their heads and follow suit. around the table erected in the center of the tent, the generals serving beneath prince talion's command paused in their discussions. maps and markers lay scattered across the surface before them, forgotten for the moment as their attention shifted towards gwen. a sense of anticipation hung in the air, mingling with the fading echoes of conversation as they awaited her next move. the generals were of much less interest to her than the man commanding them, though. gwen's eyes, mostly obscured by a few layers of thin black veils, momentarily shifted to the prince. there you are, she mused inwardly. what seemed to be the perfect opportunity lay right in front of gwen: a chance to not only inspire the confidence of their military generals, but to reinforce the legitimacy of the augury by preying on the presence of one of the royal lunespawns stationed here in skarrynden. prince talion nocturne. if she could manage to involve the prince in the ceremony, every witness would be too preoccupied with his participation to question how the auspices were being taken, her fellow sisters of styx included. gwen had no intention of facing scrutiny by members of her own clergy should they suspect she meddled with the feeding pattern of the chickens after declaring she attend to the animals herself since arriving at skarrynden. besides, it was about time the prince was reminded of his importance in divination practices. given his status as a royal lunespawn, gwen knew the great extent to which prince talion has been exposed to the ceremonies and rituals carried out by the chantry. doubtlessly, he was no stranger to his importance in the context of their religion, but beyond that, did he have any actual desire to grasp what was rightfully his? to reach out and touch it, take it with his own hands, bloody or not? gwen was uncertain. from the time she has spent in the royal court thus far she did not take notice of the prince being particularly ambitious, even despite knowing his fabled claim as high celebrant. a part of her wondered if he had what it would take but even then, it did not matter. his destiny was prescribed for him, and she was going to help him understand what his place was in this world ─ and in the next, too. prince talion may not yet know it but he has become the object of gwen's morbid fascination since her arrival at duskhelm, like a creature to be studied from a distance until she knew exactly just how to approach him without being snarled and hissed at. her plan was already set into motion and she had not yet even done anything to directly interfere with his life. perhaps that was a part of it, this calculated distance she initially kept from him, even if her lack of access to prince talion was due in part to the presence of his royal family. she was not treating him like an oddity or a curiosity, as any other member of the chantry might should they gain a seat on his royal father's council. gwen could have easily scared prince talion off by now but she knew better than to overwhelm him with preaching about invidia or his inherent ties to their faith. if she did that then he certainly wouldn't see her as any different from the rest of the chantry. she needed to carefully position herself in his life first, and that is exactly what she has been doing. let his curiosity grow on its own and do half the work for her, she figured. gwen needed talion to take an interest in her ─ why she treated him differently, seeing him not just as a puppet on the strings of the chantry but an actual person with real, human feelings, or how it was that someone like her was offering him kindness rather than seeking to manipulate him and his situation ─ and she would keep burrowing into his flesh until it was far too late for him to realize she was the one in control, not him. her and the prince, they were bound by the same strings of prophecy that tales of the ancient past foretold. passages from the mysterium lucifugous detailing the coming of the high celebrant destined to lead followers of invidia to ascendancy once spilled from her very lips as a young girl deemed to be a prophetess. he could not even begin to fathom the extent to which their lives were intertwined. her entire life seemed to lead up to her installation in duskhelm, and it could not just be mere coincidence that there, her and prince talion's fates finally collided. gwen would not stand by idly as the opportunity passed her by, either. there was something in the prince that she knew she could harness to her advantage. something moldable, like a clay one could shape into any form. his bloody encounters with members of the clergy such as mother superior mona already proved she had something to work with. it did not matter how prince talion felt about his place in their religion now. all that mattered was what gwen could make of him. he was going to bend to her will with time, give himself over to her freely without even realizing what he was doing. she was going to take every piece of him, too. she was going to take and take and take until there was nothing left of the person there was before. she was going to take until hers was the only name he cared to yield to. with time, prince talion would not be the same man she laid eyes upon now. she would change him, irrevocably and permanently, though the change would be so gradual he himself would not even notice it. this was the only way gwen could get what she wanted, the only way she could satisfy her thirst for a higher seat of power, and it only happened to be chance that prince talion was the means through which she could get what she wanted. she needed to gain his trust and his confidence above all else, and fortunately, gwen was a patient woman. she had no qualms slowly introducing her presence to the prince time and time again until through mere exposure alone he was certain of her integrity. there were no boundaries concerning the lengths that gwen was willing to go to fulfill her own desires through the prince. she did not care what she needed to do in order to cultivate a sense of loyalty in the man. she needed his support, undying and constant, so that one day she may find herself utterly untouchable.
indentgwen took a step forward now. in response, the generals standing before the table made space to accommodate her presence. though they would not be able to see it clearly, her lips curled upward into a slight smile as her eyes swept across the tent to assess those present. damasandra and maeve remained standing adjacent to the entry of the tent, not following gwen without an invitation to do so. the atmosphere of the tent certainly seemed to shift upon her approach before the assembled group. she could feel their gazes fixed upon her, awaiting her words with a mixture of reverence and apprehension. as though to subdue the remainders of their conversation, gwen raised a single hand, exposing a series of crimson markings dried on her palm, lines of red wrapping around her digits and emerging on the backside of her hand in etchings of the ancient tongue. the tent fell into a true hush now. "my prince. generals," gwen began, her voice low yet respectful, "you have summoned me to take the auspices, to seek guidance of the divine and beseech the favor of invidia in the trials that lie ahead. you seek answers in the darkness, and i am here to provide them." her words seemed to evoke a sense of anticipation inside the tent now, as if the very fate of their future now hung in the balance. and in a way, it did. of course, she knew their want for guidance was not merely a matter of curiosity but a reflection of the dire circumstances that befell them. "in the darkness, we find truth," she continued, her cryptic words weaving a web of intrigue. "and with invidia's blessing, we discover the path forward." it was usual for people to hang on gwen's every word, entranced by her inherent power as someone believed to be capable of communing with forces beyond mortal comprehension, and martial leaders were no exception. gwen clasped her hands behind her back. unsurprisingly, she did not address her sudden intrusion upon their campaign briefings. gwen had invited herself into the command tent without waiting to be expressly called upon and there was a reason why no one dared question her. prince talion and his men sought to invoke invidia's will and that meant they must abide by the whims of the chantry, herself included. in the tribe of saint-arkh, the balance of power often blatantly leans in favor of their religion. even if she may have come to them at an inconvenient time, they wished to consult the auspices, and they would so when gwen presented herself to them in the manner she pleased. across the tent, her eyes shifted to prince talion, staring at him from beneath the bejeweled lattice of her veil. he may not have been anticipating her appearance to come when it did, but she was going to quickly make him forget any interruption her presence may have caused. she wagered the prince was probably long used to the chantry inserting themselves wherever they wished, or doing as they pleased, granted so long as its within the limits of their power, but he was soon going to realize gwen was not here to push him around or force the guise of control out of his hands. rather, her intentions would seem to him quite the opposite. she was going to give him the opportunity to join her in divination, to see if he might exercise his autonomy to join her on his own accord. what he needed to do was begin taking charge of his own decisions, and his men needed to see this with their own eyes, see his willing participation in the faith. he did not need to be browbeaten into submission or cornered like an animal of prey to carry out her bidding or heed to her agenda. she just needed to make sure the prince was under the impression that this ritual was going to be a joint effort. this evening was not simply going to be about the chantry advising their martial forces into victory ─ no, not at all ─ and instead of merely having the prince obeying with her wishes, he would instead actively assist her in establishing a connection with invidia. all he needed to do was understand her offering was just that ─ an offering. it was impossible to know whether or not the prince even knew the difference between a gesture of participation and a command at this point but still, gwen was sure that he would at-least be able to recognize the unique way by which she broached the matter. would he offer himself up for the sake of amplifying her connection to the divine, though? she did not yet know the limits of prince talion's willingness to cooperate with the chantry, but she figured she knew how to corner him into agreement regardless should all else fail. nonetheless, gwen was careful choosing her next words. for now, she wanted the prince to feel as though she was extending him an invitation to join the ritual, rather than simply commanding him to do so. true, she was indirectly putting pressure on him by addressing him in front of his own generals ─ essentially forcing him to comply lest he want to further dwindle the spirits of his own men ─ but it was not obvious by the way she framed her words. "my prince," she started. "if i might suggest, sometimes a more...potent connection with the ascendant plane demands sacrifice." gwen glanced over her shoulder at maeve, whom she knew carried a ceremonial blade on her person from what transpired during her earlier rites of purification. she silently bid her sister to come forward with a slight tilt of her head. their wordless interaction was all that maeve needed to understand what gwen was asking of her. the woman produced the small, gleaming dagger from her robes, placing the hilt of the blade in gwen's outstretched hand. her fingers closed around the handle, the blades surface glinting in the dim light of the tent. gwen turned to face the table once more, setting the knife down in front of everyone to observe. her display undoubtedly cast an air of intrigue among those present. not even the details of the augury were yet divulged to those in the tent and she was already seeking some sort of a sacrifice to accompany her efforts, seemingly hinting at prince talion's participation. gwen's eyes flickered around the tent. "holy blood is necessary." she finally clarified, though remained rather vague in her intentions, not revealing much more than she wished to. her gaze landed on prince talion again. she watched the man carefully now, studying him for any signs of reluctance or hesitation. a few drops of his blood could mean a better connection with invidia and thus a greater chance that she could interpret the signs with enough clarity to ultimately help them succeed against the stellarun. before he might have the chance to form any definitive opinion over what her intentions may be though, she spoke up again to address him directly. "consider my offer, your highness, as an invitation to join me in carrying out invidia's will. of course, rest assured that no shame or dishonor should befall you if my proposition is not to your liking. i'm sure your men would understand. after all, you have been expending your energy toward war efforts in the name of our goddess and i do not seek to ask more of you than is required." gwen spoke carefully, deliberately noting his current contribution to their cause so that he may feel more inclined to comply with her on his own volition. she presented him with a choice, and even if he knew he had no feasible way of rejecting her offer even despite her supposed reassurances, at-least she had granted him that which others have not: a fleeting sense of freedom and self-governance.
indent"but do know this," she added, an additional effort to coax him in the right direction and lure him into the false pretenses of her seemingly good natured intentions, "i would consider it a great honor to have you at my side during the ritual, my prince, and your sacrifice would certainly pose a blessing to all of us."
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