❝ ── WASTELAND, BABY !

[vaell]

xxxxxＣＡＬＩＳＴＡiiＡＴＨＡＮＡＳＩＯＵ.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe revenant princess of the eidolon.
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indentthe dance quickly became an elaborate game of concealment, every fleeting touch and shared look a bittersweet reminder of what lay beneath the surface—a powerful connection that neither she nor søren could fully embrace while the discerning eyes of nobility watched.
indentcalista felt a mix of exhilaration and frustration as the quadrille carried them through its patterns. the synchronized movements and intricate steps of the dance frequently brought her and the lord ascendant into close proximity, only to separate them mere moments later. the constant ebb and flow of their distance was both thrilling and maddening, only serving to heighten her awareness of their fleeting closeness. even despite the dance's formal constraints, her attention seemed to follow søren closely throughout the different formations of the quadrille, every glance in his direction charged with unspoken words and hidden desires—a poignant reminder of how the years spent apart had only intensified her longing. the air between them seemed to pulse with a silent intensity, crackling beneath the veneer of courtly decorum they were compelled to uphold. this intensity became all the more prominent when they finally came face-to-face in the quadrille. the polite smile forced upon calista's face remained perfectly poised from one noble lord to the next, yet her eyes betrayed a deeper emotion when she met søren's gaze. even the brief contact of their hands felt like a spark, igniting a deeper connection that written words alone had never fully captured. over the years, their communication has mostly taken shape in the form of letters, and while practical given their respective endeavors and the vast number of miles that often separated them, it was infinitely more fulfilling to see søren in the flesh just as she did now. the letters they often sent back and forth—once a lifeline amid the trials of war or personal struggle—now felt trivial compared to the vivid reality of his presence. the sight of him, finally so close and real, stirred a longing that was almost overwhelming. though short-lived, the subtle pressure of her hand against his felt like a reminder of the profound connection they managed to nurture despite what separation they faced over the years. with søren's presence came an onslaught of dizzying emotions, long withheld affections and aching desires that have built up over the passage of time, undeterred even by their changing circumstances. their bond was special, one born out of the relative innocence of childhood and what tender companionship they found in each other as adolescents. by the time søren had arrived to the heartlands as a teenager, calista would have officially taken to the arena only a few years prior. when she last saw him during her fosterage in khyobel she was still enrolled in gore bay's gladiatorial imperial school—a feisty girl who, despite her spirit, had yet to prove her worthiness of her royal birthright. training in the schools was intensive, regardless of social status. auctorati like calista─individuals who voluntarily become gladiators, including those from noble or royal backgrounds─constitute a much smaller pool of the gladiators in the heartlands. their involvement was often more about personal prestige or public spectacle than survival or necessity. unlike those who were forced into the arena as slaves or prisoners, auctorati enter the gladiatorial life by their own volition, a tradition especially prominent among the ruling family of the eidolon. by the age of eighteen, calista had become accustomed to basking in the acclaim she attracted in the colosseum. she set new standards for gladiatorial combat with her impulsive and often ruthless fighting style, rapidly becoming a focal point of public fascination. the revenant princess was known for her unpredictable and non-traditional patterns of attack and defense, employing aggressive combat tactics in ways that other vissarion style gladiators did not. while many have mastered the art of evasion, calista often relentlessly pressed the attack and overwhelmed her opponents with speed and intensity. colosseum patrons even began to dub her approach as 'the hit-and-run', a fighting style characterized by the delivery of quick, impactful attacks followed by immediate withdrawal to avoid counterattacks. she often used her speed and agility to continuously harass her opponents, wearing them down and making them more susceptible to sustained attacks. this strategy proved to be especially effective against heavily armored combatants, who often grew frustrated or disoriented upon facing her, and thereby prone to making mistakes or becoming more predictable. calista's performances always proved to be a spectacle of their own. she was a hot-blooded princess seemingly fearless of the consequences her frequent breaches of conduct might incur. the punishment for violating rules of conduct were typically severe, reflecting the high stakes and strict regulations associated with the games. in her younger years, calista thrived on the adrenaline rush that came with her defiance. the crowds cheered her on, and as long as she had their admiration, she saw no wrong in her actions. her appearances in the arena were always sure to attract the masses, bringing people down to gore bay in droves to witness the spectacle she created. for those who knew calista best however, watching her fight often proved a source of constant dread and apprehension. there was an ever-present sense that something could go terribly wrong, and the certainty of her inevitable punishment always loomed large. søren's presence in gore bay that year spurred calista to be even more audacious than usual, driven by a youthful desire to impress him in the only way she knew how. of course, her boldness led to one of her greatest acts of defiance against her queen mother—a slight the older woman did not end up taking kindly to. that year, anastasia had appointed herself as the editor of the games held in celebration of the hallowed throne, an annual festival in gore bay honoring queen hypatia athanasiou, whose death had marked the founding of the games centuries ago. typically, gladiatorial games serve to showcase the editor's wealth and generosity, allowing them to garner public support or demonstrate political acumen. prominent nobles frequently act as editors within their districts, but it is customary for the revenant queen to sponsor major games in the capital city, reinforcing her connection with the people and her status. during the games, the editor oversees the events, ensuring their smooth conduct and making crucial decisions regarding the outcomes of fights, mercy, or execution. when it comes to gladiatorial fighting there are established rituals and rules for how combat should end, and defeated gladiators are expected to appeal for mercy in specific ways. violating these norms or disrespecting the editor─just as calista would end up doing─is considered a serious breach of protocol.
indenttypically, ignoring regulations established by the editor could result in immediate execution or severe punishment, including physical reprimands. such behavior often included any actions that showed disrespect or undermined the authority of the sponsor. that day, in the heat of the arena─despite wounding her opponent and having him at her sword's edge─calista seemed to face a dilemma. the other combatant, being a popular figure among the spectators, was a cause for concern; the crowd's loud pleas for mercy reflected their desire for him to be spared. however, calista chose to disregard the crowd's wishes and acted on her own impulses. in a decisive and defiant move, she beheaded him, thus breaking the established rules of clemency and flouting the expectations of both the audience and the sponsor. calista has always been a figure of defiance, often pushing boundaries to assert her independence and showcase her prowess. in the colosseum, where personal glory and individual valor are highly valued, her choice to behead the other gladiator appeared to be a powerful statement of her own autonomy. an act of rebellion against the norms and expectations of the games, calista made clear her desire to be seen as a formidable and unpredictable force in the arena. victories are not merely about defeating combatants but about making a lasting impression—a crucial aspect of maintaining one's reputation and public image as a fierce and capable gladiator. though an extreme but effective way to display her unwavering confidence, calista's actions not only defied the regulations of the games but demonstrated her willingness to challenge the established order of the colosseum. to make matters worse, her queen mother later discovered that calista had engaged in unauthorized combat with deianira kondylis shortly after her controversial display in the arena. calista had claimed she had been provoked by the other gladiator, who took personal offense at her killing her companion. while both gladiators faced severe consequences, calista bore the brunt of the punishment. anastasia sentenced her to sine missione for her breach of conduct, a type of combat where gladiators were expected to fight to the death without the option for the defeated fighter to be spared. this proved to be a particularly ironic form of punishment given her earlier actions in the arena. a sine missione match was a more lethal and uncompromising type of duel, with the expectation that one of the combatants would die. the combat under such circumstances often proved fierce and relentless, as both fighters knew that only one could emerge alive. anastasia arranged for calista to fight her next opponent that same day, a particularly difficult challenge for any fighter to endure. by the end of the evening, she was battered and exhausted, her body begging for respite and her wounds in need of tending by the royal healers. in retrospect, it seemed likely that the match involved a controlled opponent to create the appearance of a deadly struggle while ensuring calista's safety─a scare tactic employed by her mother without the possibility of causing any real harm to her heir, though calista certainly would not have suspected that back then. although calista had survived her mother's harsh punishment, she still faced the prospect of retribution from deianira kondylis, who vowed to kill her if they ever crossed paths in the arena, sparking a rivalry that would ultimately end with the other woman's defeat. even despite the severity of the situation, calista remembered feeling as though her reputation and dignity remained intact. truth be told, the punishment did not humiliate her as much as it perhaps should have, nor did she regard it as a lesson well learned. instead, having proven herself to her mother by winning two matches in a single day, calista felt a prideful sense of accomplishment. it was funny to her now, how pleased she was with herself for putting on a show essentially all for the sake of trying to impress søren, an effort that probably led to more worriment than excitement on his behalf to begin with. a few weeks later, she got into another illicit scuffle with deianira kondylis outside the colosseum walls, earning her a well deserved beating─this time with calista being the instigator. most people admired the revenant princess for the spectacle she created in the arena, a bloody marvel of entertainment bound to elicit the crowd's shocked cries and cheers. from the very first moment she entered the colosseum as a girl she was placed on a pedestal and became an adored figure among the general populace. but even with bruised knuckles and a bloody nose from her recent clash with the other gladiator (which she informed søren was only the result of fair sparring, an innocent retelling of what happened to keep his concerns at bay), calista felt that in that moment søren saw her no differently than he did before. she used to worry that she might risk losing his admiration altogether if she did not maintain the facade of a girl who only knew victory. this notion—that within the bowels of the arena, calista athanasiou had not known defeat—seemed like an intrinsic part of her character she had to uphold in order to preserve the relationships she cared most about. she feared losing søren's respect because his companionship had become increasingly precious to her with time, an authentic connection rare among the shallow admirers who only sought to win her favor. it's partially why she would eventually go on to dismiss his letters after her first botched military campaign against the scarlet hand up north. despite his more reserved demeanor as a youth compared to her own exuberance, søren's presence was a refreshing change from the usual crowd who either sought to best her in combat or capture her attention through gruesome acts of violence in the arena. in contrast to søren's own disposition at the time, calista had proven herself to be a rather independent young woman, her mind preoccupied with matters of glory and fame, oftentimes so much so that she likely appeared less forthcoming in her budding affection for søren. still, the soft spot she had for him manifested itself in different ways. it was him who she chose to spend her time with, and it was him that she often gravitated toward even in a crowd, not much different from right now. and if it were not for the demands of the quadrille, calista surely would have lingered a fraction too long in his company but alas, they were each swept into the tides of the dance once more.
indentmuch like the other patricians involved in the quadrille, calista lowered her head in a final bow before the music came to a halt, signaling the end of the dance. as the crowd started to thin out, her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes quickly swept across the hall in search of søren. she spotted him moving purposefully through the sea of elegantly dressed nobles, his gaze already fixed on her. the lively strains of the music had softened to a distant murmur, replaced by the subdued hum of conversation and the rustle of fabric. the hall, once alive with the vibrant energy of the dance, now felt tranquil and expectant. calista regarded the lord ascendant with a somewhat amused expression as he drew close, his words sparking a glint of humor in her eyes. like søren, she hardly seemed to notice their initial nearness. an instinctual reflex no different than his own, calista's hand lightly brushed against the edge of his sleeve, her fingers grazing the air near his arm. the evening's formalities and the grandiosity of the hall seemed to recede once more as their shared history and unspoken bond took precedence. for a fleeting moment, it was as if the weight of courtly expectations lifted, and all that mattered was the comfort of being in each other's presence. "oh, you flatter me too much, lord ascendant." she insisted, her lips curling into a playful smile. "as for the influence of my queen mother...well, it seems i have indeed learned to captivate an audience in more ways than one," she noted cheekily, her tone almost teasing in nature. "but a garland from you, you say? how charming. i must admit, the thought of you pilfering one from my brother sounds almost poetic. i do appreciate a man who's willing to take risks for a worthy cause." it was only when søren took a mindful step back that calista became acutely aware of how close they had been, a faint flush touching her cheeks as she regained her composure. the surroundings and the people around them, once peripheral, were now brought back into focus only as she processed the moment. the propriety they needed to maintain only confirmed that their circumstances had drastically changed. in fact, a lot has changed since their youth. no longer did søren have the look of a young boy unsure of himself; instead, he now appeared to be a man firmly established in his identity, whether through faith or personal conviction. he shed his youth like a chrysalis, emerging an entirely new person altogether come adulthood. looking at him made her thoughts meander through memories of their shared past, a time where they were both less burdened by the roles and expectations now imposed upon them. though their paths had eventually diverged, the bond they shared remained unchanged. søren was still a comfortable familiarity to her. as she observed him, she couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia mingled with admiration. in contrast to the vast majority of nobles at the banquet, who flaunted their riches and expensive jewels and luxurious garments showcasing the flamboyant colors of their house, søren was garbed in shades of ebony. he stood out in a manner that befitted a man of his station. it was clear he had no need to rely on extravagant displays of wealth or allegiance to command respect. his hair─once a natural dirty blonde─had been grown out over the years, replaced by a lustrous platinum much like his twin sister's own, framing his features with an almost ethereal quality. søren was a captivating sight to behold beneath the warm glow of the chandeliers overhead. even the golden half-mask that covered the right side of his face seemed to faintly shimmer in the light. calista found him a pleasant sight to behold amid the opulence surrounding them. and while she's always considered him rather charming, she could not help but admire the way his features appeared more sculpted now, having left behind the softness common to youth. he was a handsome man, though every aspect of his appearance seemed to tie him to a higher calling in the form of religion. while calista herself respected and worshiped multiple hellenistic deities, she was not the type of devotee to take up arms in the name of religion, nor did she take much issue with other tribes practicing their own beliefs. this mindset appeared to be a common sentiment shared among many citizens in the heartlands, and as a result very few are the pious and extreme in their tribe. the majority of the masses are moderate in terms of religion mainly due to the eidolon's historical secularism, separating religious institutions and the crown to ensure that decisions or policies are made without religious influence or favoritism. the ruling dynasty of the eidolon has long maintained a stance where religion has not influenced its governance, often neutral with respect to religious beliefs or practices. policies and laws are formulated based on secular principles rather than religious doctrines, and their citizens typically experience greater freedom in practicing their own religions or choosing not to follow any religion as compared with other tribes scattered across annexed canada. consequently, citizens of the heartlands are free to practice their faith openly, and religious diversity is generally well respected. in fact, it is only those who are more devout in their worship who tend to be the same people rejecting the idea of merging cultures with the bloodborn. still, faith did play a large role in their culture, with hellenistic religion being the predominant belief system in their territories. in fact, each city under the eidolon's rule has a patron deity to whom it is particularly devoted, with gore bay being associated with the goddess athena. typically, the presence of a patron deity symbolizes the identity and values of a given city or community. as the goddess of strategic warfare, athena represents tactical acumen and careful planning, suggesting that gore bay is the center from which strategic thinking in both political and military contexts originates. unsurprisingly, calista does not harbor animosity toward the mythic dawn and their foreign religion. as someone whose personal identity is not tethered to the chains of uncompromising devotion, she did not feel threatened or any less secure in her own beliefs when confronted by the existence of another pantheon. she respected søren's religious ardor, but that did not mean she could ever come to understand it.
indentcalista took note of the lord ascendant's familiar gesture of fiddling with his hands, a clear sign of his unease. although she felt an urge to step closer to offer reassurance, the constraints of public propriety kept her rooted in place. she remained where she was, carefully watching his visible discomfort. a faint, knowing smile touched her lips as he struggled to find the right words to articulate his thoughts. calista could not help but find his sheepishness to be rather endearing, particularly because it was not a display one might expect from someone like søren. still, she found herself increasingly vexed by the necessity of maintaining such a careful demeanor in each other's company. their conversation was limited to polite exchanges, a formality that søren seemed to readily embrace if it meant spending more time in her presence. as he cleared his throat and attempted to adopt a neutral tone, she couldn't help but notice how his words betrayed the sharp edge of his true feelings—an envy that simmered just beneath the surface. the corner of her mouth curled into an amused smile. she could almost taste the bitterness in his carefully chosen words, the strain of maintaining a facade evident in every syllable. "is that so?" she asked, her voice carrying a warm, playful lilt. "i appreciate your concern," she drawled slowly, "though i assure you, i'm more than capable of enjoying myself regardless. still, i suppose if i must endure anyone's company, i'd much rather it be yours." her voice softened, and despite her usual lighthearted demeanor, the sincerity in her voice was unmistakable, affirming that she indeed valued his presence. if søren's words held true, then that meant prince halvor would likely be far less interested in her than in the company he kept. though such careless behavior could easily offend another person, calista took no issue in being disregarded in such a manner. she had no desires to entertain the prince beyond the niceties required of her, nor did she care much to solidify a true bond with him. it was the lord ascendant who she yearned to have at her side, not the man who she was bound to marry for the sake of political advancement. "you know, i─" calista began, her voice slightly lowered as though to share something important, but she was promptly interrupted by the arrival of her younger sister, who practically leapt to her side in a flurry of energy from across the hall. calista's expression shifted from surprise to carefully controlled irritation as cybil's enthusiastic appearance cut her off. "i cannot believe you pawned adonis on me like that! too bad i had an excuse to get away from him. can you believe lord bakirtzis already has a daughter? lady nefeli. mind you, i'm probably closer in age with her than with he!" calista gave her sister a pointed look during her rapid-fire speech, causing cybil's words to falter. realizing she had likely interrupted something, cybil's eyes drifted to the lord ascendant with newfound awareness. her expression seemed to shift as she took him in. "oh, my..." she murmured, her tone laden with appreciation. her eyes shifted to calista. "...apologies. my apologies." she clarified quickly. calista managed a small, tight-lipped smile, masking her irritation with practiced ease, though she could not help but feel a pang of annoyance at the younger girl's blatant admiration for the man. the feast would have been nearly unbearable if not for the presence of søren, who was the only bright spot in an otherwise exasperating evening. his presence was the sole redeeming feature of the banquet, a welcome distraction from the ongoing effort to manage her siblings and salvage what little dignity remained in the proceedings. with a somewhat exasperated sigh, calista glanced between cybil and søren. a reintroduction between the two of them seemed necessary. "cybil. this is the lord ascendant, søren kolbeck. you must have only been around...what, eight years old when you first met him? it's perfectly understandable if you don't remember," cybil resisted the urge to pout when calista mentioned her age, as if she had squandered her chances of impressing the man, "for i'm sure the good lord won't hold it against you." her tone was edged with a hollow, mocking reassurance. truth be told, cybil has probably been eyeing most of the noble lords present in the great hall since they first arrived, courtiers of the eidolon and the mythic dawn alike. if it weren't for the watchful presence of their lady wives on their arms, she likely would have already managed to seduce a few unlucky men. cybil athanasiou, though certainly resembling her older sister, seemed to be calista's complete opposite. unlike her more combat-oriented siblings, cybil thrived in the social limelight, her attire and demeanor reflecting her comfort and preference for the social scene over the arena. even her dress was a striking testament to her love for opulence and finery. she donned a gown made from deep midnight blue silk carefully embroidered with gold thread depicting swirling patterns of intertwining vines and blooming flowers. the gown featured a daring plunge neckline, which was elegantly secured by several golden clasps shaped like rearing lions, their detailed craftsmanship drawing the eye. around her throat she wore a cascade of multiple gold and jeweled necklaces, each layer varying in length and adorned with an array of gemstones: large, brilliant yellow sapphires, blue topaz, and opalescent moonstone. likewise, her fingers were heavy with rings, each one a statement piece in its own right, crafted in intricate patterns and set with large navy blue gemstones. her long, mousy brown hair was styled into an elaborate updo at the nape of her neck. rows of braids were expertly pinned into a chignon and interwoven with golden vines, which snaked through her hair and added an element of regality to her look. the updo framed her angular face beautifully, accentuating her high cheekbones and defined jawline, enhancing her already dramatic and alluring presence. cybil seemed to exude an air of pretentiousness and self-assuredness, fully aware of the impression she made on those around her.
indent"hmph. a pleasure nevertheless. do tell, lord ascendant, are you planning on watching the opening games? i certainly would not be opposed to seeing your face around the stands. maybe you'd honor me and sit by my side tonight?" cybil's tone was warm and inviting, though it carried an unmistakable edge of coquetry. her gaze lingered on the man with a practiced, suggestive intent. calista's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a tight line as she struggled to maintain her composure. feeling a newfound surge of annoyance, she shifted her attention from her sister's unabashed display to observe søren's reaction. she cleared her throat softly, stepping in to redirect the conversation. "i'm sure the lord ascendant has his own plans for the evening. perhaps we should allow him some space to enjoy the city as he sees fit." her tone was firm, yet laced with an underlying edge of frustration as she sought to bring the focus back to a more appropriate direction. as calista's remark cut through cybil's attempts at making an advance on the man, her expression briefly hardened, her annoyance evident in the subtle tightening of her jaw. with a barely concealed sigh, cybil rolled her eyes slightly, though the action was subtle enough to avoid overtly drawing attention. when her gaze turned back to calista, cybil managed to quickly regain her composure, maintaining an air of aloof sophistication as though even her displeasure was a carefully managed performance. cybil's demeanor was one of effortless superiority; she would never deign to lift a finger if she could avoid it and found the very idea of manual labor or getting dirt under her nails abhorrent. anything that could soil her pristine appearance or disrupt her carefully maintained aura of grace was anathema to her—she viewed such mundane tasks as beneath her and wholly unworthy of her attention. the epitome of haughtiness, cybil's every gesture seemed carefully orchestrated to maintain her image of supreme elegance and entitlement, a disposition deeply rooted in her upbringing and the circumstances of her early life. born a year after the conclusion of the decade-long thunder bay-sudbury campaign, cybil grew up in a period of relative peace and stability. unlike her elder siblings, who endured a childhood marked by conflict and the constant demands on their mother's presence, cybil enjoyed the privilege of growing up under the steady and nurturing influence of queen anastasia. during the campaign, anastasia was frequently away, leading the northern districts' efforts and engaging in strategic warfare, an absence that shaped adonis and calista in ways defined by hardship and resilience. in contrast, cybil's formative years were cushioned by the absence of such strife. the peace that followed the campaign allowed her to bask in the comfort of their mother's attention and the splendor of court life, shielding her from the harsher realities her siblings faced. cybil's close and indulgent relationship with their mother encouraged her to develop a persona that valued appearances and ease over practicality. the luxury of her upbringing meant that she was seldom called upon to exert herself in ways that would challenge her pampered lifestyle. she meticulously curated her environment to avoid any discomfort or inconvenience, ultimately leading to her abandoning her gladiatorial pursuits entirely. cybil's sense of privilege as the youngest and most coddled athanasiou child has shaped her into a woman who embodies self-importance, standing in stark contrast to her more grounded and battle-scarred older sister. calista's attention was momentarily diverted when she felt cybil's arm slip around hers, the gesture firm and unmistakable. her gaze shifted to the younger woman, catching the subtle yet deliberate movement, a clear signal from cybil that the conversation was over and it was time to leave. cybil scrutinized søren critically now, her arm linked with calista's with an air of finality. "well, it's certainly been nice catching up with you, lord ascendant," her younger sister's voice seemed to drip with feigned politeness now. "though we really must not keep you any longer." calista's lips pressed into a thin line as she registered the shift in her sister's demeanor. she could sense the subtle but firm tug of cybil's arm, a physical reminder of her sister's haughty disregard for any further discussion now that her efforts had been thwarted. "yes," calista agreed firmly, her mounting frustration beginning to seep through her tone. it was clear that she was only agreeing with her sister in order to remove her from the lord ascendant's presence altogether. "it has been a pleasure, my lord. do enjoy the feast." her words were somewhat stiff if not entirely forced. calista was reluctant to part from søren so soon, but she had no way to justify lingering in his company without arousing suspicion from her younger sister. the corner of cybil's mouth turned upward into a small, smug smile as she regarded søren one last time. her expression a blend of resignation and subtle frustration, calista gave the lord ascendant a quiet look of apology before allowing herself to be gently but decisively guided away by cybil.

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indentlater that evening, the streets of gore bay came alive with the bustling excitement of a city celebrating a momentous occasion. as the sun began to set, the city transformed into a vibrant tapestry of color and sound, its atmosphere a blend of ancient grandeur and festivity. the streets bustled with people from all walks of life, as the blossoming alliance with their eastern neighbors had sparked a surge of excitement and visitors. the air was filled with a mix of lively chatter, music from lyres and flutes, and the enticing aroma of street food and spices. the architecture in gore bay is a testament to the city's rich heritage; grand columns and intricately designed arches frame the streets, while statues of athena, the city's patron goddess, stand proudly at prominent intersections, her serene expression overseeing the celebrations. the capital city has several such statues erected as public dedications to honor athena, a sign of showing gratitude and seeking continued favor from the goddess. most of these sculptures can be spotted in temples and public spaces where people can make offerings or pray, reinforcing the connection between the local population and their divine protector. the city of gore bay itself is divided into several different quarters, including the merchant quarter (where the marketplace is located), the royal quarter, the temple quarter, and the trade quarter. the royal quarter, home to the capital's social elite—nobles, wealthy merchants, and distinguished townspeople—features meticulously maintained cobbled streets and tightly packed residences, testifying to the wealth of its inhabitants. situated near the castle of the revenant queen herself, the lodgings in this prestigious quarter are well beyond the reach of most people. though less grandiose than in the royal quarter, the buildings in the merchant quarter boast elegant facades and ornate decorations with intricate motifs of laurel wreaths and symbols of athena, such as the owl and the olive tree. these emblems were prominently featured throughout the city's iconography, architecture, and public spaces, reinforcing athena's influence on the city's character and heritage. at the very center of the merchant quarter lies a large marketplace, where merchants can exhibit their wares. the marketplace is a bustling hub of commerce and trade, filled with vibrant market stalls, shops, and trade houses, each offering a variety of goods from local produce to exotic imports. the merchant quarter is known for its lively atmosphere, with vendors calling out their wares and haggling with customers to make a profit. during trade fairs or festivals, the merchant quarter becomes particularly animated, just as it was now, with additional stalls and entertainment. citizens mill about and the buskers and bards play their instruments among the merchants' parcels, packages, stalls and heaps of trinkets glittering in the sunlight. the streets are lined with a myriad of stalls, each brimming with tantalizing food and intriguing curios and baubles. stalls are adorned with festive decorations, including banners and garlands that proudly reflect the navy and gold of the eidolon, advertising everything from magical artifacts to rare spices. vendors enthusiastically beckon each passersby with enticing samples of their wares. the merchants' displays are a feast for the eyes: colorful fabrics hang beside elegant pottery, and shelves overflow with spices and delicacies from both local and eastern origins. the air is filled with the rich aroma of grilled meats, freshly baked bread, and sweet pastries. above the rows of stalls, colorful advertisements proclaim the feats of famous gladiators, their heroic poses and dramatic victories splashed across every available surface. the lively spirit of the gladiatorial culture in the city is evident, with vendors and performers alike celebrating the prowess of their champions. graffiti is a common sight to see on the streets, especially in public spaces accessible and frequented by many people such as bathhouses or taverns. one particular illustration seemed to stand out among the rest, though it appeared that over time, the graffiti experienced significant fading and weathering as the result of being exposed to the elements. the image had likely been painted within the last few months, prompted by a series of gladiatorial games in the colosseum now long past. the pigments, having been subjected to sunlight, moisture, and abrasion, lost their intensity over time. despite the muted vibrancy of the colors, broad strokes of yellow and blue derived from ochre and lapis lazuli seemed to convey a striking visual nonetheless, a pair of colors that immediately identified the illustration as a depiction of the heartland's very own champion. straightforward yet remarkable, the graffiti appeared to capture the essence of the gladiator princess rather than creating a highly detailed portrait. instead of being captured in a scene of combat like some of the other drawings, it appeared calista's likeness had been taken in the form of a headshot, with only half her face covered by the visor of a vissarion helmet to denote her specific gladiatorial class. the expression on her face appeared to capture the spirit of combat, her eyes drawn into a glare to reflect a certain intensity as though judging those she looked down upon in the streets, her mouth set in a straight line. the inscriptions under the portrait included praise of her skills and victories, though the main text read 'home to the gladiatrix of gore bay' in proud, bold lettering. the graffiti in the city evidenced calista's honored reputation among her people, a public testament to the mark she has made on their gladiatorial culture.
indentthrough the open lattice windows of the royal carriage, calista could feel a gentle breeze against her skin, carrying with it a pleasant, moderate temperature. compared to the northern portions of annexed canada, gore bay experiences relatively mild winter weather conditions. the air is often cool due to persistent coastal breezes, though not frigid, providing comfort without the need for excessively heavy fabrics. winter in gore bay is often mild and damp, with light rain and occasional drizzle rather than heavy snowfall. today, it appeared the weather mimicked the lively events unfolding in the city: the clouds above had parted to bathe parts of the city in sunlight, and only a slight breeze shifted through canopied stalls. as their procession came to a halt, calista was the first to carefully step out onto the bustling streets of the city's marketplace. the energy of the merchant quarter enveloped her as she descended the carriage steps, her presence instantly drawing the attention of a few nearby vendors and passerby. though many of the nobility who attended the banquet earlier would be seated in the colosseum to inspect the opening games, calista and her betrothed took to the streets of gore bay to enjoy the city's festivities among the people of the eidolon. their immersion would symbolize a more authentic connection with their future subjects, demonstrating their solidarity with the common people. the cloak on calista's shoulders, a slate grey fabric beneath a pelt of ashen fur, draped elegantly behind her as she emerged on to the market streets. the cape was fastened at her neck with an ornate golden clasp adorned with a majestic lion's head, its detailed mane cascading around the edges. talos was dutifully perched on her shoulder, curiously surveying their new surroundings. the circlet on calista's forehead was delicate—a gold band embedded with navy sapphires and blue topaz stones, arranged in an alternating pattern with dark onyx to offset her house colors. starting from the crown of her head, calista's long brown hair had been woven into a series of braids that formed a sophisticated arrangement. the rows of braids were skillfully gathered into a low bun at the nape of her neck, secured with delicate golden pins that glinted subtly in the sunlight. interspersed throughout her hair were small, glimmering sapphire pins, matching the stones in her circlet. calista's attire appeared less flashy compared to the extravagance displayed at the banquet earlier, her dress still a subtle nod to her royal lineage albeit in a much less obvious manner. the dress she wore was a soft slate blue, tailored from a luxurious, thick fabric that strategically hugged and accentuated her figure. the lighter blue hue was a nod to her house colors, ensuring she maintained a regal appearance without being overly ostentatious. the form-fitting bodice of the dress was adorned with intricate pale gold embroidery, featuring delicate patterns that mimic the elegant curves and lines of her house's sigil. the dress was long-sleeved to keep her warm in the winter chill if needed, with sleeves that tapered at the wrists. her neckline scooped into a gentle, rounded curve that elegantly framed her collarbone and neckline. at her throat was an elongated teardrop-shaped pendant with a central, deep navy sapphire suspended from a delicate golden chain. the skirt of her dress flowed into a full a-line shape, allowing for ease of movement while maintaining a formal silhouette. the lively sounds of the marketplace—vendors calling out their wares, the murmur of bargaining, and the clamor of horse-drawn carts—greeted calista as she set foot on the cobblestone streets. the rich aromas of freshly baked bread, exotic spices, and street food enticingly mingled in the air. beyond the marketplace, the streets were lined with stages where performers enacted dramatic re-imaginings of mythological tales and historical battles, their elaborate costumes and captivating movements drawing crowds. musicians played festive tunes on lyres and flutes, their melodies mingling with the laughter and chatter of the crowds. dancers dressed in elaborate costumes performed graceful routines that drew appreciative applause from onlookers. food stalls offered a tantalizing array of options, from savory grilled meats and spiced pastries to dried fruits and honeyed sweets. street performers, including jugglers and fire-breathers, added to the festive atmosphere with their daring acts, drawing cheers and gasps from the enthusiastic crowds. alongside the bustling stalls and lively street performances, tied livestock seemed to be a common sight. tethered securely near the perimeter of the market, cattle stood as silent witnesses to the day's festivities. they were occasionally led around by vendors, their strong, sure-footed steps making a gentle thud on the cobblestones. nearby, chickens clucked and pecked at the ground in small enclosures or were seen roaming freely within fenced-off areas. the rhythmic clucking of the hens and the occasional crowing of roosters only added to the cacophony of sounds in the merchant quarter. regular patrols of city guards traversed the streets to maintain a visible presence to deter crime or disruptions, ensuring an orderly flow of people and goods. given the festivities gracing the city, additional guards had been deployed to handle the increased crowds, positioned strategically among the different quarters. the presence of a few men stood out among those donning plain steel armor in particular, knights stationed around the marketplace clad in gilded plate armor that gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. their armor was meticulously crafted, each piece embossed with intricate designs that echoed the grandeur of house athanasiou. every suit of armor was adorned with the royal family's sigil: a majestic lion, its powerful form etched in silver against the gleaming gold. flowing from their shoulders were navy blue capes, fastened with ornate clasps that matched the golden hues of their armor. the rich blue of their capes contrasted strikingly with the gold of their armor, lending an air of distinction and authority. each knight's posture appeared to be rigid and alert, with hands resting on the hilts of their holstered swords. the knights sworn to house athanasiou as part of their royal guard─better known as the imperial shields─stood as vigilant sentinels, their presence a testament to their unwavering loyalty to the eidolon's royal family. though søren was she and prince halvor's sworn shield, visiting the city streets required an extra layer of security, and that was found through the eidolon and the mythic dawn's own martial elite escorting them at a distance through the merchant quarter. though they would not be venturing into the temple quarter─an area of the city that has become known for the uncomplicated, illicit entertainment it offers─the presence of the crown princess of the eidolon and the crown prince of the mythic dawn demanded greater vigilance. scowling poor folk, shady characters, and beggars typically occupy each corner of the temple quarter, and the city guards that do patrol there try not to venture too far into the quarter's dark alleys. fortunately, streets closer to the liontári cliff have no such reputation. as calista's eyes scanned the vibrant stalls around her, her senses were immediately captivated by the medley of scents wafting through the air. drawn in by the aromas of street food, she began to drift away from prince halvor's side to investigate a series of vendors advertising their cooked goods, her attention increasingly absorbed by the lively marketplace.
indenteach stall's setup appeared to be a small world unto itself, showcasing an array of goods from aromatic spices to colorful pastries. as calista and her entourage drew near, those manning the stalls were quick to take notice of her presence. the sight of her regal attire—elegant blue and gold dress, fur-lined cloak, and intricate crown—commanded immediate respect. patrons instinctively stepped aside, forming a respectful corridor to ease her passage through the bustling market. one vendor, presenting the crowds with the tantalizing sight of meats roasting over an open flame, straightened his posture at the sight of her. seizing the opportunity to draw attention the princess, he raised his voice above the din of the crowd. "ah─behold! the princess of gore bay graces us with her presence!" the man proclaimed, encouraging onlookers to acknowledge and cheer for her. the vendor's exuberant announcement created a ripple of excitement that spread through the market-goers. patrons turned to look, whispering among themselves and pointing discretely. there was a sense of awe and admiration as people recognized the revenant princess. calista could not entirely hide the small, appreciative smile that touched her lips. admittedly, the warmth of the vendor's welcome and the reverent gazes of the crowd felt gratifying. she acknowledged the man's gesture with a small nod. most patrons kept a respectful distance, allowing the revenant princess to observe the food being served without causing a disturbance. it was clear that the market's atmosphere shifted slightly, imbued with a blend of respect and excitement in the wake of her presence. the air was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of charred meat and fragrant spices as the man expertly turned skewers of spiced lamb and grilled sausages. unsurprisingly, the vendor sought to offer calista his finest selections. he presented her the most perfectly grilled skewers on a platter, insistent that she taste his delicacies free of charge. she could choose between spiced lamb skewers marinated in herbs and spices, or assorted sausages and cured meats featuring flavors like garlic, fennel, and paprika, all displayed on wooden platters. of course, she indulged the man even though her eye was drawn to something sweeter, producing a coin to thank him nonetheless. carrying on down the street, calista observed the different foods on display. warm flatbreads, handheld pastries filled with cheese, spinach, or meats, as well as grape leaves stuffed with a mixture of rice, pine nuts, and aromatic spices. various almonds and walnuts were roasted with a touch of salt or honey, ideal for snacking as people stroll through the marketplace. she was tempted by the sight of the pastries, including small, moist honey cakes sweetened with honey and spiced with cinnamon and cloves, layers of flaky pastries filled with nuts, and pears poached in spiced wine or honey syrup served warm and garnished with nuts sand dried fruits alongside dried figs. in exchange for two of the vendors' honey cakes, calista paid them an extra coin or two before departing from the food stalls altogether. around her, the marketplace was still captured by her and prince halvor's presence. those she passed by would often offer polite greetings or bows, typically a brief 'your highness, it’s a pleasure to see you here'. others spoke among themselves, curious patrons admiring the sight of the recently betrothed royals. they would comment on calista's radiance or prince halvor's imposing stature, whispering behind cupped hands to their companions amid the buzz of excitement. as she prepared to rejoin her betrothed, calista could not help but notice that prince halvor was already engrossed in conversation with those around him. truth be told, she did not mind his apparent lack of interest. she'd rather the prince keep distracted than try and converse with her. besides, she now had the opportunity to talk to søren with a few less eyes watching them, and she was willing to take what she could get. calista glanced at the peregrine falcon perched on her shoulder, wings neatly tucked against a slender body as though to ward off the breeze, though talos' gaze seemed to be fixed on something else—or rather, someone. following the bird's line of sight, calista looked over her shoulder. she was not surprised to see søren had caught the bird's attention, though she wondered just how long the falcon had been observing him now─granted, it seemed more likely talos has been on the lookout for a certain owl-bear cub roaming the streets instead. the bird's dark eyes remained locked on the platinum-haired man, his head cocking to one side while continuing to watch søren intently. typically, falcons are quick to dismiss those they find unremarkable, but when habituated to a particular individual, they often show signs of recognition. as calista turned around to fully face the lord ascendant, talos vocalized a soft call toward søren, a more pronounced, inquisitive sound followed by a chirp as if in greeting. the side of her mouth curled upward into a slight smile upon the bird's apparent recognition of the man. she stepped closer to the lord ascendant in order to alleviate some of the distance between them, her eyes flickering to the bird on her shoulder. "how is it," she began slowly, her voice carrying a hint of playful intrigue, "that my falcon seems more excited to see you than he ever is to see me?" her eyes glinted with amusement as she fixed her gaze on søren, the smile on her lips conveying a touch of lighthearted disbelief. "and here i was, thinking talos was a loyal creature. you haven't been tempting him with mice or birds these last few years, have you?" her voice carried a teasing inflection, clearly indicating she was only jesting with him. having worked to earn talos' favor with bribes or not, it was certain that the bird held a certain interest in the man, no doubt the result of being exposed to søren through the frequent deliverance of their letters. while carrier pigeons are typically widely used across the heartlands for message delivery, peregrine falcons trained in devil's rock were equally capable of returning to their home lofts over long distances. hence, it's no surprise talos has long facilitated letters between her and the lord ascendant. realizing she still had two honey cakes in her hands, calista silently offered one of the pastries to søren. she had specifically retrieved the desserts for them to enjoy together. it was something she used to do when they were younger, back when their visits to the merchant quarter were once filled with a sense of adventure and discovery. as she was usually most eager to sample the baked goods back then, søren would have quickly learned of calista's sweet tooth. quite the venturesome youth, the revenant princess would often try and convince him to visit the more unusual street stands, like dubious fortune tellers who cast lots, read tea leaves, and performed palm readings, or eccentric vendors selling peculiar wares and trinkets imbued with so-called magical properties. unsurprisingly, they usually left the marketplace with ribs aching from laughter.
indenttaking a delicate bite of the remaining honey cake, calista could not help but notice groups of townsfolk and visitors moving through the crowds with canoes on their shoulders. as the day would begin to cool and the golden light of late afternoon softened, the people of gore bay would eventually shift their focus from the festivities taking place in the streets to the waters of lake huron. in the open spaces near the bay, people were probably already busy preparing by sanding down wooden surfaces, applying fresh coats of paint, or repairing any minor damages to their canoes. others might be gathered around tables laden with supplies, preparing paddles or testing rigging. her attention shifted back to talos when she noticed the falcon shifting on her shoulder, talons grasping the fur pelt on her shoulder as though readying to take off. the bird extended his slate-colored wings and fluttered them slightly, gaze still fixated on the lord ascendant whose shoulder he now seemed eager to land on. calista only raised a brow at talos' antics. she could have easily deterred the bird from lifting off though it seemed more sensible to allow the falcon to investigate the lord ascendant as he deemed fit. she seemed to assume søren would have no issue with the bird taking to his arm. as talos pushed off calista's shoulder, the birds wings spread wide, catching the air with a rapid yet controlled thrust before approaching its new perch. talos landed softly but firmly upon the lord ascendant's shoulder, talons extended to grip his shoulder securely before adjusting his stance for comfort. seemingly content now, talos briefly ruffled his feathers and shifted slightly, his beak gently tapping at the man's clothing with curiosity, letting out a soft chittering sound. a light, amused huff escaped calista's lips, her expression reflecting a mixture of affection and playful exasperation at the bird's apparent fondness for søren. the falcon was an elegant creature to behold upon his shoulders, complimenting the man's own sophistication, she thought. talos' distinct plumage was contrasted by a pale, cream-colored underside marked by horizontal dark barring. his sharp, hooked beak appeared well adapted for tearing flesh, a reflection of his predatory nature. the bird's physical appearance reflected its status as one of the most efficient and agile hunters in the avian world, with a long and tapered tail to aid in high-speed dives, and a powerful set of talons ideal for catching and holding onto fast-moving targets. sleek and aerodynamic, talos was quite majestic. to an outsider, it might have appeared as though the bird was merely inspecting the lord ascendant out of curiosity. however, it was clear to calista that talos had grown quite fond of søren over the years. earning a falcon's trust can be particularly challenging for someone who is not their regular handler. falcons are naturally cautious and reserved, relying on their instincts to detect potential threats, often making them wary of unfamiliar people and hesitant to trust strangers. generally, building trust with a falcon involves a long-term, consistent relationship, something most handlers invest significant time and effort into developing. trust is built through repeated positive interactions, allowing the bird to become more comfortable. falcons communicate their trust through specific behaviors and cues, and a person unfamiliar with the bird's behavior might misinterpret these signals, inadvertently causing stress or distrust. it was evident that søren had not evoked these such reactions, as the bird seemed at ease. calista found it sweet to see talos take such an interest in the lord ascendant. it was clear that her falcon had developed a special bond with søren, an exception to his usual reluctance to leave her side. she was tempted to comment on how endearing the situation was, but the humored look on her face would certainly suffice. calista crossed her arms and watched the pair with a hint of amusement in her eyes. a playful smile tugged at her lips as she spoke, her eyes glinting with delight. "it's not even been a day and you've already stolen the affections of my dearest companion," she remarked. the bird bobbed his head at the sound of her voice, watching calista from atop søren's shoulder. "though with aömwé being on the prowl, i suspect my talos simply deems your shoulder a safer spot than mine." she cast a glance over her shoulder to scan the marketplace upon the mention of the owl-bear cub before looking back to the lord ascendant again. young animals of any sort can often prove quite rambunctious. at a developmental stage where play is crucial to practice essential survival skills such as hunting and fighting, their playfulness usually manifests itself as chasing, wrestling, and exploring. given that talos and aömwé are on different rungs of the natural food chain, it only made sense to assume her falcon was on high alert right now. his keen eyesight often helps him spot danger from a distance, and the bustling atmosphere of the marketplace only added to the need for vigilance. fortunately, falcons typically react to predators or larger threats by immediately taking flight. they're known for being incredibly fast in the air which helps them escape potential dangers quickly. calista wasn't too concerned over the possibility of the owl-bear cub spotting her falcon, though she did have a feeling run-ins between the two would be inevitable. the revenant princess turned her attention to the lord ascendant, observing him carefully now. "do tell me, are you looking forward to getting out on the water later? i don't imagine you'll be standing back while the rest of us have all the fun, will you?" her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she stepped closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "and perhaps you needn't worry about being stuck on your lonesome. i have a sneaking suspicion there might wind up being enough room for you to join me after all." calista's eyes flickered toward prince halvor, her gaze intentionally lingering on the man for a moment. with a barely perceptible raise of her eyebrow, she made it unmistakably clear what she was referring to.

[vaell]

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe royal advisor to the arkhian crown.
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indentas the augural ritual seemed to approach its most crucial point, gwen remained standing at the heart of the ceremonial space alongside the prince. her clergy had stepped forward to surround the pair in a semicircle, their voices weaving together in a chant of divine incantations, each woman closely attuned to the spiritual cadence of the rite. gwen closed her eyes, her bloodstained lips parting slightly to join her sisters of styx in quiet recitation of the ancient tongue. their voices seemed to harmonize in a haunting, ethereal chorus as prince talion scattered the chicken feed at their feet. gwen could still sense the lingering remnants of the prince's ichor in her mouth, a metallic aftertaste that was somehow both intoxicating and enlightening. as expected from a lunespawn, prince talion's blood had proved exceptionally potent. his life essence seemed to stir something primordial within her soul, evoking a shift from the very depths of her being and awakening a heightened sense of unity with the divine. gwen wasn't exactly sure what she felt right now, but it was like tapping into an ancient power that allowed her to form a profound connection to the ascendant plane. it was a sensation of merging with something far greater than herself, as if she were touching the edge of a vast, transcendent force beyond her comprehension. the sensation was almost overwhelming, if not admittedly somewhat suffocating. she could almost sense invidia's intricate web of influence wrapping around her, guiding her thoughts and actions with a subtle but unmistakable force. prince talion's sacrifice had created a spiritual bridge between gwen and their goddess, allowing her to perceive the dark sister's presence more acutely than ever before. by consuming the ichor of a lunespawn, it was thought that her perception and foresight would be sharpened, granting her the ability to discern augural signs with a precision that might have otherwise eluded her. still, she had not expected the feeling to be this distinct. while having experienced states of spiritual enlightenment before, this time was different. it was like she had gained a higher consciousness, with senses once unknown to her now readily at her fingertips. as gwen gradually submitted to the divine energy coursing through her, she slowly began to reopen her eyes as though emerging from a brief yet sacred meditation. the grand cleric scanned the faces gathered around the perimeter of the tent, many of their expressions reflecting a mix of shared reverence or cautious curiosity. with a solemn nod, gwen signaled for the women of her clergy to release the chickens. the birds, small and white with feathers like snow, had been kept in a nearby cage, their soft clucking and restless movements betraying their eagerness to run free. as soon as the enclosure was opened, the chickens surged forward, eagerly flocking to the feed scattered upon the ground. the creatures seemed to be instinctively drawn to the mixture of holy ichor and grains, a simple yet profound observation. her eyes briefly flickered to prince talion's generals. though they remained silent, their anticipation was almost tangible. after all, they had invested their hopes in this augury, relying on its outcome to lift their spirits and grant their martial efforts purpose. as the chickens inspected the grains, a hush fell over the tent, though the moment quickly stretched into a tense silence. the birds hesitated, their beady eyes darting around as if caught in a moment of indecision. gwen's heart skipped a beat, her calm composure faltering as a flicker of concern crossed her features—a fleeting look that would have been hidden had she not so readily abandoned her ceremonial headdress earlier. the hesitation of the chickens was a critical juncture in the augury, one that could signal anything from divine disfavor to a challenge to the ritual's authenticity. unbeknownst to everyone else, gwen had gone to great lengths to ensure the success of the augury. she'd all but biased the outcome in her favor by depriving the hens of adequate food, hoping their hunger would drive them eagerly toward the feed. but now, as she watched the signs unfold, her carefully laid plans seemed to be unraveling before her eyes. was it possible that invidia was displeased with her? could this be a deliberate sign from the ascendant plane, a way of indicating that her attempt to skew the ritual was being met with cosmic resistance? the notion that the dark sister might be working against her was a deeply unsettling one. their goddess' displeasure could manifest in a way that not only invalidated the augury but also jeopardized the morale of their forces. gwen's mind began to race. it took considerable effort not to panic as the augury seemed to be taking an unexpected turn. what if this was a divine message that her actions were wrong, that her manipulation had invoked the dark sister's wrath? the thought of facing divine retribution was terrifying to her. her sudden fear was a chilling reminder of the stakes at play. the outcome of the augury would determine not only their spiritual standing but also the confidence of their army. with every second that passed, her sense of impending doom grew stronger. gwen fought to hold onto hope, silently praying that invidia's displeasure would not turn into a full-blown rejection of her efforts. the air in the tent had grown heavy with tension, pressing down upon gwen like an invisible weight. despite her best efforts to remain composed, the delay was nerve-wracking enough to send a surge of anxiety through her veins. she needed a clear, positive sign to ensure that their military's spirit remained strong and unwavering. any delay or uncertainty was a potential threat to the stability and effectiveness of their forces in the critical times ahead. desperation clawed at her as she forced herself to breathe slowly. she sought solace in the deep spiritual connection she had forged through prince talion's holy ichor, using her faith as an anchor to steady her. every fiber of her being was attuned to the sight of the chickens before her, her mind racing through possible interpretations and explanations regarding their strange lack of initiation. gwen's hands, once clasped neatly in front of her, grew pale against the dim light as her fingers tightened. she could almost feel the collective anxiety consuming the onlookers in the tent, their silent prayers directed towards the signs she was expected to decipher. the outcome of the augury was not just a matter of spiritual significance but also a key factor in maintaining the morale of their military forces. a positive sign had the power to reinforce their hope and resolve, crucial for their perseverance against the stellarun. conversely, a negative or ambiguous sign could sow doubt and despair among their soldiers, potentially undermining their army's confidence and effectiveness. if the augury somehow yielded an unfavorable sign, gwen feared that her and her clergy's efforts in skarrynden would be in vain. she doubted king burchard would be pleased to learn that she and her sisters had only deepened the despair of their military leaders. gwen could not afford to betray his trust so early in her appointment, especially given the fate of his previous royal clergy. the man's past experiences with clerics of their faith left her with little room for error. any perceived failure on her part could provoke his displeasure or scrutiny. gwen's gaze remained fixed on the chickens, their delay stretching into what felt like an eternity, a trial of faith and patience as they appeared to deliberate their next move, leaving the outcome of the augury hanging precariously in the balance.
indentat last, the moment of tension broke. one of the chickens tentatively pecked at the holy feed, and then another joined in, followed by the rest of the flock. the unease in the tent seemed to lift, if only slightly. a wave of relief washed over gwen herself, though it was tinged with residual unease. her composure gradually returned as the behavior of the chickens confirmed the augury was not met with the dark sister's displeasure. the sight of the birds feeding with enthusiasm was a clear sign that even despite her tampering, invidia had not rejected the ritual outright. though the success of the augury had validated her efforts, it also served as a reminder of the fine line she walked between divine favor and disfavor. she was risking her own standing with the dark sister to better serve saint-arkh, though she had come quite close to disaster in doing so. gwen watched the birds closely, their once uncertain movements now replaced by a persistent rhythmic pecking. the lentils and grains falling from their beaks was a sign considered tripudium solistimum, and their clustered feeding patterns seemed to be suggestive of a change in fortune. the chickens had begun to peck at the feed with unusual vigor, their movements synchronized as if guided by an unseen hand─or perhaps, a meddling one. it was as though the birds were finally fulfilling their sacred role, guided by forces beyond the physical world. the fact that they were engaging with the feed so enthusiastically indicated a positive omen, even if the situation had been precarious moments before. deep down she knew that the favorable behavior of the chickens did not completely absolve her of the ethical implications of her actions but at-least the augury had provided a much-needed positive affirmation for the arkhian military. gwen relaxed into an easy confidence as the realization of the favorable sign settled over her. a subtle yet authoritative gesture, gwen stepped closer to prince talion, suddenly taking the prince's hand in her own before turning to address the assembly of generals. "look upon the favor granted to us by invidia!" she proclaimed, her voice clear and powerful. whispers and hushed conversation began to fill the tent in response to her confirmation of the augural signs. gwen looked upon the military leaders with some sense of satisfaction. she could feel the warmth of prince talion's hand in her own, her fingers interlocked with his in a display of unity and triumph. her touch was deliberate, a form of physical contact meant to symbolize a moment of shared strength and resolve between the chantry and the crown. she held his hand in silent testament to their mutual commitment, a display that lent her words an added weight of solidarity and determination. gwen cleared her throat softly, and the hushed chatter in the tent immediately fell silent. "esteemed generals and honored guests," she began, her gaze sweeping across the tent. "i thank you for your patience. i understand that the initial hesitation in the augury might have raised some concerns but please, refrain from making any assumptions concerning the delay. instead, i ask that you all seek understanding in its significance. in rituals such as this, the behavior of the animals can sometimes reflect a moment of divine contemplation or even a challenge. the hesitation we witnessed was not a sign of divine disfavor, but rather a way for the dark sister to test our resolve and our faith in the augury. however, as you have all seen now, the chickens have responded to the sacred feed with eagerness and certainty. this is indeed a strong affirmation that we have been extended divine favor by invidia." gwen explained. "let us take this as a sign not only of our goddess' favor but also of her expectation that we proceed with thoughtful strategy and unwavering resolve. divine favor has been granted, and it is now our duty to act upon invidia's blessing with the courage and precision that befits our cause." she paused, allowing her words to sink in, her eyes surveying those gathered in the divination tent. gwen's gaze held a penetrating intensity as she continued to relay her interpretation of the augural signs. "perhaps most importantly, i can attest that the signs from the dark sister have indeed revealed a turning point. the way the chickens clustered and pecked at the feed indicates a favorable change in fortune, suggesting that our plans and strategies will now bear fruit. invidia's divine endorsement ensures that our efforts will now align with the will of the divine logic, granting us the strength and advantage we have long sought during this campaign. the favorable signs we have seen today signify not just the promise of success, but a shift in the tides of our struggle. my own divine insight seems to suggest that the stellarun will face unforeseen difficulties, and their reinforcements will not counter the surge of our renewed strength." she continued with conviction, taking a step away from prince talion now. "the signs intend to assure us that the stellarun's current momentum will falter and that our forthcoming actions will be met with success. our goddess has granted us insight into our enemy's vulnerabilities, however," she added, her interpretation now framed with careful language that balanced optimism with ambiguity, "it must be understood that the patterns are not an explicit guarantee of any given outcome but rather a sign of alignment with invidia's will. they affirm that our strategies and resolve are in harmony with divine favor, but the exact nature of our victories will depend on our actions and decisions in the coming battles." gwen was careful to emphasize the divine blessing bestowed upon their army and the positive signs invidia communicated through the augury while also remaining cautious about the specifics. her careful wording allowed her to provide the necessary encouragement and strategic guidance while also ensuring that the chantry would not be held responsible for any unforeseen outcomes. like most clerics, gwen skillfully avoided placing the burden of any future failures on the ritual or the divine message itself. after all, the signs are favorable but they are not explicitly detailed in their implications. gwen had to preserve the chantry's role as a sacred guide rather than a bearer of responsibility for the unpredictable nature of war. as she concluded her interpretation of the auspices, the reactions from prince talion's military generals appeared to be a blend of relief, wariness, and renewed resolve. the augural ritual had evoked a spectrum of responses among those gathered in the tent, from fervent support to cautious skepticism, each reflecting their individual perspectives on faith and strategy. among the devout, her words were met with a deep sense of reassurance. their faces, previously etched with concern, shifted as the dark sister's divine favor was verbally affirmed by the grand cleric. for them, the hesitation of the chickens was merely a test of faith rather than a sign of uncertainty, just as gwen had suggested. some of these generals murmured in agreement amongst themselves, others overcome with gratitude and offering a silent prayer to invidia. in contrast, it appeared that a few others remained cautious even despite the favorable signs. their expressions revealed a mix of critical evaluation and reluctant acceptance. while they might agree that the signs were positive, the initial delay in the chickens' feeding pattern seemed to suggest to them that the situation may be more complex than it appeared. these generals were often the same ones urging that their military remains vigilant and not rely solely on holy intervention. they have witnessed divine favor before but it has not always guaranteed success─hence, they could appreciate the positive signs gwen witnessed but would likely continue to recognize the need for strategic prudence. they believed divine guidance was a valuable asset, but certainly not the sole factor in their campaign's success. regardless, the majority of the martial officers would be reassured by the clarity of the signs, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and determination. in fact, the divination tent seemed to be filled with a cautious optimism. many martial officers would feel that the ritual had provided them with a significant advantage and newfound guidance from the dark sister. after all, gwen's interpretation of the auspices had not only validated their war efforts but also provided a clear and hopeful path forward after months of failure against the stellarun.
indentas the assembly concluded, prince talion's martial officers eventually began to depart the divination tent, letting in brief drafts of cold air from outside its canopied walls. gwen observed the prince in their midst, her blue eyes following him closely as he departed with them. she absently licked her lips as he disappeared through the entrance of the tent, capturing the last vestiges of his life essence staining her skin.
indenttruth be told, gwen has been waiting for the right moment to approach prince talion on his lonesome since first arriving at savalow. it appeared that such an opportunity came in the form of his injury─an observation that provided her the perfect pretext to offer her assistance to him. upon dismissing her clergy for the night, gwen was left to her own devices in the divination tent, her eyes scanning a variety of the dried herbs stored at the back of the ceremonial space on shelves. each ledge was meticulously arranged, with various phytomedicines and dried herbs neatly organized in rows of glass jars, ceramic pots, and small vials. some of the shelves even held intricately carved wooden boxes containing powdered herbs or resins, their lids etched with protective healing symbols associated with the dark sister. labels handwritten in careful script had been affixed to each container, detailing the specific herbs or medicinal preparations within. some shelves housed herbs tied with twine, their leaves and flowers preserved in neat bundles with their stems aligned, while others spilled out in more casual disarray, hinting at their frequent use. it was apparent that the divination tent had been stocked by other clerics stationed at the military encampment long before gwen and her clergy had arrived. the grand cleric's fingers delicately traced the contours of the glass jars as she inspected each shelf, moving methodically between the different assortments of local herbs. the contents inside of the jars were a vibrant mosaic of colors and textures: rich green leaves, deep red petals, and golden-yellow powders. she would occasionally pause to carefully examine the contents of a jar, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the dried leaves or flowers within. among the vast collection of medicinal ingredients, gwen's gaze was eventually drawn to a small vial filled with a salve. she noted the ingredients used to compose the tincture were stored nearby: jars filled with dried juniper berries, their dark surfaces no longer glossy, and pots of fireweed, their once-bright purple flowers now a muted, dried hue. there were also jars of yarrow, its feathery leaves and clusters of tiny, dried flowers resembling delicate, crumbling snowflakes, and echinacea, with its distinct purple coneflowers now faded and dried. each are well known for their wound-healing properties, traditionally used to stop bleeding and promote healing, help disinfect wounds, or soothe and heal broken skin. like many clerics, gwen was well-versed in the natural medicines. she understood that most wounds required an anti-inflammatory in the form of a tincture or poultice. reaching for the vial, gwen carefully unscrewed the lid to examine its contents, which appeared to be a thick, amber-colored paste. seemingly satisfied with the tincture's composition, gwen sealed the vial and strapped it to the thin belt at her waist. she made sure to tuck a small set of fresh bandages into the hidden pockets within her robes too. clearly, gwen saw this opportunity as a chance to establish herself as both a spiritual guide and a trusted ally in prince talion's eyes. the augural ritual had already set the stage for her to step into a more intimate and influential role in his life and by entering his personal domain, she could begin to bridge the gap between formal advisor and friend. as usual, gwen's approach was strategic and calculated. the privacy of his tent would offer her the chance to present herself not just as a high-ranking cleric merely focused on her spiritual duties and her obligation to the crown, but as someone who genuinely cared about his personal health and comfort. with the prince no longer under the watchful eye of his royal parents like he often was in duskhelm, gwen needed to seize this rare opportunity to soften his perception of her, slowly transitioning from a distant figure of authority to a close and empathetic confidante. besides, he must have felt some semblance of the same connection she experienced during the ceremonial rites, did he not? her and prince talion, they were bound to each other by the fateful tethers of their shared religion. just like the darkness that they worship─an influence that seeks to corrupt and subjugate, warping and twisting life and reality─gwen was the devouring force that sought to undo the known order of prince talion's world. whether or not he embraced his title readily, she fully believed that he was their high celebrant, a lunespawn destined to inherit the nightshade throne and lead the faithful to ascendancy. with her guidance, he could harness the strength required to lead their people along the stygian path, reshaping the very fabric of the world to achieve the prophetic end-state foretold by ancient arkhian texts. gwen felt it was her duty to help him navigate the journey ahead, ensuring that he did not falter in the face of any forces that might try to divert him from his true purpose. for her, the stakes went beyond mere religious fervor─in-fact, they were intensely personal. she sought not just to fulfill a prophetic role but to seize the power and control that came with it. she wanted to ensure her own position in the unfolding narrative, guiding prince talion in a manner that would ultimately secure her own place of prominence. if she played her cards right, his success could be directly linked to her own rise in power.
indentwith her preparations complete, gwen stepped out of the divination tent and into the frigid winter air. the cold immediately made its presence felt, enveloping her like a biting shroud and cutting through the warmth of her ceremonial garb. the lanterns outside flickered in the icy wind, casting wavering shadows across white expanses of snow. though partially obscured by the presence of heavy clouds, the sky above appeared to be on the brink of transitioning into a dark expanse flecked with stars and falling snowflakes. arkhian soldiers carefully navigated the dimly lit paths of the encampment, their cloaks drawn tightly around them as they crossed the snow-covered ground, footsteps crunching in the quiet of the evening. gwen made her way through the meticulous arrangement of tents with purposeful, measured steps. the cold breeze stirred through her raven hair, lifting stray locks with it. a slight rosy flush began to dust her cheeks from the frigid winter air, but the grand cleric seemed undeterred by the inclement weather, her gaze steadily fixed on the path to prince talion's personal tent. the lingering chill from her immersion in the brazeau river had rendered her almost impervious to the cold, leaving her with a persistent discomfort that had yet to fade. fortunately, gwen was no stranger to being in a ceaseless state of malaise. for someone once better known as the instrument of divine logic, her familiarity with pain and distress should come as no surprise. as a child-prophet, gwen was thrust into a world of psychological and physiological torment, her own suffering eventually becoming a sort of twisted comfort to her. after all, it is said that one's devotion to invidia can be measured through acts of resilience and perseverance—demonstrations of sheer willpower that prove one's worthiness of the dark sister's blessing. raised from infancy under the shadow of invidia's guidance, gwen knew little of family except for those who had abandoned her on the doorstep of the grimgate temple. the absence of family in her early life became the breeding grounds for her zealous devotion to invidia. as a child, she must have spent countless hours wondering about her parents and the reasons they had for leaving her to the vultures. she grew to despite these unknown figures, these mystery kin who seemingly had no use for her. she hated them until there was nothing left in her heart but a hollow emptiness─a void perfectly suited for pouring her religious pursuits into. there even came a point when she no longer cared about her origins or what might happen to her as a result of her birth circumstances. within the chantry's clutches, she found purpose; to these people, she at-least mattered. gwen had been repeatedly told that she was more important than the average acolyte, and that affirmation alone gave her life a sense of meaning and greater belonging. she was willing to fully surrender to religion if it meant that invidia would accept her as her divine and chosen mortal vessel. it did not matter that her relationship with the dark sister had been forged under conditions of extreme duress and manipulation. before falling under the tutelage of yvaine bashere─an esteemed dreamwalker from drakonia who would later become her mentor─gwen endured endless suffering and ritualistic maltreatment at the hands of others. she grew up under the care of clerics and dreamwalkers who only sought to exploit her talents for their own purposes once her precognition had manifested. prophetess and bearer of the ancient coming of styx, she was subjected to numerous rites involving the repeated use of potent oneirogen plants and psychoactive agents meant to enhance divinatory dreams. the suffering that eventually came as a result of her growing dependance on the substances remained justified in the chantry's eyes─such were the trials necessary for divine favor and spiritual resilience. in general, gwen's adolescence felt like one long, confusing blur to look back on, where she was trapped in a dream-like state that, at its worst, progressed to delusions and hallucinations. her psychological disturbances did not deter the chantry either. the disorientation she often experienced only created a vicious cycle where her peculiar behavior was often described as enhanced psychic ability rather than the effects of induced psychosis. she was only a vessel to them, a girl who invidia could speak through to relay prophetic visions or foretellings, and that meant that many clerics had little regard for her wellbeing as an individual. most of them disregarded gwen's autonomy as a person, only viewing her as a tool to be exploited in the name of religion. though gwen couldn't recall much of her early life, she knew that her extreme reliance on psychoactive plants and chemicals came with a high cost─nowadays, she suffered from bouts of sleeplessness bordering on insomnia due to persistent hypnic jerks. it was a condition that could only be managed with various remedies rather than cured entirely. as a youth gwen eventually came to the realization that maintaining her consciousness meant that she would not have to suffer from the blight of her divine blessing anymore, nor serve merely as a pawn to those around her. she only learned how to manage her brief psychotic episodes after researching outside of the chantry's prescribed teachings, experimenting with the compounding of different chemicals including lithium, a local resource abundant throughout wild rose country. her apprenticeship under yvaine helped her realize the full extent of her capabilities, talents which extended into the enigmatic realm of dream telepathy, a skill that would eventually earn her respect among the chantry's upper echelons. gwen sometimes wondered just what it was that made her special enough to be chosen as invidia's intended vessel. yvaine once described her as a quiet, reticent girl who, at first glance, seemed afraid of her own shadow—though apparently she had always been a bit peculiar, curiously enamored with life and death, including her own existence. despite her struggle for freedom as a child, gwen had obviously not been molded into a kind or empathetic creature. her early experiences with familial abandonment and the sinister agendas of the senior chantry members around her forced her to adopt a survival instinct whereby manipulation and strategic thinking were essential components of life. she had quickly learned that enduring required more than resilience—it demanded cunning and control. it's why she views everything she does as a necessary means of protecting herself and achieving her goals, a perspective that stems from a deep-seated need for agency. staying one step ahead of everyone else seemed to give her a sense of power and stability that was lacking in her formative years. in truth, her seemingly obsessive pursuit of power and prominence was more about imposing order on a life once dictated by chaos and pain than it was about strategic gain. gwen was someone who wielded her influence to protect herself from harm, a means of securing her place within the greater framework of their tribe even at the cost of hurting others the same way she once was.
indentapproaching the entrance to what she recognized as prince talion's personal tent, gwen was mindful of the need to announce her presence before entering. she clasped her hands behind her back, staring at the flaps of the tent as if weighing what might lie beyond them. her demeanor was carefully composed, masking the strategic intent behind her visit. clearing her throat, she made sure her voice carried a tone of respectful concern. "your highness," she called out, her voice laced with a blend of sincerity and subtle urgency, "may i have a moment of your time? i noticed that you seemed to be in some discomfort earlier and i wanted to offer my assistance. if you would permit me, i would be honored to attend to your injury." her offer appeared to be a gesture of genuine care, though in truth gwen only sought to weave herself into the fabric of the prince's life, making her presence both needed and valuable. her offer of assistance was not just about tending to his wound─it was about establishing a deeper connection that could be leveraged for future advantage. she needed to establish herself as someone essential not only in matters of faith but also in terms of practical support. gwen waited for the prince's acknowledgment before pushing aside the flaps and stepping inside—a courtesy she rarely extended to others, reflecting her deliberate respect for his personal space. the chill that had numbed even her fingertips began to recede as she stepped into the warmth of the tent. upon entering, she observed the scene with a practiced eye, discretely committing the interior to memory. her gaze quickly swept across the space. she made note of the tent's layout, including the placement of furniture and any significant decorations. each detail was mentally cataloged, providing her with insights that could be useful in future interactions. oftentimes a person's private space can reveal a lot about them─their habits, their tastes, and even the way they see themselves─and that information could prove quite useful to her. gwen's eyes flickered to prince talion's squires as they bustled about, helping him with his armor and attending to his immediate needs. although preoccupied, they momentarily paused when gwen entered the tent, regarding her with quiet curiosity. gwen schooled her features into a careful neutrality, ensuring that her expression did not betray the twinge of annoyance she felt upon noticing their presence. she had to remind herself that they would soon be dismissed, and it would eventually just be her and the prince alone. turning her attention to prince talion, gwen greeted him with a slight bow of her head, a gesture of deep respect given his position. "my prince," she said softly, her gaze still lowered, "please forgive my intrusion at this late hour. i hope you can understand my concern for your well-being. should it please your highness, i am at your disposal. allow me to check on your wound or provide any assistance you might need." gwen looked back at up him, meeting his gaze. she remained standing at the entrance of the tent, carefully maintaining a respectful distance from the man. she wanted to avoid rapidly encroaching on his personal space or making him feel trapped by his holy responsibilities, for it was not her intent to appear as the sudden manifestation of that which he cannot escape. the act of communion established during the augural ritual had, she hoped, made him more receptive to her presence though. gwen suspected he would be intrigued by her motives, and whether they were driven by genuine kindness or a hidden agenda. she had a feeling that he would not be quick to turn her away, even if he was not particularly eager to entertain any visitors at the moment. after all, her presence had given him something to ponder in private—whether the chantry was a monolithic entity of clerics with uniform dispositions, or if she had her own unique motivations for treating him as she did. was she just like the rest of the holy figures he's encountered, or was she a rarity unlike the others? did she only put on a kind front to fool him into submission, rather than forcing him to abide her? could he really even judge her character at all given what little he knew about her? there must be so many questions running through his mind right now. gwen was doing well at making herself a curious figure in his life, for it remained unclear just what her intentions were. she would not be surprised if he would allow her more time in his presence if only to try and discern her true nature. she was practically hinging on his curiosity, hoping that the steps she had taken thus far at-least made him somewhat open to entertaining her. gwen's pale blue eyes briefly flickered to his hand, noting the presence of the cut she had inflicted during the augural ritual. "...and perhaps you would also grant me a look at your hand," she suggested, her voice considerate. "i understand you don't typically participate in such auguries, is that correct? i wouldn't wish to see you fall ill to an infection on my behalf." she smiled gently, a warm gesture intended to put him at ease even if internally she was somewhat indifferent. gwen stepped toward the prince, and those attending him hesitantly seemed to give her the space she needed. the grand cleric extended her hand toward him, clearly inviting him to place his hand in hers so she could inspect the gash on palm. "please," she insisted gently. "allow me."

[vaermina]

ＳØＲＥＮ ＫＯＬＢＥＣＫxxx
I.xtribal affiliationsx II. the lord ascendant of the mythic dawn


indent"hmph," a small smile, one that was evidently forced, crossed his features at her candid words. "you honor me with your generosity, my princess." the integrity behind the princess's candor statement did little to absolve søren of his indignation. often unmindfully basking in the adoration of the royal court and its subjects, prince halvor was beloved by the people of gibraltar. revered not for his cunning tact or emotional insight but for his unmatched skill in battle, prince halvor was often viewed as the embodiment of their tribe's ancestral valor. his lack of political acumen and emotional depth marked him as distant in matters of governance and interpersonal relationships, but these shortcomings were often overshadowed by his natural martial superiority. he basked in the effortless adoration of the court, and the unearned prestige that came with being heir to the sunburst throne. the relationship between the two cousins was complicated by the bond of blood that tied them together, forcing the lord ascendant to mask his envy and bones of contention with a veneer of familial loyalty. the juxtaposition of their paths—one destined for spiritual authority, the other for royal power—should unite them, yet it only served to heighten søren's sense of inadequacy and seething jealousy. it was rare for the high inquisitor to find himself feeling threatened over the natural leverage of another human being; he was often unperturbed by shows of arrogant power and wealthy stature. covetous social climbers and pushy elitists were common figures of any tribal court to begin with, for it was ridiculously easy to pinpoint a status seeker. søren was unaffected by rival aristocratic agendas, for he knew that the influence and regard that came with his title as lord ascendant labelled him borderline untouchable in terms of societal impact. his eminence could only be contended by the royal family themselves, and prince halvor was perhaps one of the few individuals in eastern canada whom could easily overshadow his own achievements. he was perpetually eclipsed by not only his cousin's applauded achievements but his mere existence as a fierce and unyielding barbarian. he embodied the many characteristics of traditional masculinity that were historically praised by the more primeval tribes of annexed canada, so much so that his lack of wise counsel or compassionate leadership meant little in commandment to his brutal presence on the battlefield. he was celebrated by all with exuberance, and it made søren feel like he was participating in a competition that he could never truly win. their bond was strained, not only by their one-sided rivalry but also by the lord ascendant's inability to reconcile his love for his cousin with the spite that consumed him. prince halvor was adored without needing to undergo the torturous process to win that reverence based on circumstances out of his control in the first place. his presence on the battlefield was not just a morale boost but an undeniable promise of victory, painting him an adored figure in the hearts of his people who valued action over words and strength over subtlety. the two cousins could not be anymore different. prince halvor, who always appeared blissfully ignorant to the lord ascendant's struggles, only exacerbated the tension between them, adding to the complexity of their relationship. prior to the betrayal of the killer moon, one might even proclaim that the crown prince was never forced to suffer any sort of inconvenience to his character. he was not only the firstborn son of king ulrik but the eldest grandchild of king torhtsige and queen léontine. he was spoiled rotten as a child, and the natural distinction that came with the weight of his birthright has only elevated his status. and while his cousin was no stranger to the burdens of physical affliction and the unfair tribulations of annexed canada's power struggles, he has never been encumbered the way some of his kin have been. he enjoyed the benefits of heirdom without enduring the sacrifices that came with inheriting a throne. his preference for the sword over the scepter left the responsibilities of crown prince woefully unattended. naturally, it was expected for any royal of house kolbeck to participate in their tribe's bloody raiding culture, but his cousin was far more captivated than normal by the thrill of battle and the call of foreign conquests than the burdens of statecraft. as his father's heir, it was expected that he take on the burdens of his people and make personal sacrifices for the good of his tribe. the weight of the crown came with the misfortunes of hardship and nuance, but prince halvor has been spared the worst of the encumbrances of his sociopolitical position. it fell on those around him to ensure the diplomatic landscape of gibraltar remained at ease, lest the factional differences between progressives and traditionalists become fraught once more. it has become increasingly apparent that individuals with lesser power such as søren were left to pick up after him. it was a thankless task. the prince's victories were lauded in campfire songs and skaldic poetry; the lord ascendant's own sacrifices and laborious efforts to maintain the crown's integrity were dismissed as acts of mere duty. normally, he had no issue upholding an oblatory mantle in the name of his people, but he has found himself increasingly vexed by the sheer amount of ritual slaughter he had to undergo himself in order to protect the crown prince's virtue. situations where prince halvor should have undergone the burdens of grief—the impairments of familial betrayals and the misery that came with leading dire war efforts—were pushed upon søren instead, and he himself was forced to make harsh decisions regarding the mythic dawn's future that should have been decided by the heir apparent himself. he was left to parcel the brutalities of this world all by himself because his mother deemed him a more competent commander than his cousin, and prince halvor was left unscathed as to swoop in later to claim all the glory. he was not punished for his inadequacies but was rather rewarded based on the mere fact he was to be future king. his own contributions were overlooked by the royal court while his cousin was celebrated for actions that, in his eyes, only created more chaos for him to manage further down the line. he was the one who ensured gibraltar's stability, yet it was his cousin who reaped the rewards, ever glorified as the province's savior. it should have been halvor who was forced to reconcile with house kolbeck's sins and miseries, acts of impudence and arrogance that forced gibraltar into chaos. it should have been halvor who nearly died at springgrove. it should have been halvor who met the monster of akhiwudian in battle, who was forced to engage in an intense and destructive rivalry for years with a violent man who nearly ended house kolbeck's direct line. it should have been halvor burdening himself with the lesions and anguish of house kolbeck's ending follies, but he was spared the worst of it, and søren was forced to suffer in his place.
indenthis dislike for his cousin has always been one of a moderate temperance, bordered by his increasing isolation from his kin and the fact the older man was nothing but a raging imbecile. he has always kept prince halvor at a comfortable distance, never actively engaging with him outside official matters but never directly hounding him to the point where he viewed the lord ascendant as an unbearable character. as much as he hated to admit it, he recognized the prince's esteemed position within their tribe, and how it would be infinitely more astute of him to remain open to prince halvor's decrees so he had some influence over his actions. it was different now. his simmering resentment and jealousy towards his cousin has reached a newfound high since his engagement to princess calista was announced. in fact, when the templar order first received word of the betrothal from the capital city in the form of a letter from king ulrik's counsel, kristof vikernes had to intervene and stop the lord ascendant from skewering the closest thrall with his sword. it was not enough that his cousin boasted a cavalier attitude from having been spared the tribulations of his duties that søren himself would never be allowed to evade as lord ascendant. the betrothal was a cruel twist of fate in søren's eyes, as it not only robbed him of the one person he loved but also reinforced his cousin's unearned privilege as heir apparent. the news of prince halvor's engagement to his childhood lover—a woman who once shared søren's affections and whose bond with him was a rare source of warmth in his otherwise isolated life—felt like the final insult. it was as though the prince has not only historically laid claim to søren's careful political networking and courtly successes but now the one person who understood and cared for him as more than just a dutiful servant of the gods. the strain between the two kolbecks was now more palpable than ever, with the lord ascendant's heart hardened by a mixture of unspoken discontent, jealousy, and a sense of betrayal that he could never really voice. prince halvor saw fit to take yet another piece from søren's life because that was just the way he was: selfish, brutish, half-witted, short-sighted, and empty-headed. left alone to anguish over the situation in knarwood keep over the past few months—surrounded by nobody but pliable, deferential templars and enthralled heretics whom had their tongues removed for spreading blasphemy—it gave him a lot of time to brood over the complications of the newfound union between their two tribes. for years, he has dutifully upheld the mythic dawn's sacred constitutions, sacrificing his desires and personal happiness to serve as the spiritual anchor for their people. the betrothal between prince halvor and princess calista felt like the final, cruel affirmation that his sacrifices, his piety, all of it stood to be in vain, for his accomplishments were mere shadows against the bright, relentless light of his cousin's legacy. he has always bit his tongue as to not taint halvor's eminence with peculiar criticisms and self-regarding censure, but now it seemed he was expected to further disregard his own denunciations for the betterment of their tribe. and now, with the revenant princess standing directly in front of him, that notion left an almost bitter taste in his mouth. it brought forth a sense of lingering dejection that he could not help but profusely entertain. at this point, it was almost an unconscious desire to continually return to the status quo of unhappiness, for it was at-least a familiar emotion that validated his already lingering awareness of his own malaise. he could not tell if he was contributing to the tension between the two of them or if it was a naturally occurring byproduct of their environment.
indentbefore calista could speak her mind, the two were interrupted by the arrival of a chaotic presence. søren immediately straightened his posture upon princess cybil's entrance, her lively occupancy interrupting their conversation without a second thought. cybil's demeanor was unsurprising. the youngest daughter of the immortal queen carried herself with an air of unearned superiority, her posture always straight and her chin often tilted just slightly upward, as if to remind everyone around her of the prestige of her royal lineage. draped in luxurious silks and adorned with jewels that catch the light with every careful gesture, there could be no doubt that princess cybil relished the admiring glances and envious whispers her presence invoked. boisterous and full of life, she dominated conversations with a magnetic energy that commanded the attention of those around her. and yet, despite her lively spirit, her reputation gave her away as a servant to her own petulant superiority, as if the world itself has wronged her more than once by denying her aspirations. the lord ascendant eyed her wearily when she noticed his presence. by the gods. what has he done to be targeted by both of calista's siblings in the span of an hour? søren greeted the young woman with a slight bow upon her sister's reintroduction. "princess cybil." he spoke courteously, for despite his annoyance at cybil's presence he knew he could not display it as readily as her sister did. "it is a pleasure to see you again." truthfully, he held about as much interest in conversing with the young woman as he did her older brother. cybil and adonis are two sides of the same coin, and whatever differences they shared were only stagnated by the fact they both possessed nasty dispositions. both of them were condescending and egotistical, to the point where it was obvious neither of them have been made to suffer the violent despotism that lingered beyond their tribe's borders—he did not care to include adonis's military excursions into the equation, for it was obvious that the older man now lacked the gall to face opponents much more adept than he. for whatever reason, the usually stern queen anastasia saw it fit to indulge her youngest child, a decision that has certainly contributed to the smug refinery of princess cybil's current temperament.
indentfor a brief moment, a look of temporary mortification crossed søren's features at the princess's not-so-subtle overture. he did not know what was worse—her shameless advances upon a man who was about as unavailable as it got or the fact she was attempting to entice him despite the two having first met when she was a child. perhaps some parts of it could be contributed to the cultural differences between the tribes of the mythic dawn and the fallen eidolon. coy advances towards religious figures were not just frowned upon in gibraltar—they were considered acts of blatant disrespect to the sanctity of their roles within their tribe. the sacred vows he had taken demanded a distance from earthly desires, and her boldness in crossing that line left him feeling vaguely uneasy. the man's pale blue eyes flickered with discomfort as he tried to maintain his composure. he was unsure if he should feel rattled or disquieted over her shameless effrontery. in fact, princess cybil's insolence almost annoyed him as much as her brother's arrogance did. he was almost tempted to question if there would be any room for him to sit considering she likely invited five other men before him to share her company, although he knew such audacity would likely earn him a well-timed slap in the face in response. her self-importance could be excused by her young age and inexperience with life, and her queen mother was not doing her any favors by limiting her exposure to situations that could very well wear down her natural pomposity. cybil did not seem to possess any sort of humility nor did she appear to realize just how well she had it here in gore bay when compared to what her sister went through at her age. søren had to force an apologetic smile when calista intervened in the conversation. "as tempting as it is, i must offer my apologies, your royal highness. i am afraid i have duties beyond sitting in the stands that i must attend to during the games." it was not entirely a lie, for he did have responsibilities concerning religious rites before the games that he must administer to any bloodborn fighters seeking to enter the arena. and while his politeness was certainly forced as in to soften the blow—rejection that princess cybil would not take kindly regardless, for it was apparent that men rejecting her is a rare occurrence—he could care less about preserving her ego. he cared little for the athanasiou siblings beyond their relations to calista, and even that was pushing it. and as predicted, it appeared that the lord ascendant's repudiation and the revenant princess's intervention was enough to sour cybil's temporary goodwill. he had to resist the urge to frown when the young woman linked her arm with princess calista's, a deliberate movement that appeared to finalize the end of their three-way conversation. the self-complacency of cybil's small smile irked him as much as it astounded him. the conceited manner upon which prince adonis and princess cybil carried themselves was beyond bewildering. he found himself met with thinly veiled condescension upon engaging in conversation with them—interactions that he himself did not even initiate to begin with, mind you. there was little that he could do to redirect the conversation now that princess cybil saw it fit to depart his presence, for she seemed intent on dragging her sister with her. he struggled to keep a straight face. whatever simulated civility the youngest athanasiou saw fit to show søren would not work on him, for he has been navigating the royal courts long before she got her bearings in order. and as a man who routinely worked hand-in-hand with the noble populace and interacted with them in legal and social matters, it was not difficult to detect a masquerade. still, it was clear by the way the youngest athanasiou child handled herself that she was not exactly perturbed from engaging with the brutalities of the royal court, and that must include subtle word parries. the last thing he wanted to do was pique her interest just enough that she saw it fit to chase after him. it was not his place to confront princess cybil over her deceptive urbanity, and he knew that his separation from the revenant princess was inevitable. there was little he could do to justify lingering in her presence without making himself a target for suspicious inquiries. he forced a small smile in return. "i understand. it is always such joy to be blessed with the presence of the revenant princess, if only for a moment. and her darling sister, of course." there was a final edge to his tone as he briefly eyed princess cybil, the hidden derision of his words barely detectable in what was an otherwise neutral tone. there was little more he could do but watch as the two women departed from the dance floor, his eyes burning into the back of calista's head as she was led away by her younger sister.
indent
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indentthe merchant quarter, nestled comfortably within the winding streets of gore bay, was a bustling hub of activity even as the winter day neared the hours of dusk.
indentthe city's compact cobblestone buildings, weathered and sunken with age, gleamed faintly under the fading light of the western sun. uneven walls and cracked ramparts reflected the dancing torches of the city, their surfaces slick with a thin sheen of moisture from lake huron's cool mist. ropes of colorful triangular flags crisscrossed the open space above the marketplace's trading stands, where the city's citizens vigorously worked to connect the bunting decorations between the buildings and their overarching balconies. vibrant market stands lined the winding, close-packed streets of the merchant quarter, their uncut canopies dyed in deep blues, earthy greens, faded yellows, and muted reds. they formed a colorful mosaic against the stark gray backdrop of the city, their canvas roofs sagging slightly under the weight of the winter chill. small trees such as burgundy crabapples and flowering dogwoods lined the borders of gore bay's paved thoroughfares, their thin branches hoisting the navy blue and bright gold banners of house athanasiou and the tribe sigils of the fallen eidolon and the mythic dawn. the marketplace was a vibrant maze of narrow, winding paths flanked by a hodgepodge of wooden stalls and carts, each jostling for space under the shadow of timber-framed and stone brick buildings. the merchant stalls, some adorned with faded awnings of mismatched cloth, were brimming with an assortment of goods—bundles of herbs hanging from rough-hewn beams, baskets overflowing with fresh produce, shelves lined with exotic spices and herbal remedies, and buckets of iced fish freshly caught from the lake. artisans showcased handcrafted wares, such as intricately carved wooden furniture, brass candlesticks, and delicate glassware, while farmers showcased barrels brimming with salt, a valuable preservative, and baskets overflowing with fresh produce, including ripe apples, plump figs, and earthy root vegetables. nearby, a merchant hawked cured meats and aged cheeses for those with a more primal appetite. vibrant displays of earthly commodities—wooden containers overloaded with peeling onions, carrots, and dirty cabbages—vie for attention beside traders hawking bolts of woolen fabric in deep, rich colors. merchants proudly displayed vibrant arrays of goods, each stall brimming with the promise of exotic treasures or everyday necessities. one stall offered richly dyed fabrics from the provinces of gibraltar and akhiwudian, spools of deep crimson, royal blue, and golden silk shimmering in the sunlight, alongside more humble piles of linen and wool for the common folk. nearby, the scent of spices hung heavy in the air, drawing customers to another merchant's spread of rare cinnamon, saffron, and cloves, carefully weighed out on bronze scales. a jeweler's stall sparkled with delicate silver necklaces, rings set with polished gemstones, and simple iron brooches for those of modest means. not far away, an apothecary's table was crowded with glass vials and clay pots, each containing potions, herbs, and remedies promising to cure all manner of ailments; their table was meager compared to that of a local blacksmith's, who proudly displayed a wide variety of sturdy tools, iron nails, and horseshoes, alongside finely crafted swords and shields. the ground beneath was a patchwork of hardened gravel, the paths worn smooth by countless footsteps, with the occasional puddle reflecting the colorful wares above. the air buzzed with the chatter of townsfolk haggling over prices, the clinking of coins, and the occasional bleating of a goat, the call of plump cattle, and the clucking of hens confined to small pens on the edges of the market. the roar of the city echoed between the towering stone buildings of gore bay's clustered urban landscape, their shutters half-closed against the evening chill. a few stray dogs weaved through the crowds, searching for scraps, while orphaned children dressed in dirty rags darted between the stalls, laughing as they chased one another with garlands of flowers. the narrow pathways between the stalls forced onlookers to jostle past each other, creating a constant hum of activity and chatter that was only occasionally worsened by a disgruntled rider on horseback or a wagon driver attempting to navigate their way through the throngs of people—to say nothing of the distant screams wafting from the direction of gore bay's massive colosseum. traders and merchants called out in hoarse voices, their advertisements overshadowed by cries and applauses of glee from gathered onlookers as vibrant street performances cluttered the alleyways and corners of the city. the atmosphere along luke huron's shoreline was equally festive. small fishing canoes and merchant row boats adorned with lanterns and wet ribbons glided across the shimmering surface of the lake, their reflections dancing across the surface of the icy water like fireflies in the twilight. eidolon and bloodborn subjects alike strolled along the lakeshore, tossing petals into the water as a symbol of good fortune for the royal heirs. the arrival of the royal retinue only added to the animated festivities occurring amongst the common folk of gore bay. and while gore bay's numerous street performers entertained the energetic crowds with lively tunes and daring presentations, their melodies mingling with the clatter of impatient merchants hawking their wares, most of the district's attention had shifted to eagerly observe the newfound appearances of princess calista and prince halvor. the excitement exuding from the crowds was one of a respectful nature, a type of reverence common from the lowborn when presented with the magnificence of their rulers. those who stood in the way of the royal entourage were quick to uphold a regarding distance from the wandering escort, a firm testament of princess calista's popularity with the commonfolk.
indentwithin the bustling grandiose of the market quarter, a statue of the goddess athena stood overlooking the busy intersection of the crowded alleyways. the statue, carved from marble long ago, was worn with age; its once smooth surfaces were now rough and gray, and the once sharp features of the goddess have softened from decades of sweltering sun, rain, and wind. the white helmet atop athena's head was chipped, and the plume that once crowned it has long since eroded, leaving only a faint trace of its former glory. her eyes, which once seemed to pierce the horizon, now appeared more contemplative, her gaze gaze dulled but not diminished. the statue's arm was raised, holding a shield that has borne the brunt of time's relentless assault, with cracks spidering across its surface. at her feet, the monument's pedestal was covered with small tokens of offering left by the residents of the city—wilted flowers, polished stones, and small coins—each one a humble tribute to the symbols the deity stood for. standing before the marble sculpture, søren observed the statue with blatant unease. it was difficult enough that he was exposed to the overpowering adversities of prince halvor's presence, but now he must entertain the presence of a hollow deity? the statue of athena was unsettling. despite his outward composure, the sight of the sculpture left him with a lingering sense of discomfort, a reminder that his world was changing in ways that he cannot control, and that his faith, once absolute, was now challenged by forces beyond his understanding. the stark presence of the eidolon's foreign gods felt like a betrayal of his own beliefs, a dilution of the sacred traditions he has sworn to uphold in his peregrination to eliminate those who have strayed beyond the grace of the ash tree. the statue appeared to glow in the waning light of the afternoon sun, but to the lord ascendant it appeared almost cold and lifeless, an artificial representation of a deity that held no real power in his eyes. for someone as canny and sharp-witted as søren, it was often surprising for those unfamiliar with the mythic dawn's culture to find out he upheld religious doctrines with the temper of an uncompromising zealot. his beliefs were tempered and formed on the basis of authority, tradition, revelation, and dogma. like most religious tribes, the mythic dawn's beliefs were deeply ingrained in the concepts of fundamentalism, characterized by the applications of strict interpretations to scriptures and ideologies, along with a strong belief in the importance of distinguishing their culture's ingroup and outgroup. they boasted an unwavering attachment to a set of irreducible beliefs and have historically rejected modernist, secularist, liberal and ecumenical tendencies, although their alliances with the fallen eidolon and the sea wolves have certainly given rise to more progressive stances in recent decades. søren has always fiercely defended the valëkrya's integrity. he was one of the golden order's most devoted followers, and that is why he could not understand what he has done to displease them so. the certainty that once guided him was slowly beginning to crumble, replaced by a gnawing fear that he has somehow earned the wrath of his pantheon, leaving him adrift in a sea of unanswered questions and growing despair. he felt their fury in every setback, every disappointment, each one a crushing blow to his faith as they continued to punish him for his transgressions. it was not enough to make him entirely question the validity of his religion as a whole, but he could not deny the discouragement he felt. he could not even begin to fathom what he has done to offend them, for there was no other reasonable explanation as to prescribe his personal setbacks. the betrothal between prince halvor and princess calista felt like divine punishment, for it wounded him like no other. he has failed to properly extinguish the sectarian threat up north in the frostmire, and the gods felt it righteous to chastise him with a particularly painful penalty in response (he did not seem to account for the fact he had already suffered grievous injuries up in the frostmire, for physical agony meant nothing compared to how he felt now). no matter how delusional it may appear to outsiders, it was a notion that distressed him greatly. it was beginning to feel as though his deities, whose favor he has always sought, were deliberately altering his happiness, turning their backs on him in silent condemnation. the lord ascendant's once unwavering confidence was beginning to falter in recent months as everything unraveled around him—each plan meticulously crafted fell apart, each prayer met with cold silence and persistent doubt. his turmoil did nothing but create a dangerous frustration that ate away at his heart, growing into a bitter resentment for those around him. it was easy for the man to internalize his religious fears and uncertainties into growing acrimony towards the people around him, for despite his apprehension he knew deep down why the gods were silent. in his religion, fate was the highest power in the universe. men's lives were shaped by fate, the gods were subject to fate, even the world itself had a fate from which it could not escape. the mythic dawn's concept of destiny clearly represented a belief that certain events were predetermined, and that everyone's fates were predetermined by the norns—three sisters who live at the base of the ash tree and spin threads and weave the tapestry of fate, with each person's life represented by a singular thread. there were many religious sagas where even the gods have attempted to buy time to outrun their fates, but without ever fully controlling or preventing what will eventually come to pass during the twilight of the gods. acceptance came with the very real tribulations of mindfulness, gratitude and embracing uncertainty, but søren found himself fighting against it all the same. it was not supposed to happen this way. he has done everything right, sacrificed much of his interpersonal relationships and the sanctity of his own stability to shed the blood of those who would demean the purity of the golden order. he did not expect material rewards for his accomplishments but he did expect a semblance of goodwill from the gods for his unwavering devotion and adherence to divine law. perhaps his silent expectations were another reason why the order felt principled in their retribution, although he certainly did not intend to come across as avaricious. their displeasure manifested in the form of his misfortunes, and he was always mindful to not provoke the ire of his pantheon by his own imperfections. throughout his life, søren has been told that the gods were forbearing towards their most devoted followers. the grace of the valëkrya, often described with terms like "undeserved" or "unmerited favor" in religious scriptures, was said to be purging and lustrous. they reward their followers with the fruits of their spirit, but søren did not feel very remunerated right now. he felt helplessly out of control, discomposed on why he has suddenly fallen out of the good graces of his patron saint and the rest of his holy pantheon. he has done something wrong, but he could not figure out what.
indentsøren could taste the iron penchant of blood in his mouth, a consequence of his relentless lip biting and subsequent wound meddling. having been sliced open by the white-mask druids during a series of punctual blood rites held beneath the colosseum not too long ago—the blood surgeons had carefully administered their runeblades into his form to cut open various ritualistic gashes down his lip and abdomen—the pain did little to ground him. unsurprisingly, the relationship shared between the lord ascendant and his followers was ultimately that of a predatory nature. religious spaces, often viewed as sanctuaries of faith and moral guidance, paradoxically attract wolfish individuals driven by a thirst for higher power and influence. these spaces, dedicated to foster trust, community, and spiritual growth, often become fertile grounds for manipulation when infiltrated by those who exploit the inherent authority of religious roles. the reverence and unquestioning faith that bloodborn devotees often place in their religious leaders provided these characters with a veil of legitimacy, allowing them to mask their true intentions. in such environments, power dynamics were skewed under the guise of divine will or spiritual guidance. the parsons who managed to enter these spaces often preyed on the vulnerabilities of those already in power who may struggle with inner turmoil or emotional instabilities. by positioning themselves as loyal confidants or indispensable aides, they could enhance their influence by exploiting the weaknesses of their superiors, gradually steering decisions in a direction that may benefit their ambitions. sacred spaces intended for spiritual growth often grow to be battlegrounds for manipulation and control, an unsurprising edict when one realizes how religion has been historically used to control the citizens of gibraltar. there could be any number of reasons why fanatics normally agree with søren's adjudications—whether they truly saw him as a vessel for a higher being or a divine instrument capable of advancing their own stations in bloodborn society, it was difficult to say. the lord ascendant was known for being generous towards those who proved themselves useful to his own goals, but that did not mean he was particularly open towards establishing unalloyed bonds with other people. there was such a profound lack of integrity in this world that betrayal has become an almost a key facet of human nature. he was inherently mistrustful, and he was slow to accept new people into his inner circle based on his own preconceptions of the human race. he has always been paranoid of treachery, of somehow ending up in a situation similar to that of his dead kin. he knew the dangers of allowing yourself to grow too unguarded and unsuspecting towards others. in his haste to protect himself from ghostly threats of disloyalty, he has entirely detached himself from secular society. he relied on individuals in the religious sphere for support who, despite their outward loyalties, may not be as truehearted as they appear. søren has always been a fairly decent judge of character, and his exposure to the false niceties of the royal court allowed him to gain some knowledge on how to spot undeniable opportunists and ambitious status chasers. the pretentious nobles of eastern canada were predictable, if not somewhat hollow in their pursuits for wealth and prominence. they desire more land, shiny riches, bigger titles, more influence in their respective areas of interest; it was far more difficult to weed out the unprincipled who may be lurking in the bowels of religious clergies, for individuals involved in denomination are far more resigned and stoical when it comes to playing the long game. there were chaplains like the white-mask druids who have been involved in the golden order's priesthood for so long without receiving any sort of significant gain that søren was perhaps quick to trust them far more than he really should. his increasing isolation from his family and the assuaging influence of the mythic dawn's diverse court meant that he has grown to spend far more time in extremist environments than what was healthy for him. he was surrounded by nothing but sounding boards, men and women who acted as mirrors of himself and contributed to his religious mania and psychotic episodes. they encouraged his bouts of religious ecstasy, a type of altered state of consciousness characterized by greatly reduced external awareness and expanded interior mental and spiritual awareness. he did not hunt beasts but fellow human beings, a preoccupation only worsened by the demanding cycles of his faith and those around him. rather than acting as a mitigating presence to ensure he did not overstep himself, there were many followers of the golden order who saw fit to incite his behavior, whether because they truly admired his zeal to eliminate rival dissenters or they viewed his instability as a stepping stone to some higher position of power. during the war of sicahr, questionable or downright disturbing notions held by the lord ascendant that should have been rightfully struck down were instead endorsed by those around him, such as his morbid interest in the tribe of circe's oolacile and the dark religion they worshipped. the few white-mask druids who accompanied him over the border such as nothri gislisson would hand him their ceremonial blades so he could quite literally dissect the corpses of slaughtered deathbed confessors, usually removing their tainted organs to burn later in bloodborn rituals. his reign of terror against the citizens who resided in the three-point border region of kasba lake was never shunned by those who helped him program their master plan for extermination either. his enterprises were never challenged, and he was allowed to fester in his mania however he pleased. his participation in the burning of the ruxland estate was not enough to earn him criticism from his subordinates, even when he wrapped one arm around noble heiress lilya setsuko's chest while the other hand forced her to watch as her children were gifted to the flames so she could witness the merciful design of the golden order. it was an execution considered so vile that the woman immediately threw herself onto the pyre after the lord ascendant finally let her go. søren was so self-assured in his abilities to recognize signs of power plays in the noble sphere that he failed to recognize the more sinister agendas of some his own devotees. and the more he secluded himself from his kin and those who truly valued him, the more he found himself relying on his followers. it was why, when he was rarely confronted by his own insecurities and self-doubt, he sought solace in the comforting delusions of questionable characters such as nothri gislisson, the very same white-mask druid who was cutting into his body not even an hour ago to draw forth holy ichor. it was almost like he reverted back to his youth, desperate for some form of connection from those around him who could offer him comfort in times of significant stress. it was like he needed their validation to solidify his own standing and contributions to the world, a thought process he relied on heavily as a child but less so now as an adult.
indentsøren's attention shifted away from the weathered statue of athena. his features grew noticeably strained and almost resigned as he gazed past the sculpture and observed princess calista near the market stalls. prince halvor stood close by, his tall stature marking him almost instantly recognizable amongst the sea of curious onlookers. the pessimism and ourage søren felt towards the betrothal was further fueled by his own sense of powerlessness. despite his spiritual authority, he could not influence the aftermath of what was to come, and his blatant lack of control over the situation stung sharply. he has grown unfamiliar with the concept of categorized pliability, for his esteemed position as lord ascendant has granted him privileges customary to someone high above the average pecking order. søren has enjoyed a number of freedoms over the past few years that the expectations now placed upon him to fulfill his societal obligations and blissfully endorse the engagement between the royal heirs was almost jarring. there was nothing he could do to change the outcome. once more, he was expected to swallow his own grievances in the name of upholding king ulrik's beloved heir. he was expected to not only serve like a dog but to die as one too, choking on the unspoken aspirations of his own rancor. what was once a hotbed of mild dislike and pitiful contempt towards prince halvor has now altered itself into unadulterated hatred. he loathed him. it was not enough that søren held the love of the commonfolk and the reverence of the golden order's most stalwart worshippers. he wanted what he could not have, and the mere notion that princess calista was unobtainable sounded almost discordant inside his head. she belonged with him, not a man who was more likely to spend the entirety of their union warring abroad and ignoring her for the glories of armed conflict. the fact that halvor displayed no visible interest in the princess was incontestable, although his blatant lack of fascination did not appear to hinder the goals of the ruling monarchs. halvor was as unappreciative as he was unmindful. søren's obsessive ruminations did not particularly help him when it came to accepting the inevitable. his impulsive neuroticism felt like a plague that was eating away at his insides. he often felt guilty over the way his own mind tormented him over the revenant princess's image; his all-consuming infatuations towards calista were pathological and persistent, neurotic in the very same way he devoted himself to his pantheon. there were moments where he felt some repentance over his behavior, for he did not mean to slip into a fanatical zeal where his thoughts bordered on illicit, as if the crown princess were some spoil of war he sought to defile with his own corruption. when combined with his growing animosity towards his cousin, his compulsive adoration for calista quickly turned into something dangerous. his idea of serving princess calista and showing his love for her was very much the same way he showed his devotion towards his religion—undivided bloodshed and cataclysmic war to destroy those who may harm the saintliness of that who he cherishes the most. his love for her was malignant, if only because he was abnormally steadfast towards her and unwilling to share her with other people. søren has never been one to share the affections of others, particularly those whose esteem was not so easily won. the thought of allowing outside forces to intrude on the time and attention he received from particular individuals became intolerable, as it threatened his carefully maintained sense of authority and emotional security. in his mind, nearly every relationship was a subtle battle for supremacy, and allowing others to encroach upon his chosen companions would be tantamount to surrendering the control he so fiercely coveted. it was partially why he subjected his youngest cousin to such fundamental agony beneath the nine hundred pound corpse of a fallen horse. he had been unwilling to share the affections of king ulrik and queen aoibheann with prince arkyn, for the young man's constant presence at court quickly solidified him as a rival to the lord ascendant's own dignified position. his desire to maintain some relevancy over those he deemed important fed his obsession with ensuring their loyalty and undivided attention, as their approval validated his own position and subsequent power. these pursuits were not entirely altruistic; it was fueled by a slightly lesser but still potent greed for endorsement. he craved the assurance that he was indispensable to those he values, yet the idea of sharing their time with others stirred a profound discomfort within him. it was not enough that he was beloved by the citizens of gibraltar, for he needed the affinity of a few select individuals who continuously alluded his influence. søren was content with the way he was positively viewed by the common folk, but he could never be truly happy with his own affirmations unless he achieved the adoration of a few select people, a concept he often obsessed over. he knew that the sight of prince arkyn half-crushed beneath his own mount would be a sight that remained burned in the public eye for a long time, and in his mind that was a reasonable punishment for an amlóði who sought to insult his honor with the threat of ignominy. arkyn sought to challenge søren's holy viewpoints and win over the amity of the ruling monarchs through temporal policies, a slight that the lord ascendant could not force himself to reconcile with. he would not suffer the indignity of a cowardly lordling who sought to undermine his own power by turning king ulrik and his queen consort away from the light. in gibraltar, becoming physically incapacitated and unable to fight your own battles was considered a fate worse than death; he knew that prince arkyn would never be taken seriously after the accident, and his current miseries over his physical indisposition was enough to keep søren content. his attitude back then reflected the values of his current perspective. he did not want to share calista with his dullish imp of a cousin. divided affection was tantamount to a loss of power, making him fiercely protective and, at times, possessive of those whose admiration he yearned for—to say nothing of his long and convoluted history with the princess to begin with. he desired the very essence of her soul, the threads of her true self that were capable of surviving physical death. søren's love, while hard to earn, was frenzied and impassioned, to the point where his allegiance was undeniably steadfast to those he deemed worthy of his attention. it was undiluted in the same way that fire was purifying: destructive, authentic, and scorching. he would willingly grab hold of a ceremonial blade and cut out his own heart to offer it to calista if she had the stomach to take it from him.
indenthaving designated himself an isolated position close to the royal heirs so that he could act quickly if danger struck, it did not take long for the revenant princess to find her way back to him. he remained close to calista and halvor, but not unbearably so. stuck in his own self-wallowing pit of hatred and distress, he did not realize calista was approaching him until he heard the soft call of talos. the sight of the young woman with her falcon was enough to temporarily elevate his own perturbed line of thinking, if only because he refused to outwardly display his own vulnerabilities. a small smile touched his lips upon the princess's approach, her presence a welcome reprieve from the disturbing cauldron that was his own mind. "vertu velkominn, talos," he fondly responded to the falcon's soft greeting. exuding a sense of grace and lethal efficiency, talos was quite the majestic creature. his keen eyes, dark and intense, were set firmly beneath a pronounced brow, giving him a fierce and focused expression. "of course he's excited to see me. what son wouldn't be excited to see their father after a long while?" he joked, catching wind of her teasing witticism. "as for the bribes, well, i promised him i wouldn't tell you." he accepted the honey cake with quiet gratitude. a delicate blend of flaky, buttery layers that boasted a rich sweetness, søren would have enjoyed the pastry more if not for his unsettled stomach. he has not eaten all day, not even when presented with the numerous delicacies of the heartlands back inside the banquet hall. the warmth of the honey immediately agitated the cut on his lip. a reliable and steadfast companion, talos once served as the lifeline between two hearts separated by distance and duty. the bird's powerful talons, usually reserved for hunting, could often be found clutching delicate parchment sealed with various symbolic crests—allegories of the hidden love shared between the revenant princess and the lord ascendant. the lithe falcon has helped them maintain their bond through carefully crafted letters, each word chosen with a blend of affection and restraint. over the past few years, søren's letters grew to be less boisterous and more meticulously crafted, each word chosen with care to convey his devotion, yet laced with a subtle restraint that did not readily allow the woman access into his state of affairs. he wrote of his circumstances and current status quo with a clinical detachment, his words polished and refined, yet perhaps lacking the guileless warmth and openness that once characterized their exchanges. the lord ascendant often omitted the darker truths of his religious ventures and waning lucidity by relying on calista's expositions concerning her tempestuous home life or her daring military campaigns to fill in the gaps of their communications. his misgivings, born of a fear that she might not recognize the man he has become or might even reject him based on their growing cultural differences, led him to forsake the harsher realities of his life in order to preserve the cornerstones of their relationship. his letters shaped a perception of him that was rooted more in the past than the present, a common occurrence that has long affected most of his interpersonal relationships over the past few years. he presented an idealized version of himself—a mixture of the young prince he once was and the man he wished he could still be—to those around him, often leaving his companions with a skewed understanding of his current self, one that often overlooked the complexities and sorrows he carried in silence. the contrast between their present reality and their cherished memories created a bittersweet longing, one that not only clung to the past but grew haunted by the future they could never fully share. søren and calista's affections were rooted in a past that no longer existed—certain aspects of their relationship were bound to have changed. as a youth, his neediness was palpable as he constantly sought reassurance from those around him. he often misread blatant social cues because he lacked an understanding of boundaries, and his desperation for connection made him overbearing or intrusive. his insecurities regarding where he stood in the lives of other people contributed to his peculiar behavior, a fear born from the unique circumstances of his role in his tribe's culture that left him isolated from the usual amenities of childhood. his desire for companionship and interconnection was probably why he struggled so poorly to adapt to the solitude that came after the betrayal of the killer moon, when most of the relationships he fostered throughout his life were either extinguished entirely through death or cast aside by the living. years of seclusion did not help søren when it came to ruminating over his past and the mistakes he has made throughout the course of his life. the religious sphere he served, filled with an atmosphere of guilt, sacrifice, and a relentless pursuit of perfection, has fostered in him a tendency to see shadows where there are none. he has long convinced himself that every slight, real or imagined, was a reflection of his own inadequacies. his mind twisted past events, distorting them into narratives where he was always the one who loved too deeply, too foolishly, and thus, was easily discarded by those he held dear. his delusions have long fed his own perpetual unhappiness, as if he believed he was doomed to be misunderstood and unappreciated, his love a burden rather than a gift. he sat on these thoughts and contemplated his trepidations until they became his reality. he has always loved other people more than they loved him, and his once unwavering fidelity towards his kin as a youth has now shifted into a more ruinous adherence to the call of religion. he always answered calista's letters with alarming swiftness when they were younger, but his constancy has changed over the course of their adulthood. his relentless pursuit of violence against those who have wronged him has twisted his priorities, driving a wedge between him and certain individuals who once cared for him. his every action was tainted by an insatiable need to inflict suffering, a desire that has eroded his capacity for empathy and compassion. there were even moments where he neglected entirely to respond to the letters sent to him by calista or his twin sister, for he was far too entrenched in the bloody pursuits of holy warfare to nurture his relationships back in eastern canada.
indent"you're really going to call the bird your dearest companion when i'm standing right here? tch. i see how it is." søren eyed his newfound confidant on his shoulder. "tough crowd." the man's leather coat acted as a buffer against the falcon's sharp talons, allowing the creature a comfortable spot to perch without the possibility of puncturing through his clothing. talos's reflection stared back at him through the shimmering surface of the lord ascendant's golden mask. he reached up with a careful hand to gently run his index finger along the falcon's beak. calista's mention of aömwé brought a slight smirk to his face. the owl-bear cub would show up eventually. "talos needn't worry about her. she has most likely satiated her appetite on a couple of street orphans by now." he immediately resisted the urge to wince over the mental image of his own macabre humor. it was probably not the most sophisticated of jests to make, particularly when it came at the expense of his owl-bear dining on the flesh of eidolon citizens—a particularly rampant fear amongst those living in the heartlands. the man cleared his throat awkwardly. "forgive me, my princess, that comment was made in poor humor." whatever brief diffidence he felt over his ill-timed humor was quick to pass when princess calista stepped closer to him. he raised an eyebrow when he caught wind of the artfulness behind her hinted whisper. the lord ascendant was not necessarily inclined to go out rafting on the waters of lake huron, but now? the diablerie twinkling in the princess's eyes told a different story. the silent insinuation behind her words invited a tantalizing mix of temptation and danger. he knew all too well the peril of engaging in behavior so unbecoming of his sacred duties... and yet, the sheer allure she exuded made it agonizingly difficult for him to maintain any semblance of self-restraint around her. her beauty and boldness entrapped him. søren wrestled with the gnawing doubt that his struggles to reject her advances might not stem from true piety at all, but rather from a deeper, more troubling weakness within himself. his resolve all but crumbled when he was with her, leaving him vulnerable to her proposals based on his own love-sick adulations towards the princess. every interaction with her was a dangerous dance on the edge of propriety. worse, he knew the consequences of letting his desires cloud his judgment, but resisting her proved to be a torturous bind. as her sworn shield and the man dedicated to give his life to preserve her own, it would probably not be viewed as inappropriate for him to join her on lake huron, but could it be seen as incongruous or out of place? possibly. søren himself was not brainless as to realize the implications of their close proximity, and his awareness was only worsened by his own tenderness towards the princess. no matter how much he silently resolved to distance himself, to act with the decorum his role demanded, her smile would pull him back into the fray, leaving him powerless to impose the boundaries he knew were necessary in moments like these. his actions could not be blamed on ignorance or irresponsibility, for his long-standing cognizance and sensibility already proved him to be a man who was very much aware of courtly politics and the responsibilities that came with maintaining such fragile relationships. no, his willing participation was very much the result of his own selfishness and his own minded arrogance. søren chose to engage with calista because he wanted to, not because he lacked common sense, albeit the divine remorse he felt over his own choices was certainly enough to repent some of that. perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, his discernment of the situation only made his betrayal that much worse. "feeling naughty already, aren't we?" he mused. "pardon my tactlessness, my princess, but..." he hesitated for a moment, the turmoil he felt just moments ago now beginning to claw its way to the surface, "you do not fear me joining you may be seen as unbecoming? it might be viewed as... improper to not stay close to your betrothed throughout the rest of the night. i do not wish to offend." truthfully, he did not care what halvor thought. in fact, the crown prince would not even bat an eye over søren's presence, for he appeared to trust the lord ascendant's alleged pietism so much that even his closeness with the revenant princess did not seem mistrustful or out of place to him. the man lowered his gaze as his left hand slowly reached out to touch calista's own arm, his fingers gliding across her wrist before his palm gently pressed itself against the soft fabric of her sleeve. he ran a scarred hand up the length of her arm, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone with his background. his fleeting decision to touch her was certainly a bold move, although perhaps less audacious than one might think when the bustling atmosphere of the marketplace and the relative isolation of their current position at the edge of the street was taken into account. his hold on her arm was light, as if he were prepared to suddenly pull himself away should they be interrupted. given calista's imprudent nature, it was unfair for the lord ascendant to rely on her own imprimatur to essentially approve the bizarreness behind their actions, but it helped soothe his own subconscious and whatever religious guilt he may be feeling as the result of his own earthly passions if she herself found no qualms with the undertones of their relationship. a part of him already knew what calista's response might entail, but he supposed it was easier to find acceptance with his own concupiscence if she followed his lead. sharing her company in a canoe sounded innocent enough, but the tension between them told a different story of what could possibly arise from the situation.

[vaermina]

ＴＡＬＩＯＮ ＮＯＣＴＵＲＮＥxxx
I.xtribal affiliationsx II. a royal lunespawn of house nocturne


indenttalion observed the chickens with a glance of subtle confusion and intrigue. his time spent with the cimmerian chantry and those who served the dark sister has given him some knowledge of their divine rituals, even if he did not understand the deeper implications of said formalities himself. auguries were utilized to not only interpret divine will but provide spiritual guidance, legitimize authority, alleviate regional uncertainty, and promote social cohesion amongst those in the tribe of saint-arkh. like most religious tribes in annexed canada, arkhians relied on divine law and spiritual leadership to dictate tasks that could either promote or hinder their tribe's development. augural rituals provided a way for religious leaders and martial officers to seek divine dictation before making concrete decisions regarding important tasks at hand. these rituals reassured them that their actions were in harmony with the will of the goddess of the night, as to not displease her with their own impromptu arrogance. a key part of religious ceremonies and rituals, auguries emphasized the connection between the mortal realm and the ascendant plane. by interpreting the presented signs, auguries alleviated the uncertainty and fear that came with making difficult decisions, particularly advancements in military campaigns against rival tribesmen. the rituals offered a sense of control over the unknown, a coveted prospect in a land as untamed as wild rose country. and perhaps, in a way that talion himself did not completely understand or acknowledge, the legitimacies of augural ceremonies further solidified the chantry's control over the people of saint-arkh. semblances of divine will were often utilized by religious leaders to legitimize their own personal decisions. they presented these ceremonies as divinely sanctioned so they could strengthen their position and influence over the masses. religious rites served to reinforce social and religious norms, as the interpretations were often done by clerics or religious figures who hold authority or the respect of localized communities throughout southern wild rose country. spiritual ceremonies serve as powerful tools to control and reinforce the authority of the ruling elite. infused with a sense of divine legitimacy as to bind their society's numerous social classes to the will of pious figureheads, rituals performed by the cimmerian chantry were often declared as encouraging messages from their revered deity, their interpretations often conveniently aligning with the desires of those in power. the outcomes of these ceremonies were frequently proclaimed with an air of delicate authority, often dictating the course of political decisions, military campaigns, or social policies throughout arkhian-controlled territory. through these rites, the chantry not only asserted their spiritual dominance but also cemented the ruling class's grip on power, presenting their rule as ordained by the divine and discouraging dissent among the populace. from the crowning of kings to the punishment of heretics, their decisions were commonly ruled as holy legislation. grand clerics such as lady gwendolyn, adorned in resplendent vestments, hold the authority to interpret the will of the dark sister, reading omens from the entrails of sacrificial beasts or the patterns left by molten wax on sacred water. in some cases, they even observed the peculiar actions of various birds to garner an idea of their dark goddess's intentions. from what talion knew of the chantry's practices, they relied on loose explications and keen deciphering to convey their deity's will, for it was most grievous to just arrogantly assume invidia's intentions right off the bat. there have been numerous occasions where talion has been told that human nature was inherently unpredictable. invidia desires for her devotees to be free agents to function and develop a theory of mind, for their fidelity meant nothing to her if it is not lawfully earned. only the most steadfast and the most devout of her faithful can hope to achieve her recognition in the ascendant plane, and those who seek to misconstrue or maltreat her divine will for their own sinister purposes are subject to earn her cold wrath in the afterlife. in many ways, invidia's creeds matched the seraphic rules defined in various other religions: believe in your one true god, you are saved by your faith in invidia, there is life after death, the mysterium lucifugous is a vital part of arkhian life, guiding and comforting true followers of the dark sister. talion's participation in the ritual was not an uncommon sight. historically, lunespawn have been considered indispensable components to the development of invidia's gospel, hence their revered statuses within the tribe of saint-arkh. unlike rival religious spheres, it was rare for spiritual figures to spill the blood of individuals considered blessed by their respected deity. if not conducted properly, it was considered an act of sacrilege, for lunespawn were considered to be one of the most precious of invidia's creations. after all, they were children born beneath the light of her treacherous sister luneth; their successful corruption was considered to be one of the most pleasing gifts a follower of invidia could bestow upon their patroness, for nothing triggered the tears of the moon maiden as much as losing that of her children. lunespawn are integral to the very foundations of saint-arkh's religion, so much so that their lengthy involvement in the chantry's practices are considered almost customary by this point. talion's relevancy to their tribe's mystical practices has been ingrained into his psyche since he was a young boy, and it was almost why he found himself sharing in on the tent's apprehensive atmosphere as the chickens slowly observed their feed. and now, as the clergy hesitated, their subtle reluctance almost painfully palpable as the birds immediately failed to reveal a clear message, a cold wave of doubt washed over him. why was the dark sister slow to show her favor? what if his spiritual relevance, the very foundation of his identity within the tribe of saint-arkh, has somehow taken a blow over his recent failures in savalow? this was the first religious ceremony he has been involved with in a hot minute. it would not be surprising if his recent blunders have fouled his stance with the dark sister. as the minutes ticked on, the uncertainty in the augury gnawed at whatever remaining confidence he had left, leaving him both uneasy and quickly questioning his place in a world that has always revolved around the certainty of his divine purpose. given how incredibly demoralizing the past few months have been in terms of martial successes and familial hardships, it was not difficult for talion to immediately slip into doubt over the weight of his supposed importance now that the augury appeared to be taking a turn for the worse.
indentthe divination tent's fraught atmosphere lifted almost immediately as soon as the chickens began to feed. it was almost like the apprehensive sangfroid the tent's occupants tried to cling onto as they warily observed the ceremony at hand burned away, replaced by an alleviating—if not slightly cynical—consolation. talion's shoulders immediately slumped beneath the weight of his armor. while his relationship with the divine was one of a complicated and sensitive subject, he could not deny his own anxieties concerning the end result of the augury. the weight of his responsibilities have grown to become a heavy burden, filling him with dread over the possibility that his own inadequacies might doom their people. the prospect of leading soldiers into battle unprepared, of making a critical error that could cost lives, haunted his every thought since his initial arrival along the brazeau river. talion was well aware of the expectations that were placed upon him based on his religious heritage. they needed some semblance of victory in savalow, and that could only be achieved by successfully seizing and laying claim to the brazeau reservoir. soldier morale has plummeted in recent weeks, their spirits broken by months of losses, exhaustion, and the oppressive weight of uncertainty. with no decisive victory in sight, it was difficult for arkhian soldiers to resist the urge to grow increasingly demoralized, for they have been trapped in a seemingly endless conflict. the stellarun are relentless, and the arkhians are deeply entrenched in a territory they scarcely understand, with rugged terrain that drained their strength and resolve. they grow weary of skirmishes that yield little ground, their spirits dulled by the constant uncertainty of their next victory. one crucial victory could reignite the fires of determination. they need a sign, a spark—something to rally behind, or their fragile resolve may crumble under the crushing weight of both foreign and domestic pressures. while talion lacked the experience of some of his more seasoned generals, he understood the implications that came with trying to nurse fractured optimism, and how it was glaringly important to balance multiple prospects when attempting to engage in armed conflict. and yet, the optimistic shift at the end of the augural ceremony promised to yield some conviction for the arkhian military. despite his own demurral feelings towards invidia and the clergy that served her, talion felt vaguely pleased over the results of the ritual. he could counter his own natural biases and hesitations with that small voice in the back of his head that yearned to accept the divine guidance of a supernatural entity the way his fellow tribesmen did. he has been told numerous times that if he truly grasped the omniscience of invidia, his doubts could give way to trust. and although he may not truly understand, he could trust in the totality of the dark sister's knowledge. that was easier said than done. what transpired in the divination tent was not enough to entirely shift his viewpoints—the process of removing talion's emotional, moral and intellectual doubts would be a lengthy process in and of itself— but it did lessen his trepidation over his own capabilities. with his attention locked on the feeding chickens, he did not realize lady gwendolyn had stepped closer to him until she took his hand in her own. having quickly grown acclimated to her presence and the ritualistic implications of her touch, the cleric's sudden movements did not immediately warrant his avoidance, although he found himself tensing up nevertheless. the warmth of her hand in his own felt peculiar, a testament of what perhaps little physical contact the prince received as a royal lunespawn. this is indeed a strong affirmation that we have been extended divine favor by invidia. he listened to the cleric with careful scrutiny, his gaze flickering every so often to the noisy chickens as they fed. the results of the augury, a sacred glimpse into invidia's divine favor, served to ignite the arkhian generals with a renewed sense of purpose, though it came with an unspoken weight. her endorsement, a blessing over their endeavors, carried both hope and caution. victory must now be pursued with unwavering discipline, for to misinterpret or squander this sacred boon would be a grievous offense, risking not only their lives but the goddess's favor itself. every decision, every maneuver must now align with her will, and they must tread carefully, balancing their desperation for success with the reverence her divine vision demanded of them. they must now proceed with strategic decisions and cautious battlefield formations, for invidia's divine motivations will only align with their own if they continued with some forethought and quiet cunning. the favor has been bestowed, but it was up to them on how to proceed in their endeavors without relying too much on divine intervention. they must open their hearts and minds to her and accept her beatific intuitions so they could apply it to their mortal labors. it was almost refreshing to witness the gradual composure of some of his generals, too. like a beacon in a storm, the positive results of the augury breathed new life into the once dejected and hollow-eyed leaders. unsurprisingly, certain individuals like general araminta appeared more gratefully obligated than others.
indentit must be understood that the patterns are not an explicit guarantee of any given outcome but rather a sign of alignment with invidia's will. they affirm that our strategies and resolve are in harmony with divine favor, but the exact nature of our victories will depend on our actions and decisions in the coming battles.
indentthere it was.
indentthe young prince managed to catch himself before a nasty grimace suddenly crossed his features. of course. what did he expect? to expect the chantry to hold themselves in any manner of dignified responsibility would be expecting too much from them. in a careful dance of words and rituals, the cimmerian chantry often skillfully distanced itself from personal responsibility by framing their ceremonies and auguries as divinely inspired, yet ultimately subject to interpretation and mortal will. they emphasized that the will of their goddess, though present in every sign and omen, was far too complex for mere mortals to fully comprehend. ambiguity served as a shield, allowing them to avoid accountability for the unpredictable tides of war. should an augury fail to predict disaster or should violence befall their people, the chantry was quick to remind their subjects that such occurrences, while perhaps hinted at in their rituals, cannot be definitively linked to invidia's direct intentions. by intentionally leaving room for doubt, they ensure that blame cannot fall squarely on their goddess or themselves. this artful deflection not only protected the chantry from backlash but also sustained a mystique of reverence around their practices, where any failure was seen as a human misinterpretation or human error rather than a divine betrayal. by subtly distancing the dark sister from the potentially disastrous outcomes that could arise in saint-arkh's endeavors, they shield themselves from direct blame and deflect scrutiny from those who might otherwise question their role in these terrible misfortunes. the chantry has mastered the delicate art of avoiding accountability by shrouding their ceremonies and auguries in a veil of careful ambiguity. it was a way to sidestep personal responsibility and avoid the very real possibility of martial wrath regurgitating itself back into the form of harsh criticisms towards their tribe's religion. why else would their rituals be full of nuance and cryptic symbolism? according to his father, the chantry was ever adept at skirting the brunt of accountability, couching their auguries and ceremonies in ambiguous interpretations but proclaiming them as sacred acts of divine will, but with the cautious caveat that such visions are subject to the ever-shifting nature of fate. invidia's messages are always cloaked in riddles and require careful discernment. should a battle end in disaster, the chantry claimed it was merely a reflection of mortal missteps, not divine malice. they maintained plausible deniability by constantly emphasizing the unpredictability of the mortal world, cautioning that the tides of war are subject to countless unseen forces. whether that was true or not, talion was unsure, but his father's recent pontifications immediately began to infiltrate his brain upon the grand cleric's careful discernment. he felt a rush of instant unease, one that quickly replaced his pleasant solace from mere minutes ago. while he has never exactly pondered the deeper implications of the chantry's many procedures, witnessing his father's angry ruminations come to life right before his very eyes was unexpectedly enlightening. king burchard had his own opinions about the chantry and their senseless bids for power, ambitious proposals masked behind veils of devout observance and strict adherence to religious etiquette. according to the older man, the chantry may appear to act kindly and dedicated out of pious goodwill, but their motivations are far from pure; whispered commands to the faithful shadow their true intentions, consolidating their influence over the masses. they leverage their position as arbiters of divine will to insert themselves into matters beyond spiritual guidance, subtly guiding the tribe's future under the guise of righteous intervention. the iron fist of authority often blatantly favors religion in the tribe of saint-arkh, so much so that there have been intervals throughout history where the chantry had managed to effectively sink its teeth into the open throats of dozens of tribal figureheads with little to no resistance. the chantry and the crown were supposed to not only fairly represent both aspects of saint-arkh's growing needs but the duality of a monarchy and religious institution. house nocturne could not hope to adequately serve their tribe's religious needs and invidia's divine will on its lonesome, and the chantry could not hope to defend saint-arkh's borders and effectively assimilate warmongering rivals without a strong ruler and military spearheading the charge. in recent decades, it appeared that the chantry has grown increasingly self-centered in how they balance their outside relations. they refused to take accountability for their actions, even if it directly or indirectly led to the deaths of their followers. the dark cardinal desired jurisdiction without the liability that came with ruling over nuanced subjects. there was always a catch involved with calling upon invidia, and his father suspected the blame was not on divine fallacies but mortal greed. his outrage was reasonable, for who was to blame for prince amalric's death if not for the inconsistences and miscalculations of the cimmerian chantry? the auguries all pointed to a positive conclusion in his older brother's desires to push north into the undisputed lands, but the bloody outcome of his venture proved otherwise. unsurprisingly, the dark cardinal and her clerics neither shouldered the liability for amalric's death nor were they too keen on blaming their dire goddess for what happened to him. and if they were not to blame than who was? king burchard had refused his son's combative propositions, but the crown's former royal clergy and the chantry itself approved his reckless plans. the question remained: who was to blame for his death other than the killers themselves? amalric had not migrated north on his own whims. he had been encouraged to pursue his impulsive inclinations, and it was not his royal parents who spurred his carelessness. the chantry's refusal to accept responsibility for any situation that could potentially damage their reputation and standing in saint-arkh only proceeded to further alienate them from the very institution they sought to rub shoulders with.
indentthe chantry's alleged cruelty and cold acts of iniquity were not something talion was scampering to believe, even despite his history with some of its followers. he liked to think that, despite the obvious sordid ambitions and egotistical actions of the establishment's leaders, the chantry truly cared about how they nurtured their relationships with their fellow tribesmen. talion was no stranger to the callousness that sometimes possessed those in power inside the chantry, but his interactions with invidia's devotees have been mostly positive when the entirety of its ranks were taken into account. talion liked to think that kindness was a quality inherent of human nature. it took strength to show consideration to others, as opposed to being insensitive, harmful, or apathetic. most of the clerics and devotees he has interacted with always appeared mindful and sensitive of his esteemed position as a royal lunespawn. if anything, his father's misgivings could very well be synonymous with the dark cardinal and her personal ministry itself, for talion has come across many disciples who appeared to show a genuine interest and care in spreading invidia's gospel. given the sheer differences between him and his father, it was unsurprising that the prince was more openminded in dissecting the chantry's alignment. still, it was chilling to hear lady gwendolyn voice the very same trepidations his father had ruminated over after amalric's death. it was disquieting, agitating, and completely inconsiderate given talion's relationship with the royal family, but he supposed he could not hold it against the grand cleric personally. she was most likely just following the chantry's standardized procedures, a system of formulaic methodology that lunespawn are greatly acquainted with. the cimmerian chantry adhered to standardized procedures for all its rituals and practices, all deeply structured with every aspect of worship meticulously outlined. rituals are often performed at precise times of day, determined by ancient calendars or astronomical signs, ensuring that each ceremony aligned with divine will. clerics would follow strict codes of conduct, wearing specific vestments based on rank and occasion, such as ornately embroidered robes for high holy days, simple unadorned garments for solemn rites or masking headwear for rituals that require precise divine insight (it explained why the divination tent was lightly unnerved by lady gwendolyn removing her headdress). sacred chants, prayers, and hymns were recited in a particular order, using traditional phrasing passed down through generations. every movement during a ritual, from the lighting of candles to the offering of incense, were regulated, ensuring uniformity across all locations of the chantry. even the most mundane tasks, such as cleaning altars or preparing sacred spaces, were subject to ritualized guidelines, emphasizing the holiness of every action. these practices created a sense of continuity and unity within the faith, as followers could visit any localized clergy and experience the same deeply revered process, connecting them to their shared beliefs through the ascendant plane. he could not blame lady gwendolyn or her clerics for what he might perceive as a shallow offense, for they did not know any better. it was unfair to hold every single individual to the standards of their figureheads, and lady gwendolyn has treated him kindly thus far. having turned his attention away from the feeding chickens, the prince retrieved his cold gauntlet from the altar before facing his generals. the subtle hope that flickered through the group was discernible. the last thing they needed was for talion to bring forth his own personal ire and ruin their encouragement, for the auspicious results of the augury was enough to at-least gladden their spirits—even general ghemsari and general balthazar appeared to be in an assenting mood over the resulting adjudication. though cautiously pleased by the favorable omen, they were men of reason and experience, not given to blind trust in divine will. general balthazar, his brow furrowed in thought, tapped his fingers lightly on the hilt of his sword, as if he were weighing the implications of what he just witnessed. the augury brought hope, but it did not replace the need for calculated planning and vigilance, especially in matters of war. their satisfaction was tempered by the knowledge that caution would ensure their success, as well as the confirmed meddling of invidia's favor. invidia's guidance was an advantage, but not a reliable strong suit.
indent"invidia's counsel is most assured in these dark times, but our hope alone will not be a proficient strategy in the weeks ahead. we must proceed carefully, or we risk turning fortune into folly," general balthazar mused as talion approached the group. his commanders began to filter out of the divination tent, embroiled in their own conversations now that they have been informally dismissed by the clergy. "come, my prince. let us return to the command center."
indent
indent
indentinside the royal prince's personal quarters, the contrast between the harsh military encampment and the warmth of home was immediately transparent.
indentthick woolen tapestries, embroidered with the two-headed serpent crest of house nocturne and scenes from their distant homeland, lined the walls of the tent, insulating the interior from the biting cold outside. a rusty wood-burning stove glowed in the far right corner of the tent, radiating heat and casting flickering shadows on the fur-lined floor. low, ornate wooden tables were scattered about, each holding objects that reminded him of home: a crocheted roebuck plushie made by his youngest sister, an intricately carved figurine of his mother's maiden sigil, and a leather-bound journal he has filled with thoughts of comfort during the campaign. in one corner, a plush armchair draped with a heavy fur throw sits beside a small writing desk, where his quill and ink rest amid scattered letters from his siblings. the scent of pinewood burning from the lit incense holders throughout the perimeter mingled with the faint aroma of lavender sachets tucked into the folds of his woolen blankets, offering a touch of familiar comfort. paintings of his current kin and royals from the past lined the walls. an old coffer sat at the foot of his worn cot, packed to the brim with lounge garments and casual attire. thick rugs, layered upon one another, cushion his steps, and his bunk, piled with furs and quilts to make up for its staunch surface, promised warmth against the freezing night outside, an oasis of comfort amidst the cold, militant atmosphere beyond the canvas walls. his squires were careful to avoid slipping on the pile of books and scrolls strewn next to his cot as they fluttered about the royal quarters. standing in front of an old, chipped wall mirror, talion captiously observed his appearance. having returned to his own private tent not too long ago after he and his commanders agreed to return to the command center at first light, his squires immediately began the tedious process of removing his armor upon the prince's request—a mind-numbing and monotonous process that always required at-least two to three helpers. each plate of armor had to be removed by hand, something that talion would not be able to do on his lonesome. his gambeson, an arming doublet and padded defensive jacket that he wore directly beneath his suit, contained reinforced arming points for attaching pieces of his armor that must be undone by hand. there were certain locations on his doublet not covered by plate that had mail goussets sewn into it, such as his elbows and armpits. produced with a sewing technique called quilting, his gambeson was constructed of linen and stuffed with scrap cloth. it cushioned his body and prevented chafing. having already delicately placed his armor's helm atop the wooden display mannequin at the far corner of the tent, his squires worked tirelessly to remove the armor plates from talion's aching form. fingers deftly moved to untie the cold plating of his black suit, starting from the sloping gorget and moving downward. he rolled his shoulders in silent relief as soon as his squires removed his pauldrons, each piece meticulously placed upon the wooden mannequin. he did not speak, for he was more intent on perceiving himself in the mirror than carrying on a dull conversation. standing with his arms outstretched, there was very little about talion that could be considered menacing. his height and strong build were the only truly imposing features about him, but otherwise, he appeared far from the hardened warrior he truly was. his face was smooth, unmarked by the deep lines or scars that often come with years of battle experience, and his youthful appearance betrayed his actual age. emerald eyes, soft and contemplative, lacked the hardened glare of seasoned commanders, while his mild expression rarely shifted into the stern countenance expected of one routinely exposed to the horrors of the wasteland. his temperament was gentle, almost too mollified, which only added to the perception that he was more boyish than battle-worn, despite his martial experience. his softness often led others to underestimate him, viewing him as less of a threat until they witnessed his prowess firsthand. his suit of dark armor, finely crafted with intricate engravings such as the bloody skull of invidia, only added an air of authority to his person when he had it donned. otherwise, he was relatively fresh-faced, with an unfledged and benign quality that was only barely beginning to sour beneath the strenuous weight of the savalow campaign. bags had begun to form under his eyes, and his features appeared almost sunken from a chronic lack of sleep since his arrival in skarrynden. he did not know how they did it. how do tribesmen gain satisfaction from constant war and travel? he could barely keep himself afloat managing a provincial crusade; he could not imagine crossing the border and seeking bloodshed against enemy tribes in their own territories. talion was not one to give up easily, but he could not deny the difficulty that came with trying to manage battle operations the past two months. to think there were people out there who consistently waged carnage and chaos across annexed canada for years on end was baffling to him. according to his kin, the individuals talion has stumbled upon during his brief martial career were nothing compared to the men and women who have forged bloody reputations for themselves throughout the wasteland, both currently and in the past. scourges who sought to not only subdue those in their neighboring provinces but throughout all of canada are warriors you do not want to meet face-to-face in the battlefield. brutality and violence were common elements of the wasteland. there was always going to be someone who operates in a much more crueler fashion than their predecessor. that was just simply the order of things. one tribe becomes inspired from the horrors enacted by another, and they end up duplicating their methods in a much more heinous fashion. it was all about power—who claims the most land for their people, who controls the most resources, who assimilates and destroys those whose way of life contradicts their own. talion did not know where he stood amongst it all. as a prince of house nocturne and a lunespawn of the cimmerian chantry, it was expected that he contribute to saint-arkh's war efforts with unfettered zeal, although he was unsure how useful he truly was in the grand scheme of their conquests. talion was no stranger when it came to the success of eliminating high-profile targets in battle, but he has so far proven himself inept with his pitiful leadership and strategy skills. it was not that he did not know how to connect with other people (sometimes that went poorly as well), but his inexperience in tactical warfare and prudent orchestration left much to be desired. he has always been the soldier, heeding the commands of his superiors. in fact, some of his former victories could be accredited to the fact that he was the one heeding to the authoritative orders of those above him. talion could not help but feel responsible for their recent foundering.
indentthe sudden sound of a voice filtering in from outside the tent caused the prince to jump, sending his squires hopping backwards with subtle exclamations of surprise. when it was clear talion was not lashing out at them, they slowly moved closer to him, young eyes peering at the older man suspiciously. talion looked over his shoulder at the tent's flaps before back to his own reflection in the mirror, his gaze immediately narrowing. he recognized the voice as belonging to lady gwendolyn, the grand cleric who stood by his side during the ceremony earlier. would it be possible to evade her detection if he just remained quiet inside the tent? talion was not keen on entertaining visitors. he was tired, no matter how derisive of an excuse that might sound like to others. well. perhaps that mindset was exactly why his father did not jump at the opportunity to name him his new heir. how many times has his father been interrupted late at night or during moments of quiet reprieve with urgent requests regarding his kingdom? and yet here talion was, already dreading the prospect of speaking to a single cleric. it was almost as if his own inadequacies immediately annoyed him, that quiet voice in the back of his mind that constantly accosted him with the fact he was unworthy at an all time high. with a soft sigh, talion looked over his shoulder again. "come in," he finally relented, a frown briefly crossing his lips over the way his own voice cracked from his acts of stunted silence today. he turned to look at himself in the mirror again as the woman stepped inside his quarters. his squires had already removed his suit's rerebraces, couters, vambraces, and remaining gauntlet; they were in the process of detaching the suit's twisted breastplate, plackart, and fauld. with his back facing the cleric, talion observed her reflection in the mirror. despite his own exasperations, he could not deny the fact that the woman struck his curiosity. what exactly did she want from him? she said she wanted to tend to his injury, but why not stop him before he left the divination tent? lady gwendolyn has so far proven herself to not be nearly as pushy and officious as the woman who once held her spot. she's treated him far more charitably than perhaps her fellow grand clerics would have, although talion could not tell if it was based on mere respect or something much more disquieting. she has not given him a concrete reason as to why he shouldn't entertain her presence, albeit talion was not exactly the type of person who consistently foraged around for reasons not to trust people (perhaps if he did, he'd live a much more comfortable existence). he has met plenty of clerics loyal to the chantry who treated him with due dignity and esteem, although he found that the higher you climb up their hierarchy, the less amenable and placid they become. the chantry's strong-willed and imperious attitude appeared to stem directly from those in control and less from those who were merely eager to serve invidia's will without the power plays involved. he knew nothing about lady gwendolyn other than the fact she and her clergy had been assigned to replace the one king burchard dismissed. talion supposed it would be unfair to judge her and slap his own preconceptions against her image merely based on the interactions he's had with her colleagues. she hasn't done anything to particularly disturb him. if anything, the way she's acted so far made her appear as if she were some sort of anomaly, a divergence from the usual rigid practices of the cimmerian chantry. she had yet to suddenly pummel him with dogmatic decrees or try and force him to submit to her organization's pontifical whims. he wouldn't be surprised if she were treating him the way she was because of the current tension between the chantry and the crown. had she been sent by the dark cardinal to essentially chip away at the royal family's emotional barriers? that old hag will do everything but apologize, talion thought indignantly. the fact he did not exactly know her intentions or why she was treating him the way she was was both unnerving and intriguing.
indent"no," the prince responded curtly to the cleric's mindful question on whether or not he was regularly involved with auguries. his squires carefully stepped away with his breastplate, having spent the past few minutes detaching it from his gambeson. they cautiously squared it away on the mannequin before they helped him to unbind the clasps that kept his arming doublet closed. talion could not help but wince as he slowly shouldered the rigid jacket off of his person, his bare abdomen and upper body now exposed to the elements. an unruly patch of bandages lay plastered against his stomach from when a stray arrow managed to pierce through a vulnerable opening in his plackart. the arrow had punctured his gambeson with ease. despite the injury being a few days old, the dull ache it decided to afflict him with did not seem keen on leaving him alone. the bandages needed to be changed. talion had to resist the urge to prudently poke at the dressing. nevertheless, he was glad to be free from the restrictive touch of the stark gambeson and the upper plating of his armor set. it felt greatly liberating. the prince turned to face lady gwendolyn when he caught sight of her stepping closer to him via the mirror. talion regarded her with an expression that was hard to discern. he did not move to honor her request. while it did not exactly show on his face, he was conflicted. a part of him wanted to immediately reject her, if only because of his apathetic interactions with her fellow grand clerics. her offer was kindly enough, but he did not know what she wanted from him. from what talion knew of this world, people were rarely kindhearted because they truly desired to spread goodwill. there was usually always some sort of catch involved, but talion was not exactly a jaundiced person to begin with. despite what he has gone through in his short time on this earth, he was not entirely chary as to completely reject people based on his own uncertainty. yes, he was cautious, and yes, his dubiousness could easily translate into brusqueness, but that appeared to be more because he was introverted than anything else. he could hold lady gwendolyn accountable based on his own silent resentments against her institution, but how was that productive? it would be like talion suddenly growing bellicose towards her because she unknowingly wounded his family's psychological state earlier in the divination tent. talion would hate to be compared to every lunespawn raised in the cimmerian chantry, so it would probably be prejudiced of him to hold every cleric responsible for the dark cardinal's mistakes. besides, talion has never been the type of person to establish firm boundaries for himself. as shown by his relationship with his mother, his attempts to set boundaries for himself has led to nothing but conflict. according to the chantry, prioritizing the needs of saint-arkh and molding yourself into a self-sacrificing character was virtuous, a necessary trait for any good lunespawn. he did not necessarily know how to reject lady gwendolyn because he has never been taught how, and would it really be fair of him to demean her attempts at helping him? he supposed not. if anything, he would much rather have her tending his needs than one of her ominous clerics. talion hesitated for a moment before he finally looked to his squires. "leave us," he ordered them, his tone mild and not at all unkindly despite the demand. he was still wearing his tassets, cuisses, poleyns, greaves, and sabatons, although it would be significantly easier to remove the bottom plating of his suit himself. he really only needed his squires for the upper half. it was almost strange to look upon the prince, half covered in serrated metal and the other half exposed, revealing the soft flesh of human skin that was normally covered by unnerving armor. it almost appeared as if he were trying to crawl out of the chrysalis that was his reputation as a warmongering lunespawn. as the squires filtered out of the tent, talion inspected her extended hand for a brief second before he slowly raised his own to place in her open palm. he was instantly reminded of how it felt like to hold her hand earlier in the tent and, in a more uncomfortable breadth, the way it felt when she tasted his ichor.

[vaell]

xxxxxＣＡＬＩＳＴＡiiＡＴＨＡＮＡＳＩＯＵ.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe revenant princess of the eidolon.
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indentcalista arched an eyebrow, regarding the lord ascendant with a hint of amusement. judging by the look on her face, she almost seemed surprised by his wariness. "my, so quick to fret," she observed teasingly, a smirk forming on her lips. "it's no scandal, having my sworn shield share a canoe with me. must i really promise you that our reputations would remain unsullied? if anyone takes issue with the matter─your cousin included─it is only they who should be questioned." in typical fashion, calista was quick to deflect the man's hesitation with her own dismissive imprudence. it almost seemed like she found his concern humorous, as if the idea of anyone considering their close company unusual was laughable, what with søren's virtuous status and her own hand being spoken for. besides, she and prince halvor were already making a show of their union by greeting the commonfolk together. the message of solidarity between their two tribes was clear enough. was it really necessary for them to be joined at the hip all the time? there was no escaping the reminder of their marriage alliance, for it was constantly thrust in the faces of their citizens one way or another. at every street corner, garish decorations flaunted the combined heraldry of the mythic dawn and the eidolon, and the only topic of discussion among the lowborn and highborn alike seemed to be that of their future sovereigns. though calista understood the importance of upholding some modicum of propriety, the worries that seemed to plague the lord ascendant did not appear to affect her. she was not the type of person to be caught in uncertainties—she knew exactly what she wanted and what she did not, and her actions were largely guided by her initial impulses and desires, which is partially why søren voicing his own hesitation had almost caught her off guard. having to marry prince halvor did not change the fact that her heart belonged firmly to søren, for no amount of marital obligations or political arrangements could erase what she felt for him. perhaps that is why calista did not appear outwardly perturbed over the matter. the two of them may not be destined for an idyllic, storybook future together in this lifetime but that did not mean all was lost. she and søren could adapt, just as they always have, and there would be no need to sacrifice their relationship. could they not just continue on as they have been? perhaps it was a bit of foolishness and wishful thinking, but calista seemed to be confident that they could overcome even an obstacle of this caliber. the flames of their love would not be put out by a mere puff of wind, not after all it has endured. calista's gaze flickered away from his. the sudden sensation of søren's hand running up her arm was quick to draw her attention, a rush of warmth suddenly spreading from the point of contact at her wrist. she could not help but silently savor the feeling of his touch, a form of gentle intimacy they were rarely allowed to indulge in under normal circumstances. her opposite hand rose to caress his forearm in response, her palm lightly pressing against the sleeve of his leather coat. she offered him a small, reassuring smile to try and put his worries at ease. for a moment, touch became a silent language through which they could communicate their feelings, a tender exchange that spoke volumes without the need for words. their nearness was certainly daring, but it still felt like they were somehow far too removed from one another. she ached for him in a way that was almost painful, their careful proximity enough to send a pang of longing through her body. it was torturous for calista to act with restraint, for mindfulness was not exactly an inherent part of her nature to begin with. she couldn't bear the thought of being stuck in a cramped canoe with prince halvor for the rest of the night─no, she would much rather prefer the lord ascendant's company, even if they were tempting disaster with what licentious tension seemed to be growing between them. it was clear that calista's foolhardy disposition, which often lead to rash, reckless, and precipitous decision making, was only exacerbated by søren's presence. her feelings for him were all-consuming, causing her to immediately throw caution to the wind─a pattern that seemed to be consistent with other aspects of her life governed by intense emotion. what she felt most viscerally often dictated her actions, even to the point where she would commit to a feeling and refuse to back down. unsurprisingly, such was evident in the way she dealt with her interpersonal relationships, familial bonds, matters of statecraft, and even martial campaigning. she was, after all, the same woman who spent years on a warpath fueled solely by retaliation, maiming and subjugating for the redress she so desperately desired but could never seem to achieve. she knew there would be no reparations for what once happened to her as a prisoner of war, and the only way for her to come to terms with her blinding hatred was through retribution disguised as conquest. after reassuming command of the eidolon's forces in the northern heartlands shortly after her recovery, calista quickly became a perilous threat to the safety of those living in eastern manitoba, innocent or not. spending a year consolidating her holdings in the heartlands and pushing the scarlet hand occupancy out of the sioux narrows and back to their strongholds along the border, calista left a detachment of soldiers to garrison the regions she newly conquered in kenora while she advanced westwards. it is said that when the eidolon army first attacked the city of kaemil, a municipality under scarlet hand jurisdiction just down the river from pointe du bois, calista had ordered the death of every resident in the city. she made it clear that she wanted nothing in kaemil to survive, ordering even the extermination of the city's vermin. when the city fell, survivors were, like every other resident of kaemil, beheaded after being pulled from mounds of rubble, piles of bodies, and underground hiding places. calista's men made three piles of skulls from those they'd massacred at kaemil─one pyramid each for men, women, and children. calista herself had sat upon the city's gilded throne and watched as men were dragged before her and executed. apparently, she had called it a memorable day for weeping and shrieking and wailing. calista had all but intended to wipe the city off the map, inflicting carnage upon its residents while overseeing the murdering, pillaging, and wrecking of the ancient city. the revenant princess sought to lure the scarlet hand's main army under commander dukvakha edom into a pitched battle by devastating the region he was named to protect. she had calculated that, if she made a descent into the district beyond, dukvakha would be unable to endure passively watching the devastation of the province and would instead engage her and give her opportunity to attack. though calista had ravaged the city of kaemil, she was ultimately unable to bring the commander up north to battle. this prompted her march to slave falls, one of the most prominent landmarks in manitoba due to its hydroelectric generating facility and sheer power output, hoping her path of destruction would draw him onto the battlefield. while it's true he closely followed her movements, dukvakha refused to let himself be drawn out of the defensive. during her descent to slave falls, calista sieged the prized city of gardemur, a well-known beacon of scholarly prosperity in manitoba. despite the city's overlord sending out numerous envoys, calista was determined on nothing less than unconditional surrender, especially after one of her commanders had been wounded by an arrow during a parley. the sacking of the city was no act of wanton destruction, though it has commonly been presented in that manner. rather, it was a calculated decision to show the consequences of defying the supremacy of the eidolon's reign in the heartlands as well disrespecting their gladiatorial origins. a city resplendent with grand libraries, it is said that dorsevain lake ran black with the ink from the books of the destroyed hall of wisdom, and red with the blood of murdered philosophers. it is even alleged that calista held a celebratory banquet in the city's palace in which she mockingly played host to its overlord. she had placed a vial of ichor on a golden plate before the man—blood collected from his own slaughtered citizens—and she ordered him to drink. when he refused, she asked him why he had not drank gladiatorial blood to give him the strength he needed to face her on the field─and why he had not made the iron doors to his keep into arrow-heads to meet her on the bank of the dorsevain so that she might not have been able to cross it. such was dhaara's will, he had said. she told him that what would befall him next was also the will of his foreign god, then. she subsequently had the city's overlord locked in a cell, where his only option for sustenance was his own people's ichor. refusing to consume the blood of his own, he starved to death in a few days while his whole family and court was executed.
indentcalista's eventual attack on slave falls was met with great resistance. the city of belver was extensively garrisoned and fortified, for even the eidolon had found it difficult to breach its battlements. located near the confluence of the amesstall river and its tributary, both rivers provided manitoba with water for an extensive network of irrigation canals. it served as a buffer zone between the interlake region to the southwest and the land spanning to the border of the heartlands, as well as a junction for major trade routes between their capital city and the rest of the province. the scarlet hand was already weakened by the previous events on their eastern frontier as calista took control of their territories and began to establish hegemony over their citizens, causing great instability throughout the region. though she strategically chose to lay siege to the city due its power supply, the conflict between the city's ruling family and her own dated much further back. before the war of the blood diamonds, the previous occupants of manitoba─the stone hounds, a tribe later succeeded by the scarlet hand─were not always on poor terms with the eidolon. it was only when the city of belver received a trading caravan of a few hundred eidolon merchants bringing in a large amount of luxury goods such as furs, gold, silver, and silk that their relationship took a turn for the worse. these merchants were accused of espionage and ordered to their deaths by lord drozd, the city's overlord, who appropriated their goods for himself. granted, lord drozd's charge of espionage was probably somewhat accurate (as both the eidolon and the stone hounds were known to use merchants and diplomats as spies during that era), but the execution of the merchants at belver served as a casus belli in queen juno's eyes, provoking the first war between the eidolon and its manitoba neighbors. under juno's rule, envoys were considered to have implied protection, and as such any slight done to them demanded vengeance or reparations. hence, it did not help much that lord drozd later humiliated the eidolon envoys sent to repair relations. this dispute lead to major economic warfare, as the stone hounds controlled all the routes in manitoba beyond belver, leaving the eidolon essentially cut off from trading partners in the west. juno had prepared for war after her diplomatic overtures had been rebuffed, and it seemed that calista was determined to continue her grandmother's martial efforts against the tribes of manitoba. having forded several rivers and receiving reinforcement from allies, calista sent two of her commanders to besiege belver while she herself stayed across the amesstall river to lay a trap for the city's leading general. if their general came forward to engage the besieging eidolon forces, calista could have crossed the river and annihilated his army. unfortunately, he did not take the bait. the revenant princess had to be content with changing her plans, and because the siege of belver had proved quite lengthy, she even had to split her forces, sending a detachment northwards to capture cities along the amesstall while she herself marched south with a small force to launch a surprise attack on the holy city of samarkand. known for having one of the highest populations of slavers and gladiatorial captives in all of manitoba, samarkand was a city that represented everything she sought to destroy. there, they held her people in chains to pleasure themselves and appease their depraved god. calista had all but launched a multi-pronged assault on the scarlet hand's empire, repeatedly striking further into the province as a result of emperor nazar's plans to defend his major cities individually with distributed garrison troops throughout the province. located far from the border of the heartlands, the city of samarkand must have had fewer than fifteen thousand soldiers to defend it, as it was a city considered far from the presumed theater of war. the scarlet hand had anticipated that calista may attack further west, where both nazar's field army and the garrison stationed at samarkand could relieve a siege. caught by surprise by the eidolon, and after a failed sortie (conducted solely by auxiliary troops and not the city garrison, and therefore possibly just an attempt to flee), the outer city had been surrounded within a few days but religious devotees and loyalists continued to defend the citadel for a few weeks before it was breached and taken. having entered the liberated city, calista was recorded to have given a speech during their day of holy worship as she walked among broken chains and shackles scattered underfoot. o people of samarkand, know that you have committed great sins against mine own, she had said. if you ask me what proof i have for these damning words, i say it is because i am the punishment of your beloved god. if you had not committed such sins, dhaara would not have sent a punishment like me upon you. the resistance in the citadel would prove detrimental to the rest of samarkand, for calista's men set fire to the city in an attempt to flush the holdouts, and since a number of structures in the city were wooden, most of samarkand was reduced to cinders. although her army killed everybody in the citadel and enslaved most of the city's population to fight as gladiators, the population had not been wholly exterminated, unlike other cities calista had attacked such as kaemil or belver. instead the eidolon conscripted those of fighting age into their forces, using them as human shields as the revenant princess systemically sought to besiege and take every major city in nazar's empire. her tales of conquest in the easternmost portions of manitoba were remarkably vile and abhorrent in nature, for each innocent life lost meant nothing to her in the grand scheme of things. the war against the scarlet hand was deeply personal to calista, and she had spent much of her adulthood pouring her hatred and fury into her war efforts to dismantle their tribe and capture their land. she wanted so badly what she never seemed to be able to achieve no matter how much bloodshed she caused: true justice. commander dukvakha edom had her in his enthrallment when she had only just emerged from girlhood and scarred her in ways incomprehensible to the human mind, and her search for vengeance would never be fulfilled until he received punishment by death for his crimes against her. major military efforts were taken by calista to conquer the heavily fortified interlake region where, after sending envoys to the province's major cities nearly four times to demand submission to the eidolon, the scarlet hand repeatedly ignored her demands. apparently, calista had even begun a correspondence between nazar and demanded he peacefully submit and send his three principle ministers to the city of belver (which she now occupied)─all three refused, and three less important officials were sent instead. nazar's reply to her letters called the revenant princess young and ignorant, and he presented himself as able to summon armies from north and west should she attempt invasion. combined with the fact that her envoys were exposed to taunting and mockery from mobs on the streets of their cities, calista had been quick to lose her patience and immediately consulted her advisors on the practicalities of attacking manitoba's most secure district. she simultaneously summoned a council of war, intending to disperse her commanders to carry out different tasks along the interlake region so they could begin launching their first assault on the walls of fort ironcross. similar to their strategy in slave falls, the eidolon sought to attack major vulnerable points in the region. as a result, the hydroelectric generating facilities on lake winnipeg became a prominent target for their war efforts. calista intended to conquer the scarlet hand under the pretense of eradicating them for what they have done to her people throughout history, but in truth she was only seeking vengeance for herself. selfish or not, she wanted to bring nazar and his commanders to task for their crimes against her. while calista sought to advance─admittedly becoming overconfident after her continuous successes─the scarlet hand had assembled a coalition with tribes in saskatchewan, who would eventually join nazar's forces to bolster his army. meanwhile, commander dukvakha edom had been unexpectedly defeated at the battle of fort ironcross, forcing him to retreat south. calista had deployed her forces to pin the scarlet hand against lake winnipeg, for she personally commanded the reserve to make sure the commander would not be able to break through eidolon lines and escape. at that point, her army had outnumbered his by a large margin, but her own was exhausted from their forced march across the region. although many men were lost during the initial attack on the interlake region, the eidolon managed to break the scarlet hand's forces and among those captured was one of dukvakha's generals. calista personally executed the man by first having his teeth individually pulled from his gums before leaving him to rot in shackles beneath the city of belver. she had stripped him of what he used to prey on his victims with, a death considered wildly humiliating for those in the scarlet hand. it was around this time during which she was suddenly called to action by her lady cousin lucina, who wrote of a brewing threat in the form of the northlanders of black river. calista never even read lucina's initial request for support; she had cast the parchment into the hearth, just as she always did with letters stamped with the stavropoulos rose. what managed to interrupt calista's single-minded zeal was a letter that arrived a fortnight later stamped with queen anastasia's personal seal, a summons demanding she return to the capital with haste. though finally on the precipice of the victory she had always wanted for herself, calista was begrudgingly forced to pull away and return to the heartlands while her commanders assumed control of her military efforts in manitoba. at the time, calista had been unwaveringly determined to stay in manitoba to finish what she had started. she had been so close to finally facing dukvakha─at that point it was well-known knowledge that she had personally claimed his life as her own take upon the battlefield─and duty had compelled her to temporarily withdraw from the war. it was a frustrating feeling to say the least. not quite keen on letting go of her promise to take his life, she demanded that should the commander be captured, he must be imprisoned and brought to her alive. of course, calista's proclamations were met with vile ones of his own, particularly with reference to her belonging to him.
indenthaving devoted nearly the entirety of her twenties to conquest abroad in manitoba, it's no surprise calista did not want to cross the heartlands border until she settled her own score with the scarlet hand. it was irking, how no matter what she did─no matter how many innocents she brought to slaughter or cities she razed to come close to her tormentor─dukvakha always seemed mockingly out of reach. his very existence was a foul stain and a part of her knew she would never rest until she eliminated him. but would she actually find happiness after his death, a reprieve from the disgust and animus that gripped her heart? it was hard to say. what happened to her in the past could not be undone, though surely seeing him brought to justice would give her some semblance of peace, would it not? calista liked to think that the horrors she inflicted upon those who stood in her way were justifiable, but deep down, she questioned whether defeating the scarlet hand would ever truly fulfill her. a part of her died at their hands and would likely never come back, not even after they were eradicated from annexed canada, and that was a hard notion to come to terms with. the worst part of it all was that she couldn't discern where her fixation began and ended. in all likelihood, her hatred would only start with the destruction of the scarlet hand and then quickly shift further west to saskatchewan, since they too had allied themselves with that inhumane tribe. there was no telling if the revenant princess would ever be satisfied, and that alone should be a deeply disturbing notion for the rest of the country to stomach. after a moment passed, calista's hand glided up søren's forearm, her fingers brushing against his knuckles. her touch was light as she found his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against her own. still perched upon the lord ascendant's shoulder, talos watched the pair with keen eyes, as if curious about their closeness. calista's gaze met søren's with a hint of vulnerability, her usual demeanor of confident authority having softened a bit. being so physically close to him, she couldn't help but reflect on the nature of their separation. "it's curious," she mused softly, her voice barely rising above the hum of the marketplace, "time seems to stretch so much when we're apart, don't you agree?" calista lowered her eyes, her thumb gently caressing the back of his hand—a small but intimate gesture of her deep-seated affection toward the man, yet subtle enough to avoid attracting undue notice. she seemed to pause before speaking again, her cheeks flushing slightly as she searched for the right words. "should i be honest... i fear i've missed you more than i can admit, my lord." the revenant princess hesitated before meeting his gaze again. she would not have been able to voice her feelings so freely if it weren't for their close proximity and the lively hum of the marketplace. calista has always found solace in søren, whether or not their line of correspondence proved consistent throughout the years. he probably didn't even realize how his words often tethered her to some semblance of stability, for sometimes his letters were her only anchor amidst the chaos of war. each message from the lord ascendant became a lifeline that prevented her from plunging into an abyss of her own making. in moments where the weight of her relentless pursuit for vengeance threatened to overwhelm her, his words served as a grounding force, pulling her away from the edge of complete emotional and mental collapse. he reminded her of her humanity and her existence beyond the cycle of destruction she was enmeshed in, his own personal briefings offering a fleeting but crucial respite from the anger and grief she often faced alone. though she never explicitly expressed her reliance on him, she did frequently convey her longing for him in great detail, weaving subtle declarations of affection between accounts of her military successes. when it came to her own personal pursuits, calista was often candid in her letters─she never stated that she waged war against manitoba in a desperate attempt to cleanse herself of her own defilement, but it was certainly an unspoken truth that lingered between the lines. the revenant princess cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder, noting prince halvor disappearing further down the street, seemingly headed toward the city square. turning her attention back to søren, she hesitantly let her hand drop from his. her fingertips slowly slid away from his sleeve, as if reluctant to part from the warmth of his skin. if søren truly was concerned about appearances, then it would be unwise for them to stray far from the crown prince. in particular, she needed to make a conscious effort to remain by prince halvor's side until they reached the waters of lake huron. still, she was grateful that she and the lord ascendant could traverse the market streets together until she caught up to her betrothed. calista raised her elbow to signal talos to return to her, a gesture the falcon was trained to take immediate notice of. talos cocked his head to the side, opening his wings to thrust himself from the lord ascendant and to her. upon landing, his talons grappled with the fur pelt on her shoulders for a moment before he found a comfortable position to perch. the falcon's dark, penetrating gaze landed on the lord ascendant again, watching him from his newfound vantage point. the revenant princess began to take a step away from søren, meaning to leave behind their relatively secluded spot at the edge of the street. "come, lord ascendant," she ordered above the din of the marketplace, a somewhat waggish smile crossing her features as she looked back at him. "walk the streets with me."
indenttheir presence in the bustling marketplace seemed to command a quiet respect from the city's commonfolk. crowds on the busy cobblestone streets parted slightly as they walked among the stalls and their colorful awnings. even though the sky above approaching dusk, casting a warm, amber glow over the city, the merchant quarter was still humming with activity. orphaned children scurried between vendor stands, their laughter mingling with the calls of merchants hawking their wares. fabrics were draped over tables showcasing ceramics such as decorative clay tiles adorned with geometric patterns or mythological scenes and intricately designed amphorae—large, clay vessels used for storing liquids like olive oil and wine. their surfaces were decorated with interlocking shapes and spirals in shades of scarlet, ebony, and ochre, creating a contrast against the natural beige of the clay. some vases even depicted the eidolon's gods and goddesses, their forms entwined with ivy and grapevines that wound around the cylindrical necks of the vessels. at another corner of the marketplace, a weaver could be spotted expertly transforming wool into richly patterned syndones—fine cloths often used for draping or decoration. perched on calista's shoulder, talos observed the bustling environment with both curiosity and vigilance. the constant flow of people was a source of fascination for the alert bird. his sharp eyes followed the sudden movements of the commonfolk and the animated gestures of vendors. raucous cheers from nearby street performances or the clamor of haggling merchants quickly drew his attention, causing him to swivel his head toward any unexpected noises or movements. calista herself seemed to be just as engrossed in the happenings of the marketplace, the intricate golden clasps in her dark hair glinting in the waning rays of sunlight whenever she turned her head to look around. each new stall seemed to draw her attention, whether it was a display of glistening olives or a vendor showcasing their whittled wooden statues. her fingers often brushed against different textiles and fabrics or the smooth surfaces of pottery as she examined the variety of wares on display. occasionally, her gaze would drift over to søren, a faint smile crossing her features whenever their eyes met. even when they walked the streets her fingers would 'accidentally' bump against his hand every now and then, a fleeting but intentional touch that could be dismissed on account of their close proximity and the busy streets (for she refused to have him trail behind her like a glorified bodyguard). the sight of a growing crowd further down the street eventually piqued her curiosity, causing her to drift away from the stall she was currently perusing. the throng of people ahead appeared to be unusually captivated by something. the revenant princess cast a curious glance at søren, silently indicating that they should head in that direction. when the two approached the source of the commotion, they would quickly discover that the crowd had gathered around a traveling troubadour. calista cautiously edged closer, positioning herself at the periphery of the crowd to catch the performance without drawing too much attention to herself or the lord ascendant. the troubadour stood atop a makeshift platform draped in vibrant fabrics, elevating himself slightly above the crowd. he was clad in a flamboyant ensemble of colors—crimson reds, emerald greens, and sapphire blues—with a feathered cap perched jauntily on his head, its multicolored plumes bobbing with each movement of his head. the man exuded charm and theatrical flair. with a straight, slightly angular nose and a strong jawline, his features seemed to be suited for the dramatic expressions of a performer. the man's mouth was curved into a wide grin as he strummed his lute, framed by a well-groomed mustache and a neatly trimmed beard, and his eyes almost seemed to hold a glint of mischief in them. calista watched him carefully from the relatively distant position she and søren had taken to. at first, she assumed he was weaving tales of heroism and romance that captivated the commonfolk, but even despite being midway through his performance it was not difficult for her to pick up what he was actually singing about. in fact, the biting nature of the troubadour's lyrics quickly became apparent. "...our lady of the blade, whose mind's accused to be a stormy sea, and the foreign prince, who delights in war's relentless spree...together they make quite the pair, in valor and in fight, but what of governance and guile, where strategy takes flight? oh, how they love their battles and glory's sweet song, yet neither knows the realm's right from wrong! a match so keen for battle, yes, but pray tell, where will wisdom fit in? while they wield their swords and seek the fray, the future of our land will be tossed like chaff in the night! now, you wonder─will their grand alliance bring peace or dread, or will their love for battle leave the realm dead? well i say their vision of grandeur seems to be one built on the past!" unsurprisingly, the marriage alliance between the mythic dawn and the eidolon seemed to be at the forefront of his spectacle. calista's expression remained composed, though her eyes narrowed slightly at his veiled criticisms. for the most part, the troubadour's mockery did not seem to affect her outward demeanor. "so let us toast to this union, so bold and brash! to the princess and the prince, a marriage of warriors, destined to crash! may their reign be swift, for it surely won’t last!" the onlookers appeared to be thoroughly entertained by the man's audacious performance, for as soon as his final note reverberated through the air, the crowd erupted into a chorus of laughter. some spectators more readily displayed their mirth whereas others exchanged knowing glances and stifled giggles. the troubadour seemed to bask in the crowd's reaction, his smile widening with each burst of laughter. he exaggerated his bow, taking in the audience's response with theatrical pride. his performance had clearly achieved its intended effect, turning the public spectacle into a moment of pointed satire and communal amusement. despite the ripple of amusement among the commonfolk and their clear enjoyment of the troubadour's jabs, calista's reaction was one of careful restraint. she did not scowl over his display of public derision, painting her and prince halvor as inept and their marriage as doomed. she recognized the troubadour's performance for what it was—a reflection of the broader cultural clash and public sentiment concerning the alliance between the mythic dawn and the eidolon—but she refused to let it unsettle her. "shall we move on?" calista suddenly suggested, her tone coming off more curt than she intended. without awaiting an answer, calista stepped past the lord ascendant, guiding the man away from the crowd before the troubadour could take notice of their appearances.
indentin truth, calista was not particularly perturbed by the troubadour's demeaning words. after all, it wasn't the first time she's heard thinly veiled criticisms made against her character. in the past, poets and bards usually reserved words for her that carried an undercurrent of sharpness that pricked at old wounds, an unwelcome reminder of her past struggles and the pervasive rumors surrounding her future rule over the heartlands. this time, she supposed she should be thankful that the troubadour's critique had been confined to their marriage alliance rather than delving deeper into her past. it was a relatively tame form of mockery compared to the more personal assaults she has endured. besides, the man's performance was nothing more than a fleeting spectacle, a momentary eruption of public sentiment that would likely fade as quickly as it had appeared. what did leave her with a sense of unease was the public's fascination with the implications of her marriage with prince halvor, a subtle reminder of the challenges she would have to face in uniting their disparate tribes. granted, such displays were part and parcel of her position—an inevitable aspect of navigating the complex web of politics and public opinion, she supposed. having moved away from the taunting echoes of the troubadour's song, she and the lord ascendant entered the city square, leaving behind the streets of the merchant quarter for now. the heart of the city was framed by majestic colonnades, their towering marble columns arranged in a mix of doric and corinthian styles. these columns supported a series of open porticoes that offered shade and respite from the sweltering sun in the peak of summer. on one side of the square, the grand basilica of gore bay served mainly as a law court. its high, arched entrance was flanked by imposing columns, and its roof was adorned with elaborate friezes depicting scenes of historical and mythological significance. adjacent to the basilica was the temple of the gods, a stunning structure dedicated to the pantheon of deities revered by the eidolon. its pediment was adorned with sculpted reliefs of gods and goddesses, and its outer walls are lined with decorative pilasters and statues. hidden behind a set of grand double doors, the temple's central courtyard held an open-air altar where ceremonial rites and offerings could be made. surrounding the city square, promenades provided spaces for leisure and reflection among the citizens of gore bay. the city square often served as the culminating venue for the eidolon's celebratory military processions, whereby victorious martial officers could enter the city by the western gate and circumnavigate the liontári cliff before proceeding into the square. statues and monuments commemorated the city's leaders, albeit with some exceptions─missing was any acknowledgement of juno athanasiou and her murderous aunt, the pretender queen antigone athanasiou. positioned close to the grand colonnades, calista and the lord ascendant were afforded a clear view of the square's prominent landmarks while the sweeping arcades provided them with a measure of solitude amidst the public's ongoing bustle. calista observed søren from the corner of her eye now that their journey through the city streets had come to a natural halt. the revenant princess had remained silent about the troubadour's performance since they departed the marketplace, her lips pressed into a thin line as they made their way through the bustling city streets. her lack of comment was deliberate; she was not inclined to discuss the matter further, knowing søren well enough to trust that he would not press her on it. the only reason she felt a flicker of discomfort over the troubadour's performance was due to the realization that søren, and indeed many others, had heard tales of her so-called incompetence—stories that often painted her past struggles in a less-than-flattering light. it was frustrating, not because the troubadour's mocking had hit too close to home, but because she was weary of being judged by the mistakes of her youth. the relentless scrutiny of her early years seemed to overshadow the person she had become and the responsibilities she now carried. the troubadour's song, while degrading, had dredged up memories of the judgments she had faced for years. calista was all too aware that many viewed her through the lens of her youthful indiscretions—times when her defiance of established rules led to both scandal and controversy. in her earlier years, her refusal to adhere to the traditional codes of conduct during gladiatorial games had marked her as impulsive and rash. she had often bent or outright ignored the rules, driven by a fierce independence that both captivated and alarmed her contemporaries. her first martial campaign had been a disaster too, a stark reminder of her inexperience and the consequences of her rashness. this early misstep had only fueled the perception that she was ill-suited for leadership—an impression that clung to her despite her subsequent efforts to prove otherwise. the fact that her earlier actions in life continued to shape public perception was a source of ongoing irritation for calista. despite her maturity, she remained tethered to the image of someone whose impulsiveness and rebelliousness had led to failure. the troubadour's mocking proclamations felt like she was being pulled back into a narrative she had long moved beyond. the continual need to prove herself, to be evaluated based on outdated perceptions rather than her present capabilities, was exasperating. each time a new critic emerged, it felt like she was forced to revisit old battles, rehashing conflicts and decisions that had shaped her past but no longer defined her future. it wasn't the sting of the jabs that bothered her, but the persistence of the narrative that she was still the same impulsive, inexperienced girl she had once been. the public's penchant for clinging to outdated judgments was a recurring irritation—one that, despite her accomplishments and growth, seemed to persistently haunt her. the troubadour's performance had simply been another instance of this unwelcome reminder, a spectacle that drew attention to the disconnect between her current self and the lingering perceptions of her past. calista briefly looked away from the lord ascendant and to the crown prince of the mythic dawn, standing only a few paces across from them in the square. unfortunately, it seemed like her and søren would have to part ways sooner than later. still, calista couldn't resist one final attempt to entice the lord ascendant. "well, my lord," she purred, the familiar flicker of mischief dancing in her eyes as she briefly drew closer to him. "i do hope you're not planning to turn down my offer after all," she said, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she stepped out from beneath the colonnades, purposefully brushing past søren. "it would be quite disappointing if you didn't join me on the lake. besides," she added with a more pointed tone, "i don't take kindly to being let down." her words carried a suggestive edge, almost a veiled threat alluding to something more salacious. the corner of her mouth curled into a playful half-smile as she regarded him. calista made a point of looking back over her shoulder as she departed from his side, her gaze deliberately lingering on him for a moment before she returned to prince halvor. calista quickly adjusted her expression to a more appropriate smile as she came into the crown prince's presence, masking her reluctance to leave søren's side. she greeted prince halvor with polite, albeit feigned, interest in his enjoyment of the city, as though she had not been biding time at different stalls to try and prolong her and søren's inevitable separation prior to arriving to the city square. the forced pleasantries between them were quickly growing tiresome, and her act of pretending to care was equally draining, especially when her thoughts were consumed by the desire to spend the rest of the evening with søren.

indentindentindentindentindentindentindentindentindent──

indentlake huron's extensive shoreline was a mix between rugged, rocky outcroppings made up from the precambrian canadian shield and long stretches of glacial deposits of sand and gravel. typically the lakefront was bustling with fishermen preparing boats, mending nets, or unloading catches, but tonight the turquoise waters were relatively placid, disturbed only by the occasional dip of oars or the gentle gliding of canoes and rowboats. lanterns made from delicate, translucent material hung from trees and boats alike. the setting sun had cast a warm, golden hue over the lake, with the water's surface reflecting the dusk sky in a blend of coral, tangerine, and mauve. gentle waves caught and scattered the waning sunlight, making the lake's surface glisten as if sprinkled with tiny flecks of gold. the occasional call of a loon echoed across the lake, a mournful and eerie cry amidst the joyful sounds of celebration. along the shoreline, the silhouettes of trees and distant bluffs stood dark against the sky, their outlines softly blurred in the twilight. calista crossed her arms across her chest as she surveyed the waters from the shoreline. the breeze off the lake carried a cool edge, a reminder that winter had come to gore bay just as it had any other territory. each new gust caused the cloak on her shoulders to shift slightly. her attention flickered to the canoe beached on the shore in front of her, water rhythmically lapping against its partially submerged stern. handcrafted by skilled artisans in gore bay, the canoe itself was a striking example of eidolon craftsmanship. it boasted a sleek, elongated shape with a gently curved bow and stern, providing ample space while maintaining an elegant, streamlined profile. equipped with a pair of finely crafted oars stored in dedicated holders, the canoe had been treated with a luxurious alabaster finish, enhancing the wood's natural grain while providing a glossy surface. the pristine white base contrasted with the gold and navy blue ribbons adorning the vessel. ornamental carvings and inlays inspired by house athanasiou's coat of arms were carefully carved into the sides and the bow, further signifying the regality of those who boarded it. calista glanced at talos. the falcon was still perched on her shoulder, his sharp eyes scanning the lakefront with keen interest. it seemed more appropriate to allow him the luxury of flying overhead rather than remaining by her side for the duration of their time on the water. calista brushed a careful hand against his feathers, signaling him to prepare for takeoff. extending her arm slightly away from her body in a slow, open motion, she gave a clear cue for the falcon to initiate flight. "go, talos," she urged him gently. the falcon responded with a graceful yet powerful takeoff. unfolding his wings and pushing off from her shoulder, talos ascended rapidly into the sky, leaving calista and the shoreline of lake huron behind. her gaze followed the bird with a hint of admiration. with a few powerful thrusts of his wings, talos soared upward, cutting through the crisp evening air with ease. his initial burst of speed was a reminder of his incredible aerial agility. peregrine falcons were among the fastest non-mutated creatures in annexed canada, probably even reaching speeds exceeding two hundred miles per hour in a stoop. even in level flight, talos' speed was evident as he glided effortlessly over the lake, scanning for points of interest or prey. from her vantage point along the shoreline, calista watched as the falcon began to circle above, soaring gracefully and commanding the vast expanse of the sky. his airborne presence was marked by a series of distinctive vocalizations that sounded out across the extensive body of water. the falcon let out a piercing cry, a sharp sound that echoed across the lake in warning, reflecting his active surveillance of the territory below. a slight smile crossed her face. talos would surely seek out any birds foraging near the water's edge while she was preoccupied with canoeing, likely satisfying his appetite on waterfowl, shorebirds, or songbirds. after a moment passed, calista turned her gaze away from the sky. she was truly on her lonesome now, as prince halvor had already left her side once they reached the waters. much like she'd anticipated, the man seemed to be far more keen on heading out on lake huron rather than waiting upon her. at-least he gave her an easy way out, she supposed, for she no longer had to find a reason to leave his side. after ordering the pair of guards flanking her to remain where they stood, calista temporarily abandoned the canoe to retrieve the lord ascendant, whom she suspected would be found slightly apart from the shoreline bustle. she couldn't help but find it somewhat nostalgic, setting out to spend time on the water again with søren. for calista, the waters of lake huron have always been steeped in the simplicity of a bygone era in her life. as a girl she had a cherished ritual of bringing søren to the lakefront at the break of dawn. the first light of day would paint the water in shades of gold, making it seem as though the mist rising from its surface was almost ethereal. though a pleasant sight to behold, their mornings at lake huron were not usually just about watching the sun rise─they were often a prelude to adventures that would lead them beyond the lake's shores, the result of calista's natural propensity toward exploration and ventures. their destinations were varied and intriguing—sometimes the bustling harbor town of draipool with its lively markets and prominent landmarks, or the serene siphnos island with its secluded beaches and lush landscapes. these trips were more than mere escapades; they strengthened their growing bond as youths and provided a refuge from the constraints of their individual lives, even if brief. as adolescents, calista had always been the more spirited of the pair. she would often lead søren along with her to a few remote locations, typically gravitating toward hidden grottos, lush meadows, secluded freshwater lakes, or waterfalls. she'd usually be the first one to step into the misty spray, her laughter blending with the roar of the falls. the difference in the way they used to conduct themselves had been quite apparent at the time. calista embraced the thrill of adventure and preferred spontaneity to predictability, and it was evident in the way her face used to light up with exhilaration as she stood beneath torrents of water, calling out for søren to come join her. she would often challenge him in good-natured competitions─a type of engagement that went beyond mere camaraderie, her playfulness quickly becoming the manifestation of her growing affection for him. in moments of quiet, she would often find herself stealing glances at søren, her heart racing not just from the exertion of their games but from the emerging emotions she felt toward him. as they rested on the shore together or sat beneath the waterfall's mist, her proximity to him, the fleeting touches, and the way she sought his gaze were all subtle indicators of her adoration. her feelings had grown intertwined with her desire to be close to him, to share in the excitement of their adventures together. calista had not been the type of person to overtly declare her feelings back then but they were certainly woven into the fabric of their shared experiences as adolescents.
indentcalista approached the lord ascendant as soon as she spotted him, the sound of small stones crunching beneath her boots with each step she took. she made her way across the sandy expanse of the lakeshore, where the beach gradually gave way to a dense fringe of dense trees. the late evening sun cast a warm glow on søren's golden mask, making it shimmer slightly. "enjoying the view, are we?" she remarked lightly, her gaze briefly flickering toward the shoreline. some commonfolk were strolling along the shores, while others pushed their decorated canoes into the gentle waves, boarding the vessels for a peaceful evening outing. a faint smile touched her lips at the sight. though she harbored reservations about the marriage alliance between their tribes, calista was undeniably pleased that the celebrations had brought søren back to the heartlands. such opportunities to bridge the distance that separated them were rare, given the domestic and regional responsibilities that often consumed their lives. her betrothal to prince halvor almost seemed less imminent in the lord ascendant's presence, like whatever diplomatic arrangements tied her and the crown prince together were merely inconsequential. with søren around, the harsh realities of her situation felt momentarily diminished, reduced to a distant concern, an abstraction she could mentally distance herself from. he made her temporarily forget the binding nature of her circumstances, for better or for worse, and such was clear by the way calista acted. rather than engage with prince halvor or fulfill her formal duties as his betrothed, calista instead sought out søren, hoping to share a quiet moment with him on the lake. in her defense, the lack of effort she made with halvor was reflected in the prince's own minimal attempts to connect with her. granted, she found his inattention relieving rather than troubling. either calista did not recognize the impending finality and seriousness of her future marriage with the prince, or she was simply refusing to acknowledge the prospect of being wed to him altogether. regardless, how she was handling her resentment toward her circumstance was certainly not sustainable in the long run, nor would it do her any favors when it came to finally sealing the alliance between the eidolon and the mythic dawn. in all likelihood, she would probably see her delusions through right until the finish line. being relatively absent from the trivialities of court life for a considerable chunk of her adulthood made it all the more difficult for her to take the notion of something as permanent as arranged marriage seriously. her missing presence in gore bay for years at a time cultivated a sense of detachment from the more mundane aspects of her responsibilities. it was strange to think about─how while the revenant princess had been preoccupied warring in manitoba, suitors had simultaneously been appealing to queen anastasia in order to lay claim to her eldest daughter and the privileges of the hallowed throne. calista's streak of independence, though once a source of pride, now seemed to complicate her acceptance of the arranged marriage beyond just that of her feelings for the lord ascendant. calista looked away from lake huron, turning her attention back to søren. it was evident that her desire to remain in his company was not just a fleeting escape but a deeper indication of her struggle with the permanence of her betrothal. she did not like to think she was just a vessel for her queen mother's diplomatic aspirations but that was certainly how it felt when she was first announced betrothed to prince halvor. she supposed she was not surprised by her mother's change of attitude toward their cultural practices regarding the freedom of taking on a king consort. after all, anastasia would not be judged by the masses─she was the one who restored her citizen's faith in the athanasiou ruling family shortly after juno's tragic death. her ascension to the throne captured the adoration of her subjects because she had freed them from a period of economic stagnation and political discontentment, a time during which the heartlands was ruled by a woman who wanted her own glory at the expense of the wellbeing of her people and diplomatic relationships. it's no wonder anastasia was so beloved when she first came into power. the people saw her as a savior, relieving what horrendous suffering juno had caused over the span of her reign. it is also why most eidolon nobility seem to have faith in allying with the mythic dawn through marriage. anastasia has become a trusted figure among the general populace, a queen who successfully improved the state of the heartlands as a whole. as a result, the eidolon's political affairs with their eastern neighbors were largely respected by the royal court. at times calista could not help but feel resentful of her mother and the ease at which she earned the adoration of the masses. while certainly respected for her gladiatorial career in gore bay, calista's perceived competence often teetered in the public eye, much unlike her mother's own reputation. some liked to claim the revenant princess was possessed by the vengeful furies of erinyes or eumenides, while others detested the notion, arguing with those who dare suggest that house athanasiou might be tainted by instability. if her mother thought it was intelligent to wed her to prince halvor, what with calista's supposed maniae, then she supposed the older woman did not heed such foul rumors─though it seemed doubtful. it pained her as much as it frustrated her to feel her mother's silent judgment, as though calista were not her own person but rather a reflection of a tyrannical queen who long succumbed to megalomania. her resentment toward her mother added another layer of tension between her longing for personal freedom and the pressure of her royal duties as heir, creating an unease that she would need to confront eventually. for now though, calista chose to embrace søren's presence, even if that meant temporarily turning a blind eye to her responsibilities. "i expect you're still willing to join me? unless, of course, you've suddenly grown cold feet." she smirked slightly, her words laced with a playful challenge, as if daring him to back out now. "come now, there's an empty spot in my canoe waiting just for you, my lord." she flashed a teasing smile at him before taking a step back, her eyes glinting with anticipation. calista began to slowly retreat towards her beached canoe, her grey cloak billowing gently behind her. it was yet to be seen whether aömwé would join them on the canoe or not. there was certainly some space for the owl-bear cub to accompany them, though she had no idea how well the creatures fared on open waters. with a final glance over her shoulder to ensure søren was following, she reached the canoe and gently grasped its sides, ready to push it back into the water. the revenant princess seemed to pay no mind to the shallow waters threatening to dampen the hem of her skirts.

[vaell]

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe royal advisor to the arkhian crown.
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indentgwen subtly tracked his squires' departure from the corner of her eye with a critical, almost impatient gaze.
indentthe grand cleric's fingers curled around the prince's hand when it finally settled in her own, her grip light as she inspected his injury. the cut itself was surrounded by a red halo of irritated skin, congealed blood clinging to the raw edges of the wound. her eyes narrowed with feigned concern at the sight of the ritualistic gash marring his palm, though her expression was fast to change. time for the theatrics. a flash of mild embarrassment suddenly crossed her features, as if the sight of his cut had just made her realize she had yet to express her gratitude toward him. her gaze quickly flickered away from his hand. "how inconsiderate of me..." she whispered to herself, clearly appalled by her own oversight. her eyes hesitantly met his own, her brows knitted together just enough to suggest a hint of worry, seemingly in fear of already having earned his disapproval somehow. "it appears i have not yet thanked you, have i? you must forgive me, your highness. i do not want you to think me discourteous, though i suppose it certainly might look that way. your contribution to the augury was, of course, tremendous, and i do not just mean by offering of holy blood. your presence... it had a profound impact on your officers too. i saw it with my own eyes." gwen internally winced at her own superficial display of remorse. ugh. the words that rolled off her tongue─a convincing string of self-reproach and flattery that somehow came across as quite genuine─felt discordant with her own perception of herself. truth be told, gwen was not necessarily obligated to give the prince any formal thanks for his ceremonial involvement. strictly speaking, invidia's blessed were expected to abide by the whims of the chantry, handing themselves over should ceremony or ritual demand it. she had a feeling he wasn't accustomed to receiving an apology for not being given the respect he was due. it was partially degrading, having to play the part of a bootlicking, groveling subordinate, but she supposed she could suffer temporary character mutilation if it meant slowly gaining prince talion's respect. gwen had to constantly remind him of her humility, of her existence as a human being outside of the spiritual institution she belonged to, a person who was susceptible to making honest mistakes no different than anyone else. she did not know prince talion well enough to prey on his specific vulnerabilities, but she was smart enough to understand that his seemingly good-natured disposition could be taken advantage of. most people prefer to surround themselves with those who reflect their own ideals and values, like a mirror that bounces back all of the best traits they see in themselves, and that's exactly what gwen was going to become─a mirror. he didn't need to know that she was actually quite indifferent about whether or not he felt offended by her failure to acknowledge his role in the augury. gwen was certain she would never succeed past his initial defenses should he detect a hint of that same impersonal approach that many clerics seemed to take on. although she might see him as some curiosity to be poked and prodded at and studied under her watchful gaze, she was certainly not going to outwardly treat him as such. handling the prince with the mechanical precision of those who came before her would do her no good (although it was certainly an ingrained reflex she had to resist). if she fell into that pattern he would only see her as yet another cog in the ever turning wheel of spiritual oppression and divine sacrifice he had to face throughout his life. she figured that revealing her humanity sooner rather than later would likely make him more inclined to sympathize with her. it's why gwen was not keen on the idea of continually pestering him with questions regarding their faith─even if it was one of the greatest commonalities that tied them together as two strangers─for she did not want him to think that was her sole identity as a person (of course, as a grand cleric it almost certainly was, but that did not make for nearly as compelling as a story, did it now?). in all likelihood, if she just rambled on about invidia or his holiness as the high celebrant she would probably earn herself a place in his mind catalogued as 'unremarkable' and 'more of the same', a categorization she was intent on avoiding. so far, she felt like she was making a decent impression on the prince. she didn't think she has done anything to warrant his suspicion or dislike, at-least not personally. undoubtedly, he was likely wary of her to begin with, a sentiment often obvious in some lunespawn by the way they navigate ceremonies or interactions with the chantry. like most people, prince talion probably did certain things in order to ensure security or comfort in his life, and she was not convinced that welcoming people with open arms was something he regularly did when it came to the ranks of the cimmerian chantry. his quiet disposition stood out as a curiosity to her and was part of why she was so quick to assume that he might be hesitant about her as a person. she had noticed earlier that the prince did not do more than he needed to: he showed up to the ceremony, yielded to her ritualistic touch without protest, and left. it was that simple for him─or was it? she's seen people so devoted that they embrace religious rites with a certain vehemence (she too had been one of such people, in fact) and in comparison the prince was by far a less enthused participant. maybe he really did enjoy being involved in the augury and interacting with her, but she doubted it. not many people who are openly comfortable in their circumstances avoid flaunting their revered status and divine power, and yet she felt like prince talion did just that. as someone who had to consistently interact with him throughout the augury, his lack of active engagement was not hard to miss. granted, gwen has only been involved in one ritual with him thus far, but the way he remained silent and submitted to the ceremony with a sort of detached participation seemed telling enough. she was sure that she could conduct fifty more rituals with him and his passive reaction would be the same every time─not accounting for any behavior relating to the dark urge, of course. paradoxically, it made prince talion somewhat predictable. gwen knew she needed to approach him in a certain manner simply based on the way he carried himself with a sense of unspoken unease during the augury, and he had no idea how easy of a target that had made him.
indent"here," she stuck her opposite hand into her pocket to rummage for the set of bandages she had brought from the divination tent, "i can dress your hand to ward off the risk of infection, though rest assured it should heal within a week or sooner. i can imagine it's the least of your concerns right now, though." the grand cleric's eyes briefly flickered to his exposed abdomen, where old bandages had been applied to the more urgent wound on his stomach. despite his current state, gwen could not help but momentarily appreciate the well-defined, muscular lines of his form, no longer shielded by plates of armor unlike the lower half of his body, though her gaze did not linger for long. having produced a strip of linen bandages and the vial of poultice from her belt, the grand cleric was quick to attend to the slice on his hand. when she opened the vial, a distinctive, earthy aroma filled the air—a herbal blend with slightly bitter notes due to the natural medicinal ingredients involved. without hesitation, she began to apply the poultice to the slice on his hand. as gwen carefully tipped the vial, the thick, semi-solid salve spread across the length of the cut, its effects both soothing and medicinal. she held the prince's palm open, her grip firm yet gentle, ensuring he couldn't pull away as the poultice made contact with his flesh. the cooling sensation from the juniper berries would likely begin to take effect almost immediately, offering him a reprieve from any inflammation and irritation. at the same time, he might even notice the poultice's yarrow content begin to work, its mildly astringent properties creating a subtle tingling sensation─the result of the herb's role in promoting clotting and reducing bleeding. gwen worked with a practiced ease, ensuring the poultice was evenly distributed without overusing the vial's contents, mindful of the more significant attention his other wound would require. once the poultice was in place, she could then secure the vial to her belt once again. the grand cleric carefully began to wrap the bandage around prince talion's hand, securing the poultice while protecting his wound. she was careful to pull the linen around the backside of his hand at an angle, ensuring she would not accidentally impede on the mobility of his digits. once she had layered the bandages adequately, her fingers deftly moved to create a secure knot that would keep the bandages from unraveling. she made sure to tuck in any loose ends under the previously wrapped layers to prevent the bandages from coming undone. unsurprisingly, the act of tending to his hand did not take very long at all. it was a quick process given the small surface area she had to work with and the relative shallowness of the cut she had inflicted upon him. gwen understood the process may be a bit more lengthy when it came to his abdomen though. the grand cleric glanced across his tent, trying to determine a better place to change his bandages. when her gaze landed on the armchair in one corner of the tent, she made a gesture toward the chair, as though beckoning him to go and sit down so that she might be able to attend his wound easier. it was obvious that trying to change his bandages would only be made much more difficult by standing. gwen followed after the prince once he heeded her direction, allowing him to settle into the chair as he pleased before she turned her attention back to him. adjacent to the chair he sat in, gwen set down the roll of bandages and the vial of poultice on his writing desk, careful to avoid placing them on any of his scattered pieces of parchment or pots of ink. she was going to have to remove the bandages already plastered to his wound first, a process that is not always so pleasant and does require some care. gwen strategically assumed her position in front of the man, deliberately stepping in between his legs so that she may access his old dressing, an interesting if not somewhat bold decision considering she could have managed to tend to his wound just as easily if she stood to his side. unsurprisingly, gwen was not exactly beneath using her allure to her advantage. it was almost strange to comprehend: while she certainly appeared to be the visual embodiment of everything holy in their worship, it was almost like she knew she held some power of easy seduction to her character, just given the confident way she held herself. gwen was playing this game in a cutthroat manner because she had to. she was getting in prince talion's personal space for a reason, whether he was intelligent enough to notice her subtle come-on or not. perhaps he would be immune to her spell, or perhaps she would stir something depraved inside of him after all. the latter would certainly make things much more easier for her in the grand scheme of things, and truth be told, he might not be alone in that feeling either. she had not just been drunken on invidia's presence earlier but the rather intimate connection that tethered them together through the transfer of his holy ichor, a fact she was not as quick to accept. the grand cleric looked down upon his countenance, a curtain of ink black hair falling past her shoulder. for a moment she remembered just how intoxicating it felt to look into his eyes during the augury, an unwavering sort of stare between the two of them that almost suggested something beyond the scope of mere ritual. only this time, it was gwen standing above him. "tell me," she began, her tone carrying a touch of concern, "how long has this been paining you, my prince? i trust you know you could have called upon me or my clerics to have attended you, yes?" her gentle tone made it clear that she was not reprimanding him. her pale blue eyes searched his own for a moment, a hand simultaneously reaching out to find the bandages on his abdomen. gwen's fingers brushed against the edges of the linen material. truthfully, she was only asking the prince a few trivial questions to keep him distracted from the fact that he was probably going to feel some irritation once she began poking at his dressing. gwen cast her gaze downward to his upper body, her focus settling on his injury. finding the end of the linen tucked into the layer of bandages, she gently loosened the knot, the bandages pressed against his skin easing away from his flesh slightly though she had yet to fully peel them off. gwen slowly lifted one edge of the bandages, immediately sensing resistance. the bandages were slightly stuck to his wound, the dried blood having formed a sticky barrier that made their removal more challenging. her fingers began to work to carefully separate the bandages from his flesh, keeping in mind that any tug might cause him a bit of pain. as she carefully peeled away one of the bandages, the nature of his wound quickly became more apparent to her. hidden beneath layers of old dressing, the wound appeared to be an irregular tear in his flesh, like something had managed to penetrate his skin at a specific entry point, disrupting both the flesh and underlying muscle. the edges of the wound were somewhat swollen, the surrounding tissue darkened from the impact and potentially some internal trauma. if she had to guess, he likely sustained an arrow shot given the way his abdominal muscles were visibly tensed and almost bulging around the wound, as though his skin had been abruptly punctured. gwen continued to pull away that same strip of bandages, noting that the ichor that had dried and adhered on the material appeared to be a dark, congealed mass. as she drew the ends of the bandage from his skin, some of this dried blood pulled away from the wound, creating a raw, oozing release of ichor. though the wound itself was still agitated, she did not seem to notice the presence of any infection. granted, he was not yet fully healed. there were some obvious signs of inflammation, which she could guess was probably the source of his aching to begin with. the entire area looked tender and vulnerable, and she could see the faint outline of where the injury had extended beyond the visible wound, suggesting some type of bruising.
indenthaving collected the worn bandages in her hand, the prince's wound was fully exposed now. she could wager it must feel somewhat freeing to no longer have the old dressing pressing against his abdomen. the grand cleric disposed of the old bandages by storing them within the pockets of her robe for now. remaining where she stood, gwen turned slightly to reach over to his adjacent desk to fetch the small vial of poultice. it was the same salve she had applied to his hand only moments earlier. gwen could not help but briefly scan the contents of his desk as she leaned over to retrieve the herbals, her eyes skimming over handwritten script and broken wax seals. she couldn't manage to glean much information from what was laying around, given that most of his letters were haphazardly obscuring each other, though she could only assume his correspondence was mainly directed toward his royal family. gwen straightened her posture once she retrieved the vial of poultice, her fingers wrapped around its glass edges. the grand cleric opened the small bottle in front of prince talion, her eyes flickering down to meet his emerald gaze again, then his wounded abdomen. "i'm curious. how does one acquire an injury such as this? by the looks of it, i'm assuming you've had it for a couple of days now." again, more small talk to keep him busied. to be fair, she was trying to use these moments as opportunities to show him that she was truly interested in him as a person. for all it mattered, she could have just systematically worked on tending to his wounds in dead silence save for any faint sounds of agitation or discomfort coming from the prince himself. maybe that was the type of treatment he was used to? to be honest, gwen was not sure. either way she had a feeling he might appreciate her inquiries, for when the salve would meet his flesh, the feeling would certainly be uncomfortable at first. her free hand found the top of the armchair he sat on, firmly grabbing the top rail just above his shoulder to support herself and steady her movements as she leaned down to apply the poultice. gwen was hovering slightly closer to him now if only because of her newfound positioning, her face drawing nearer to his. for a moment she was almost uncertain whether or not the prince might warn her to mind her distance, though she found herself committing to the decision nonetheless. if he rejected her proximity she could at-least easily play it off as accidental, though in reality, it was very much purposeful. "i'm going to do more of the same now, my prince. this will be no different from how i treated your hand," she explained to him. "it might be a bit uncomfortable at first, though i'm sure you'll adjust quickly. and please, do let me know if i am hurting you, your highness." gwen drew the opening of the vial closer to his abdomen, her eyes watching his expression as she carefully tipped it over his torn skin, allowing the thick, medicinal paste to begin flowing out. a dense blend of crushed herbs and soothing oils emerged from the vial, hitting the edges of his wound now. gwen tapped the bottom of the vial lightly to encourage the paste to exit, aiming to control the amount that would come out with each nudge. she knew that the poultice was intended to be soothing, but the initial sensation could prove somewhat jarring for most people. as gwen continued to coat the edges of his wound with the concoction of ground herbs, she briefly drew her hand away from the armchair to find his exposed shoulder. perhaps this is too much, she realized. but was it really? it's not like he wasn't used to her touch by now, and if anything, his pain would at-least blur any sort of scrutiny he might hold toward her actions. she was sure her reassurance would be more comforting than alarming right now given his current state anyways. her cold fingers gingerly settled on his shoulder, the chill of her touch contrasting with the warmth of his skin. she allowed her hand to slowly glide down his bicep and back up, moving in a soothing, rhythmic gesture of physical comfort, her tender touch likely combatting the irritation of his wound right now. the vermillion sun painted in ichor on the back of her hand almost made it seem as though it were the dark goddess herself offering prince talion her assurance instead, its faded rays extending in lines up her digits. she could feel the firm tension of his muscles beneath her palm, a reminder of his underlying strength and resilience despite his current state of vulnerability. she was tempted to maintain their contact, though she knew there was a certain strategy in providing and then removing her attention. he would crave for her touch in the absence of it, or at-least that was the idea. gwen silently drew her hand away from his upper arm, observing his features carefully. by now she had pulled the glass vial away from his sore abdomen, granting him a break from the discomfort that came with the poultice application. admittedly, the prince was enjoyable to look at. his features appeared delicate and soft in the warm tent light, as though maintaining a sense of youthfulness not yet stolen by the harsh realities of war. it was strange to admit but he seemed pliable, like he would look good in some manner of submission. unlike gwen's own more defined and angular facial structure, he lacked the same sharp contours, giving him a sort of gentleness rather than a hardened edge. his boyish youthfulness was a quality that seemed almost at odds with the formidable warrior he was praised to be. she almost felt compelled to appreciate him, a sort of admiration that began to quickly shift into something more deeper and more possessive as she observed him. the more she took note of his vulnerability juxtaposed against his inherent strength, the more she felt that his delicate charm was something she alone should be entitled to safeguard. it was like a protective instinct warped and twisted into a peculiar sense of ownership, taking on an almost strangely territorial edge. she found herself wanting to be the only one who tended to him like this, who ensured his well-being in away that felt personal and exclusive. the thought that someone else might see him as she did—or worse, might have the chance to care for him—evoked a strange, almost possessive longing within her. it felt as if she alone had the right to protect and cherish his uniquely endearing charm. it was a peculiar mixture of admiration and possessiveness, a controlling feeling that, despite his strength and capability, he was somehow meant to be uniquely hers to watch over and shield.
indentgwen had to consciously refocus her attention on the task at hand, feeling the weight of her intruding thoughts begin to suffocate. the grand cleric forced herself to bring the glass vial back down to the level of his abdomen again. the vessel still appeared to contain about a quarter of its contents, and only the edges of his wound still remained untreated. gwen found it easy to excuse her somewhat corrupted line of thinking regarding prince talion as a byproduct of divine entanglement rather than any flaws inherent to her person. forces beyond mortal understanding brought gwen to duskhelm, a part of a larger holy plan to see the high celebrant ascend the nightshade throne and reshape the fibers of their future in a new, hopeful light. since the great divide, their western neighbors have long accused invidia's darkness as being an inherently evil force, with its worship inevitably corrupting the devotee to enact vile forms of destruction and hatred─though this could not be any further from the truth. in reality, the act of yielding to the darkness has no moral valence of its own. despite what the luneites like to preach, their goddess' philosophy of light could just as easily be used for destructive and self-serving purposes as well as constructive and benevolent ones. although gwen based her own judgment off the mysterium lucifugous, painting invidia as superior to all of that which luneth holds dear, the true nature of the relationship between the two goddesses was one that still remained somewhat ambiguous throughout the course of history. before the tribes of saint-arkh and syl'siros adopted their own religious doctrines, the darkness was actually presented as playing a necessary and complementary role to that of the light, helping maintain the stability of the known world and civilization. it was believed that the two goddesses were not truly antagonistic forces, but merely different. of course, it was the discord over the values the two deities upheld that ultimately split the tribe of savona and led to a fundamental difference in ideology among invidia and luneth's followers. arkhian scriptures became much more concerned with the concept of ascendancy, especially with regard to ancient prophecy. supposedly, those who do not follow the principles of the stygian path are bound for a torturous afterlife, condemned to be surrounded by a strata of ossified corpses and twisted bones from those who fell out of invidia's favor long ago, forever to be haunted by the weeping, blistered souls of living worlds at the end of their sanity. the ascendant plane, on the other hand, was supposed to be a sanctuary for invidia's most devoted followers, a means of surviving physical death in the mortal realm. despite wholly being the dark sister's domain, gwen could recall stumbling upon some dated texts that seemed to suggest that those who achieved styx gained the ability to create pocket universes within the ascendant realm itself, roughly translated into 'throne worlds'. these personal realms seemed to have forms and laws defined by their creators, serving as a refuge for their creator's consciousness or 'soul' in the event of their death in the physical world. one of the most prolific creators and users of the throne world was supposed to be the high celebrant, who could become ascendant through the divine logic and eventually grow powerful enough to create their own throne world. it seems that, if the high celebrant were to achieve styx in the material world, their soul could pass to their throne where they would be able to regain their strength until they could re-enter the physical plane again. many luneite devotees have tried to argue that this is a form of resurrection, and therefore a direct contradiction of the dark's decay and finality. while followers of luneth align death and rebirth with the cycle of the moon waning and becoming full again, the idea of resurrection was one looked down upon by arkhians, for it directly opposed invidia's tendency to destroy and consume rather than restore and renew. throne worlds were certainly no form of returning life to its previous state though. an ascendant's soul entering a throne world has been largely described as a manner of simply regaining strength, not undoing death. these personal sanctuaries and domains of power prepare invidia's blessed for a future re-entry rather than promise the restoration of a past state. arkhian scriptures rarely reference the throne worlds to begin with, partially due to the fact that invidia's blessed are few among the many. still, it was interesting to think that prince talion himself might one day be able to exploit this power should he prove himself worthy. interestingly enough, invidia has long been tied to mortal thoughts and consciousness whereas luneth has been associated more strongly with the physical universe. many texts seem to note that darkness is the source of humanity's consciousness, senses, and minds, a product of having shaped the evolution of life on earth. it's partially why nightmares and dreams are so central to a lot of their religious practices. it is even thought that invidia has the ability to emulate the minds of sentient beings, allowing her to see the world from their perspective and thus more easily communicate with them, a belief that made prophets particularly revered in their religion. gwen expelled the remainder of the poultice from the glass vial, carefully applying the amber-colored paste along the edges of the prince's wound. the salve now formed a protective layer over his injury, clinging to the crevices of his torn flesh. satisfied with the amount of ground herbs distributed onto his wound, the grand cleric finally took a small step away from him, only then noticing just how close the process of wound treatment had brought them. gwen realized it was the sort of proximity that would likely be seen as an affront to the king of evenfall himself, given his notoriously contentious stance with regard to the chantry. the mere notion of his royal advisor subtly trying to entice his lunespawn son would be nothing short of an outrage, surely. the thought did not seem to perturb her though. she actually found it quite humorous in a way, what with the royal family thinking they could shield their children from corrupting influences. so much for that. gwen offered the prince a slight smile. at-least the most dreadful part of bandage changing was over now.
indentgwen took a step around the armchair, no longer standing in front of prince talion but instead his desk. the grand cleric's fingers brushed against the roll of bandages she had left upon its surface, grasping the bundle in her hands. unsurprisingly, her mind was already beginning to entertain thoughts of how to extend her time with the prince. she did not want to simply perform her task and leave his presence immediately thereafter. she would have to find a way to stick around him for a bit longer─though given what close proximity they have been sharing thus far, perhaps he was already growing amenable to the idea. it would certainly be easier that way, if he actually desired her continued presence. the woman cast a glance over shoulder, studying the man for a long moment. perhaps this was her time to try and make conversation with him beyond what tedious exchanges they've had so far. "forgive me if i overstep, my prince," her voice was framed with a hint of contemplative curiosity and respect, "but i cannot help but realize just how little we do know of each other." it was a rather innocuous observation. only having served as religious counsel to his king father for a limited period of time now, she and prince talion were given ample opportunity to interact. she had no idea what sort of a relationship her predecessor bore with the individual members of the royal nocturne family, but a part of her was keen to understand how that might impact the prince's preconceptions of her. "perhaps you might tell me more about life back at duskhelm? i feel as though i am still learning how to navigate drakonian politics... life at court, it is quite different from what i am used to." good. now the pity. gwen turned to face the prince now, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the fraying edges of the rolled bandages she held in her hands. "you may not believe me, but when i was in arachburn, my voice held little sway at times. it took me years to prove myself useful at all. my reception at duskhelm was different, though─i could sense it from the first day i arrived. it's almost jarring, you know, having to go from clawing for a shred of respect to being handed copious amounts on a silver platter simply by virtue of being backed by the dark cardinal herself. i'm sure it's something you've noticed long before i arrived, though. don't you find it funny, how we tie faithful servants such as myself with notions of influence or power? my very position in the chantry is but a mere concept that demands varying levels of respect based on what region of saint-arkh i step foot in." she noted, a hint of wry amusement in her voice. it almost seemed like she was making an attempt to open up to the man, granting him some insight into her past─even if it was a gross oversimplification of her situation in vivencia─to try and begin fostering a mutual sense of truth and honesty between the two of them. perhaps he would be more willing to reciprocate her candor if he thought her genuine, even if in reality her true intentions were nothing but despicable. a small, resigned sigh escaped her lips after a carefully orchestrated pause, as though she had planned every detail to subtly influence his reaction. "here i am, rambling on to you. i'm sure you have more important things to worry about than my own predicament. my apologies, my prince. i forget myself." her eyes flickered away from his own, focusing on the bandages in her hands. truth be told, gwen knew exactly what she was doing right now. the way she spoke made it seem like she was just a humble cleric who managed to stumble her way to the top of the food chain on accident. it almost seemed like she had no interest in the political schemes that often seemed to shroud the upper echelons of the chantry, subtly jabbing at the institutional hierarchy that granted members of the faith their power. she supposed it was also a broader commentary on their tribe's current tensions between the chantry and the crown, whereby it was rare for the nobles of saint-arkh to remain neutral in their favor. most of the great houses aligned themselves one way or another, obvious or not, hence why she even bothered to mention her title's seemingly wavering respect. it was probably a topic that hit close to home for someone like him, given that war efforts seem to depend so greatly on calling the great houses to arms, many of which might prove slow to act in the face of conflict between religious devotion and royal allegiance. either way, she had to convince prince talion that she was an unwilling victim of her own circumstances─not much different from his own life as a lunespawn, perhaps. he had to believe that she sought no material rewards or recognition for her devout worship to invidia. perhaps her honesty would surprise him. generally speaking, these sort of criticisms were not openly voiced by someone like gwen. she was a grand cleric of the cimmerian chantry, not some lowly initiate with no sort of prominence. and yet here she was, discretely hinting to the prince that she found the pursuit of status and power through religion laughable. she assumed that sharing her thoughts on a more sensitive matter might encourage prince talion to open up to her, or perhaps even find himself in agreement with her, whether he expressed it explicitly or not. did he too feel that figures of faith could sometimes become misconstrued into beings of absolute power? probably. it doesn't take many unpleasant experiences with the wrong people to form that sort of an opinion. when gwen finally looked over at him again, she seemed to be bracing for his prompt to move things along. she was trying to give him the impression that she didn't expect him to be willing to entertain her personal thoughts any further.

[vaermina]

ＳØＲＥＮ ＫＯＬＢＥＣＫxxx
I.xtribal affiliationsx II. the lord ascendant of the mythic dawn


indentinteresting. calista's response did not necessarily surprise him. he had expected some form of heedless impetuousness from her, although hearing such unreasoned logic first hand from the revenant princess herself was enough to truly put her mindset into perspective for him. should the nature of their relationship be exposed, søren's reputation would not remain untarnished for long. it would be considered utterly reprehensible in the eyes of the general public for the lord ascendant to carry such personal emotions for a royal princess, nevertheless one belonging to a foreign culture. honor was a central value in the mythic dawn's culture, a principle so deeply engrained in gibraltar's sociopolitical structure that it influenced their decisions, actions in daily life, warfare and even signifies loyalty to one's family, community, and personal beliefs. the mythic dawn's concept of honor revolved around the quality of a person that is of both social teaching and personal ethos, but their values did not necessarily qualify as modern righteousness as their standards rarely included virtuousness, right-mindedness, or compassionate behavior. it simply boiled down to just one key tenet: staying true towards my allies, and avenging the wrongs done to me and mine. an individual's standing in their community was largely determined by their reputation for courage, leadership, resilience, and fulfilling their obligations. it was often demonstrated through courageous acts in battle, upholding promises, and defending one's reputation fiercely, even to the point of violence if necessary; essentially, living up to a strong moral code that valued fortitude, devotion, and standing by one's word. courage was but one aspect of honor in the mythic dawn's culture, for equally important and paramount to one's character was personal integrity. a vikingr's honor was closely tied to their public reputation, and any perceived dishonorable act could severely damage their standing within their dedicated communities. for the citizens of gibraltar, carrying themselves in a manner of great renown meant that they were able to stay true to what they believed in. whatever belief system a specific vikingr may have, it was important for them to stand up for those beliefs even in the face of adversity. breaking a promise, displaying cowardice, or committing a heinous betrayal were considered grave breaches of honor, leading to social ostracism, personal violence, or even death. honor has grown to be so viciously essential to bloodborn society because during the century of chaos, there was just barely a central government with a monopoly on violence. during the early days of the mythic dawn's formation, personal safety was provided by family, friends and allies. at the time, it was necessary for warriors to garner honorable reputations for themselves if they wanted to umbrella themselves with some form of protection in the shape of associative sanctuary. acts of pusillanimity and spinelessness were not tolerated in gibraltar, which is why gallantry was so valued. there have been plenty of sagas where bloodborn warriors, despite being caught in the throes of hopeless situations, stuck to their tenacity even when it would have been advantageous to cut and run. when it came to the tribe's various religious figureheads, oaths were sworn to uphold certain principles such as celibacy, a particularly special gift from the gods that allowed them to remain close with their pantheon and serve with an undivided heart. it was forbidden for lord ascendants to engage in unlawful affairs. as a child, he remembered reading historical accounts revolving the corrupted enterprises of the templar order during the reign of the shadow king. vegeir virkernes, the lord ascendant whom served beneath the heinous command of king sollaug kolbeck and even participated in the nefarious public murder of his wife queen tiril, had been accused of fathering bastards with lowborn women, violating not only the sacred tenets of the golden order but the piety of his relationship with the commonfolk. even in such a debauched situation, the accused women had been spared until they gave birth, for their wombs were considered to be almost consecrated while carrying the lord ascendant's children─that protection ended once they gave birth. lord vegeir's blatant abuse of power proved that even characters as venerated as religious figures with sacrosanct duties were capable of horrid atrocities against their own people, and the people of gibraltar had very little sympathy for those who transgressed their duties. it would be disgraceful enough for søren to engage in prohibited entanglements, but the ignominy he would suffer should he engage in his desires with the revenant princess would be almost unspeakable. infidelity was no laughing matter in gibraltar, and that extended for not only married couples but women who were already spoken for. in a world where loyalty was considered to be one of the most valuable of principles, betrayal within the bonds of marriage was more than a personal scandal—it was a societal sin. in the heart of bloodborn society, marriage was more than a mere contract; it was a sacred bond that wove together the very fabric of their province's communities. it wasn’t just about love—sometimes love was not even involved at all—it was also about strategy, alliances, and securing a prosperous future. bloodborn weddings were celebrations that stretched over several days, filled with rituals that symbolized strength, unity, and continuity. from the exchange of swords to signify protection to the giving of rings as a token of eternal commitment, bloodborn weddings were rich in symbolism and grandeur. marriage was a complex institution that played a crucial role in maintaining the social order. it was about survival, prosperity, and the careful weaving of familial and political networks. fidelity was not just an expectation in bloodborn society, but it was the bedrock upon which their moral and social order was built. this virtue was about more than staying true in marriage; it was a reflection of one’s honor and commitment to community and kin. when fidelity faltered, the legal and personal repercussions were swift and severe. adultery was almost always impermissible. while men's extramarital affairs generally received less social censure than women's, the destruction of such unions was often considered a nasty eventuality. infidelity was not taken lightly. it could lead to violence, social upheaval, and lasting enmity between families. should a man or woman catch their spouse in the act of adultery, it was well within their legal rights to not only kill their partner but their lover as well. honor was not just a personal asset; it was a family's legacy. a cheating wife or unfaithful husband did not just face scorn, but they risked losing their standing within the community. this loss of status could mean being excluded from important familial decisions, trade opportunities, and even social gatherings. the stakes were even higher when children were involved. infidelity shined doubt on lineage—crucial in a society where inheritance and names carried weight. children from a marriage marred by betrayal might find their rights to land, titles, or family heirlooms challenged, impacting generations to come.
indentthe social ramifications extended beyond immediate emotional turmoil, affecting one's lineage and legacy in profound ways. while calista would most likely be spared from the more devastating impacts of said consequences due to her foreign lineage and royal status, the same could not be said for søren. it was bad enough that he would desecrate his own vows but to become involved with not only a pledged princess but one whom was set to marry his own kin would be considered inconceivable. it would be well within his cousin's right to not only hold the lord ascendant accountable for debasing his betrothed but executing him for his gross lack of respect. and despite the very real threat of societal and blood retribution, it was still not enough to hinder søren's feelings for calista. most of it stemmed from his own arrogance and the absence of admiration towards prince halvor and the royal crown's paramountcy. the retribution he could face for his own contempt never appeared to faze him because he had yet to be confronted over his own malfeasance and villainy. people trusted him because of the profound religious weight of his role as lord ascendant, and he gladly took advantage of their ignorance for his own personal gains. there were very few people who saw fit to challenge him, with the most profound being that of princess birgitta, his youngest cousin's wife. after prince arkyn's accident, she had sought counsel with king ulrik and demanded that blood was shed in retaliation for her husband's tainted honor. she called for søren's dominant hand to be chopped off, an honorable trade-off considering arkyn would never be whole again. when the king refused, she boldly stipulated that if he was too cowardly to avenge his son's honor, he must gift her his sword so she could do it herself. unsurprisingly, king ulrik did not strike her down for her insolence, excusing her behavior based on that of an aggrieved wife's, but the incident only reinforced the lord ascendant's image and how he was able to get away with astonishing violations. halvor would not question him over the way he interacted with calista, although that did not mean the lord ascendant was free to act in a careless manner. his gaze flickered to the princess's hand as he felt her fingers brush against his knuckles, her touch ever so light. he offered her a small smile in response to her question, the subtle caress of her thumb against the back of his hand a simple yet comforting gesture. "that is not a bad thing," he reassured her, his tone bordering on lighthearted endearment in response to her slight vulnerability. while søren's lack of sympathy and purposeful turpitude beyond the scrutinizing eye of the general public could be considered almost flagrant, his unkindness towards those around him did not appear to extend to calista herself. he treated her with the same tenderness he did as a youth because their bond was forged in natural affinity and pure chemistry. he cared for her, and he would gladly burden himself with the tribulations of her pain if such spiritual surrender was permitted by the gods. he did not want her to be in pain. søren knew better than to pry into the turbulence of her own fleeting mental afflictions, but he has always made it abundantly clear in his letters that he was ever her most faithful vassal should she require an outlet to voice her hardships. it was difficult to live in a world that thrived on chaos and pandemonium, and it was even more difficult to cope with the harsh realities of the wasteland once you yourself have fallen victim to its merciless brutality and savage ferocity. while the lord ascendant could not comprehend the more distinctive layers of her experiences as a youth, he could understand the wider segments of her suffering, for he himself was not entirely devoid of having undergone irresponsible decisions that resulted in long-term mental and physical despair. søren never wanted that for her. he had been frightened for her when they were young, for her reckless decisions almost always troubled him, albeit he could have probably internalized his own reservations towards her and applied it to himself later on. despite the encroaching implications of calista's betrothal, he was glad to be reunited with her. her presence gave him a slice of much-needed consolation, and he hoped his own companionship did the same for her. there was no doubt that the revenant princess had a profound effect on his subconscious, for he found himself reverting back to a more playful nature whenever he was around her. the uninhibited and ill-considered deportments of calista's personality would be enough to earn scorn from the man if it were coming from literally anybody else. he did not tolerate her conduct but rather embraced her for who she was. he loved her enough to see past their differences, and he did not seek to alter the way she acted. while she has inevitably matured beyond the way she carried herself as a teenager, there was still enough of that fiery passion and confident prestige that marked her as the same woman he once knew. he had to resist the urge to frown when she hesitantly dropped her hand from his, a decision that the lord begrudgingly followed. his urge to grimace was almost immediately followed by a scowl when talos sought to leave his shoulder and return to the revenant princess's own. "you're going to regret leaving me when aömwé shows up," he warned the old falcon, his good-natured chaff masking his temporary annoyance over the bird abandoning his shoulder so soon. his eyes flickered from talos to calista as she took a step away from him in what was undoubtedly an end to their secluded conversation. while he did not necessarily desire departing from the isolation of her warm presence, he knew that it would be unwise for them to linger on the corner of the street. they both must maintain a sense of decorum for their surroundings, a habit that must be picked up soon if they were going to maintain some semblance of caution in public.
indentthe merchant quarter remained vibrant with the sound of baseborn celebrations and mercantile banter. the marketplace and its flamboyant stands were a sea of colors: periwinkle and chartreuse, pale mauve and deep saffron, flecked lapiz lazuli and tinted heliotrope. the crowds parted for the royal retinue as they made their way through the crowded district. truth be told, søren could care less about investigating the various domestic and foreign commodities currently being peddled from the market stalls. he had very little interest in entertaining the causeries of gore bay. he could care less about tourneys, gladiatorial games, and overseeing the various revelries of the lower class. his dispassion was a direct result of his intense feelings towards the revenant princess, with the only comfort to be found in the moment was the occasional graze of calista's fingers against his own. as always, his mind instantly shifted back towards his earlier ruminations surrounding the betrothal between his cousin and princess calista. the lord ascendant's disinterest in the city's exuberant celebrations stemmed from a wellspring of personal turmoil and clinging affection. while the streets bustled with the clamor of joy and anticipation, he could not help but find himself enveloped in a profound melancholy, for his chest ached with a secret love that had nowhere to grow. his feelings, veiled and ill-defined, rendered the pomp circumstances of the festivities hollow and painful to him. the radiant banners, the symphonic sounds of distant music, and the jubilant crowds celebrating the union that would secure a strategic alliance were a stark contrast to the quiet agony of his own thoughts. in the midst of such grandeur, his private sorrow felt like a stark, uninvited shadow, shrouding the overt displays of happiness as insincere and distant. søren found solace only in the silent corridors of his own tormented introspection, where the splendor of the public's grand spectacles could not penetrate the depths of his unspoken sentiment. his own selfishness could not reconcile with the sacrifices that were required of him, for has he not forfeited enough in the name of house kolbeck? his despondent brooding, dour and cheerless as he languished over his own thoughts, was showed by the stoicism of his features, where even the cheerful merriment of the marketplace could not penetrate his apathy. bound to calista's side because of his newfound status as her and prince halvor's sworn shield, there was little he could to escape the gaudy displays of tribal amalgamation. it was only when the sudden assemblage of a curious crowd at the edge of the street suddenly came into display did the lord's attention shift away from his thoughts. he met the princess's inquisitive gaze with his own look of objection. the last thing he wanted to do was approach a bunch of obviously enlivened peasants, but there was little he could do to stop calista's interest as she approached the scene, with the lord begrudgingly trailing after her. the large congregation of invigorated townsfolk made him uneasy. he came to a stop behind her, close enough to where he could wrap an arm around her waist and pull her aside should a drunken commoner take notice of her presence and find it within themselves to brashly approach her. luckily, the crowd did not take notice of their appearance. they appeared much more interested in the garish performance of a dramatic composer. perched atop a showy platform and garbed in flamboyant attire that was borderline ostentatious, the man certainly carried himself in the brassy and lurid manner of a confident troubadour. it quickly became apparent on why the crowd appeared so mirthful as soon as the man's metrical spiels began to reverberate up and down the narrow street, his jocular voice overpowering the cries of livestock and the howling of merchants. an expression of instant displeasure crossed søren's face at the man's performance. the poet's rendition appeared to revolve around the mythic-eidolon alliance, and the alleged imperfections and political shortcomings of its crowned couple. he did not know what was more astonishing—the fact the troubadour felt unassailable enough to mock the royals in public or the fact nobody had yet seized the fool from his podium for his mocking balladry. in gibraltar, the royal family was viewed as an infallible institution based on their divine right to rule. criticism of the ruling monarchs was seen as a challenge to house kolbeck's authority and legitimacy, and ecclesiastic officials such as søren himself were often charged with overseeing public discourse and possible dissent. the templar order, who also vetted themselves as the inquisition of the golden order, had authority over the moral failings of both clergy and laity, and in some cases, the power to censor the public. as high inquisitor, søren has removed many a tongue from drunken agitators who saw fit to spread rumors surrounding the king and queen of the dawn, with some hearsay even involving lies claiming that his mother and sister practiced black magic, a tainted form of sorcery far different than the mythic dawn's own divination practices of seiðr. unlike here in the heartlands, any form of public criticism towards princess calista and her betrothed would not seep beyond the walls of gibraltar's many taverns and hostelries. the crowd itself appeared thoroughly amused by the man's farcical carol, as shown by their roars of laughter and thunderous applauds. he could almost feel his eye twitch beneath his mask over the tawdry display of disrespect. he could care less about the eidolon's perception of his cousin, but it was almost surprising to witness their obloquy concerning their own crown princess. he has heard rumors of how the public perceived her─courtesy of his order's extensive underground network that included individuals with business and political enterprises such as lord rafaelle─but it was almost enlightening to witness calista's social approval himself. his attention shifted to the princess when she suddenly spoke, her suggestion practically an order as she began to guide him away from the crowd. the lord ascendant looked over his shoulder with mild agitation as he was led away, his piercing gaze remaining on the prideful entertainer until he was eventually swallowed up by the moving throng of people.
indentwhile søren was not keen on giving any form of credit to the imprudent troubadour, his verses contained blatant truths that were almost uncomfortable to reckon with. as much as he cared for calista, he would be lying if he said he was not troubled by her and prince halvor's lack of political acumen and diplomatic awareness. he did not think the two of them realized just how much administrative vigilance and bureaucratic circumspection was needed to ensure a successful conglomeration between their two tribes. foreign war efforts would undoubtedly be the easiest impediment to deal with given how both tribes practiced martial honor and glory through combat. sociopolitical pressures and cultural clashes were bound to be the most difficult societal issues the two would have to deal with, and he feared they lacked the hypersensitivity to adapt to the rigorous demands and sheer perspicacity that ruling two provinces would require. they were both talented fighters and no doubt carried the courage and resolution to lead armies, but that would not be enough. they could not just fight abroad the entire time and expect things to be alright back home, because they were going to be needed in the domestic sphere far more than they were on the battlefield. they had enough soldiers to fight their wars; they needed a strong king and queen in the public eye to ensure civil conflict did not break out. in fact, there was more to lose on the domestic home front than there ever would be beyond their borders because of how the bloodborn and eidolon's varying cultures and practices could sprout civil conflicts. as much as king ulrik, queen aoibheann, and queen anastasia liked to ignore it, there would be rising accounts of dissension and bad blood between the two tribes' populace in the near future over sociocultural customs and ethnic practices. it may not lead to civil warfare, but it would definitely lead to localized incongruity and regional opposition amongst the commonfolk. calista and halvor would have to navigate such situations as if they were walking on thin ice, because one wrong decree could ignite a devastating chain reaction should certain communities feel as if they were wronged by the crown. sagacity and erudition were required to rule a kingdom, but the unique circumstances of the alliance would require calista and halvor's immediate edification. they would not only need to study the opposing tribe's culture but its religion, politics, and history if they desired to approach their subjects with some form of sophistication. he could not see that happening, at-least not anytime soon. neither of them have reached that level of complexity to abandon their foreign pursuits revolving retaliation and esteem, and søren knew that because of his multifaceted interactions throughout his life. the revenant princess and the crown prince of the mythic dawn were not unique in which they presented themselves or the way in which they sought to wreck havoc beyond the borders of their homeland. how many royals have done the same and died in the name of glory and vengeance? if they were not willing to make sacrifices to nurture the fragile bonds of their tribal union then they would not be viewed as suitable monarchs, and that reputation would all but seal their premature deaths. the people of gibraltar have made it clear enough what they thought of incompetent monarchs during the gruesome betrayal of the killer moon, and søren did not want to see what happened to his grandparents befall calista. king torhtsige and queen léontine had been beloved by the masses, but that was not enough to save them when it came to answering their failures in properly squashing civil dissent and managing the mounting insubordination of their own citizenry. søren handled the mythic dawn's religious affairs, and he has long sat on his own dedicated throne in the courtroom to manage gibraltar's various theological issues, ranging from simple doctrinal quarrels to criminal nonconformist trials. religion was going to be the most conflicting issue, and neither calista nor halvor appeared to realize that. how could they, when the crown prince spent most of his time abroad raiding and calista had no knowledge of the bloodborn's spiritual affairs?
indenttheir progression through the market quarter came to a natural halt once they arrived in the city square, a massive plaza home to elegant marble columns and imposing statues. judging by calista's expression, she was not keen on discussing the poet's mocking performance. he did not blame her, although the ballads of a fatuous lyrist was not enough to alter his perception of her. while calista's lack of consideration and delicacy in statesmanship left much to be desired, søren was not discountenanced over the revenant princess's alleged notoriety, a discernment that extended from his own infatuations. his captivating compulsions surrounding calista unallowed the lord ascendant to acknowledge her culpabilities, for there was little she could do wrong in his eyes. søren's own twisted code of ethics and sense of morality did not exactly give him room to criticize calista's wrongdoings, especially when spurned by the reckless touch of youth. it was almost amusing how every little royal miscalculation and fallacy would be weaponized against calista and halvor over the next few months; their past errors and oversights would be held against them as much more actively scrupulous characters got away with their own acts of silent misconduct. the two heirs could not rely on outside principles to salvage the public's perception of them, for they must forge their own recognition based on their upcoming deeds and decisions. he could not relate to their situation, and he did not particularly envy them their circumstances. søren's own reputation was practically held together by the righteousness of the golden order. he was beloved by the general populace but viewed in a leery and almost fearful light by some of gibraltar's aristocracy, particularly those who were neither swayed by fundamentalism nor misfeasance. they thought his operations were cruel and vile, but they were never given the grace to voice their opprobrium because of søren's propinquity with not only the ruling king but his devout ties to the nucleus of the mythic dawn's extreme religion. in a tribe that has historically rejected religious pluralism and the possible secularization of society, abuse of power in the religious sphere came at no surprise. gibraltar's rigid belief system has long contributed to the acceptance of violence as a justifiable means to achieve religious goals, and the natural certitude and obedience the general population might show to holy individuals has been engrained into their society's collective conscious for centuries. while søren did not shy away from servitude, he has grown to manipulate the benefits of his position for his own egocentric desires—all while appealing to the stipulations of the gods. his ambitions sometimes aligned with a divine agenda, so much so that he was able to get away with decisions that would earn a royal immediate infamy from their own people. while his actions beyond his tribe's borders has certainly marred his reputation with contempt from the more liberal patricians of the royal court, it was not enough to sour the privileges of his sacred position and the way he was viewed by the low-born or staunchly conservative grandees. he got away with unprincipled and exploitative behaviors because nobody sought to correct him, and his value to king ulrik severely outweighed the opinions of a meager few. his uncle saw in him a dedicated and vicious war general, one whom often proved much more productive, cunning and crafty than the average tribesman. during the war of sicahr, søren took great care to ensure the bloodborn's overwhelming success in the kasba lake region by deploying a number of strategic proposals against their enemies. he took advantage of the mythic dawn's extensive raiding history to delve into whatever written accounts he could find concerning the tribe of circe's oolacile, and through written data he was able to effectively study the rival tribe's strength and weaknesses, including their fighting styles, martial strategies, and psychological makeup. the bloodborn weathered down the warriors of circe by seizing, retaining, and exploiting the initiative, or concentrating combat power at any decisive place and time. søren allocated minimum essential combat power to secondary efforts, all while placing the enemy in disadvantaged positions through the flexible application of martial force. ambushing, bounding overwatch, disrupting communications, frontal assaults, flanking, infiltration tactics, and overwhelming sieges quickly crumbled the underprepared tribe of circe's oolacile, especially when they found themselves facing strategies that crippled them in the past. søren made sure to attack not only the tribe's martial forces but its supporting lower classes and economic sectors. he participated in the destruction of existing physical and human capital so there was a resulting lack of investment in new assets and reduced gains from both internal and external trade. the fiery destruction of many of kasba lake's most popular economic cesspools and surrounding farmlands (as well as the templar order's meticulous extermination of some of the tribe's most valuable professions that bolstered rival war efforts such as public officials) affected their ability to manage their war efforts in an efficient manner. the annihilation of the region's surrounding infrastructure, peasant population and its subsequent shortages of food, raw materials, and finished goods greatly affected the tribe's ability to fight off invaders. they could not rely on auxiliaries to replace their diminished forces because the bloodborn had already targeted their lowborn population, destroying their settlements and villages and ravaging their communities so they were unable to replenish the noble class's fighting reserves but could not contribute to the war efforts on the home front. an army cannot survive if it does not have the proper nourishment to do so, and the baseborn often contribute to the foundations of any strong military force. søren knew from experience that allowing your emotions to dictate your actions to the point of degradation was only going to thwart your tribe's militant endeavors. war was more than just the uncontrolled slaughter of cities, for the mythic dawn's gradual shift in militaristic procedures was exactly why they were able to entirely annihilate the dolish─a massive, monstrous tribe that once exclusively dominated the labrador sea─in less than five years. it was also why king ulrik saw in him a competent adviser, one who would undoubtedly rise to even higher prominence when it came to aiding prince halvor and princess calista in the future. whether or not that would be a good idea had yet to be seen.
indenthalvor stood a few paces away from them, surrounded still by his coterie of noble admirers. søren could only stare at the older man with simmering disdain for a few seconds before calista suddenly drew closer to him. his expression quickly shifted into one of subtle amusement at her offer, his head just barely turning to acknowledge her as she stepped past him. the glint of playful misbehavior in her eyes was hardly palpable, the suggestive edge in her tone hinting to a more titillating desire. the lord ascendant did not respond to her jests, if only because he did not necessarily trust himself to maintain a sense of decorum. he watched the princess as she departed from his side, his gaze purposely meeting her own when she looked back before she finally reunited with his cousin. deeply ensconced in the austere demands of his religious duties, he felt an overwhelming sense of carnal passion for calista whenever she sought to entertain him with her classic impish mannerisms. the weight of his responsibilities often felt immense, for his life was devoted to guiding his followers, upholding sacred traditions, and embodying a moral exemplar that transcended personal indulgences. yet, the allure of the comely princess─what with her tantalizing charisma and the promise of forbidden pleasures─casted a shadow over his brutal commitments. the very essence of his role required him to suppress his desires, to remain a paragon of virtue, but the princess's presence awakened a latent yearning within him. she highlighted the ravine between his spiritual ideals and his human frailties. the tension between his vows of celibacy and the seductive advances he faced created a profound internal conflict, where the enjoyment of fleeting earthly gratification momentarily eclipsed the eternal significance of his spiritual mission. his inner turmoil intensified as he grappled with the seductive pull of personal indulgence against the backdrop of his elevated responsibilities. he found himself wrestling with the intense dichotomy between what was expected of him, of what he has always upheld and forced others to do the same versus his personal hunger that was borderline deviant in nature. he already knew that he was not strong enough to resist the irresistible proclivities he held towards the young woman. that alone should be enough for him to establish firm boundaries with her, but what if he desired to entertain his own transgressions, to dance with the wickedness of his own hypocrisy? who was going to stop him? and as he watched the revenant princess reunite with halvor, a part of him already knew the answer to his own self interrogations.
indent
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indenttalos appeared like nothing more than a flying speck above the shimmering waters of lake huron.
indentthe basin's shoreline was a unique blend of diverse elements, from expansive stretches of golden sand gently kissed by azure waters to rugged cliffs and steep escarpments, where the imposing niagara escarpment dramatically plunged into the lake. rocky shores, with their weathered, ancient stones, punctuated the coastline, interspersed with tranquil wetlands and gray marshes. the cool breeze drifting off the lake felt pleasant against søren's face, even if half of it was covered by a mask. a vibrant tapestry of sleek canoes and small fishing boats serenely floated along the lake waters, their once humble forms now adorned in festive splendor. each vessel was meticulously decorated with ornate garlands of fresh flowers and shimmering ribbons in hues of royal colors, a tribute to the recent betrothal. the canoes, previously plain and utilitarian, now sported delicate patterns of intertwined ivy and regal crests painted with intricate care. small johnboats and skiffs, their wooden surfaces gleaming with freshly applied lacquer, were embellished with delicate flags bearing royal insignias, fluttering gently in the light breeze. the sound of laughter and merriment drifted along the lakeshore, puncturing the lord's somber line of thoughts.
indentit was not surprising that his cousin has already taken to the lake, and there was no shortage of eager groupies to join him either. søren could not help but feel a sliver of annoyance over halvor's negligent behavior. the crown prince not only saw it fit to disregard his royal obligations on a normal day but now he appeared to have no interest in entertaining his commitment to the revenant princess. and while his inattention allowed søren and calista precious time together, it did little to assuage the man's agitations over halvor's overall dereliction of duty. it was unbecoming for one of his station to act so childishly heedless. halvor's blatant stupidity and ineptitude towards accepting the demands of his position antagonized søren greatly, and the way the older man so effortlessly attracted the company of others vexed him. despite his battle experience, the prince was known to be generally easygoing, unworried, and insouciant─traits that the lord ascendant himself did not necessarily possess unless he choreographed a disingenuous disposition. most of the relationships søren has forged for himself were based on a mendacious foundation, for he was typically insincere about his intentions. his jealousy towards the prince extended beyond just his engagement to calista. even if he had never met calista as a child, his current circumstances would probably be the same. he would still desire the unlucky woman halvor was betrothed to because søren yearned to claim everything the prince had. it was not productive comparison but an unhealthy envy, a nasty emotion that often arises when he was exposed to others with superior possessions or rival achievements. and unlike halvor, whose demeanor was often perceived as placid if not somewhat carefree, søren came across as much more articulate and resourceful. he has never attracted casual attention the way the older man does unless he purposely contorted his outward bearing into that of a charismatic and appealing person. whatever generosity søren exhibited hid something much more foul beneath, so much so that he fabricated himself a magnetic web of endearment to keep whatever few personal relationships he had left from falling apart. he was a man of frequent and calculative cruelty, and his callous indifference towards devastation bred pitiless behaviors. at times, his actions stemmed from nothing but pure inhumanity─there was no justification for some of his deeds, no underlying rationale that could be attributed to vengeance, retributive justice or maintaining order. it was spontaneous evil, despotism that had no root cause other than the fact he simply could. his tactics during times of war reflected that mentality, for it went beyond just mindless bloodshed and slaughter. he often utilized the psychology of fear as a strategic tool against enemy troops, for it profoundly undermined their morale and mental resilience. when fear was systematically leveraged, it disrupted the cognitive and emotional stability of fighting tribesmen, leading to heightened stress and anxiety that can erode their effectiveness. the constant fear of imminent threats or catastrophic outcomes can lead to a state of chronic stress, which impaired cognitive functions such as concentration and decision-making, thereby reducing combat efficiency. over time, these factors cumulatively weakened the enemy's resolve, leading to decreased combat effectiveness, increased instances of surrender, or even outright retreat. the strategic deployment of fear not only hampered the enemy's operational capacity but also capitalized on their psychological toll, effectively crippling their fighting spirit from within. his mindful deployment of owl-bear riders in enemy territory served to reinforce the mighty will of the bloodborn, as well as terrorize the local populace with bloodthirsty creatures who were often just as sanguinary as their riders. demonstrations of overwhelming military strength—such as grand parades of disciplined troops and formidable weaponry—also intimidated the enemy, making them question their chances of victory. he and his fighters would also engage in psychological manipulation by exploiting enemy superstitions, orchestrating eerie events or spreading rumors of supernatural omens to heighten their anxiety. and sometimes, certain actions held no weight other than acting as a source of entertainment, such as allowing prisoners to purposely escape out into the woods before sending owl-bears after them just to witness the carnage. in terms of tracking down the order's former grand seneschal who betrayed the mythic dawn and later sought sanctuary in the kasba lake region, søren used the same tactics of fear to essentially eat away at the man's sanity before he even caught with him. he would send his warriors out to burn safe houses before the traitor could even reach them, or he'd have his templars slaughter any dissenters who were set to provide the man safe passage before he initially arrived. he'd box off popular roads and force the traitor out into the wilderness, where he would inevitably stumble upon destroyed villages and rotting carcasses—people who could have once provided him with passage—that would only further rot away his resilience. it went like that for months, where the lord ascendant kept a tight rein over his location and manipulated the surrounding area to terrorize the man without actively engaging with him because he knew that immediate death would be too good for an oathbreaker. and by the time he was finally confronted, he was so crazed with grief and self-induced madness that all he could do was cry out for lord oddvar's forgiveness before he finally succumbed to his own derangement. at the time, he did not realize how his engagement with the man would later temporarily erode his own functions, if only because he brought out the worst of past events. the men and women he faced as an inexperienced youth who once terrorized him with abhorrent attacks or frightening tactics may be dead, but their vile spirits lived on in the form of their victims such as søren. during his foreign ventures, he often pulled stratagems against his enemies that were once used against him, such as the targeting and premediated murders of tribal youths.
indentit was no secret that the young warriors of annexed canada are brazen, bold, and reckless. occupied with stunted dreams of glory and legendary fame, juvenile tribesmen are much more likely to face significant military blunders than their elderly counterparts. targeting the unskilled can disrupt the command structure and decision-making processes of the enemy, leading to confusion and reduced effectiveness in their operations. killing young leaders can also have a demoralizing effect on the troops under their command, potentially undermining the confidence and morale of their armies. young tribesmen are not just the backbone of their respective societies but potential future leaders who might quickly gain valuable experience and become more effective over time; removing them early on can prevent them from maturing into more competent and influential individuals, for they are more likely to adopt innovative or unorthodox tactics than their predecessors. young warriors are far more likely to become hinged on the concept of retaliation, and there have been many who swore oaths of vengeance against søren for the atrocities he committed against their communities or their persons. their vows of reprisals were usually humorous, baseless threats that held no real danger for the lord ascendant. still, he entertained them anyway. he never wore his helmet so those who sought him out could easily pinpoint his silver hair and unique facial scarring, for he knew that those foolish enough to challenge him without undergoing the necessary preparations were usually those so disturbed by his actions that they would not be competent enough to hold their own in combat. by the time they realized their mistakes, it was already too late. he never spared those who were foolish enough to face him, no matter their age or inexperience, although sometimes he'd play around with them in the form of cruel banter and physical browbeating before delivering the final blow (much like what happened to him at springgrove). his actions were not solely driven by a cold, strategic calculus but were also a reflection of his desire to inflict the same tribulations he once endured. in targeting such individuals, he found a perverse sense of vindication, for it was all an attempt to balance his own past traumas by perpetuating a cycle of violence that held no real ground, no real justification. he enjoyed inflicting senseless adversity and eating away at the innocence of those who were essentially unsullied before they stepped onto the battlefield, if only because it served as some form of self-punishment towards his younger self for his senseless mistakes. his enemies in akhiwudian were dead, but that did not bring back the core of his unresolved anger and grief: the loss of love from those who once truly mattered to him. love can build or break the entire world. everything stemmed from love, be it anger or loss. love was the driving force behind it all, and the lord ascendant was a prime example that its cruel abandonment could often lead to one being beyond saving. after the war of wrath, he no longer had an outlet to channel his rage through, enemies to rightfully hold accountable for his overwhelming sense of grief. and instead of finding solace with those around him who truly cared about the lord's happiness, he continued to isolate himself. he did not seem to acknowledge or even care what a gross disservice he was doing to not only his younger self but those around him who suffered the same calamities at the hands of violent rivals. it did not take him long to find a way to destroy his personal relationships because he held an utter lack of regard towards not only his own anguish but everyone else's. he continuously reopened old wounds because he himself has never healed properly. the way he internalized the misdeeds committed against him before regurgitating the same wickedness against others was probably why certain individuals such as princess roskva no longer wanted to be around him. søren's behaviors were only exacerbated by the corruption of his position, where he could essentially get away with just about anything as long as he pulled his cards right. there have been moments where he has overstepped his boundaries and targeted the squires of his order with no real justification other than the fact they were vulnerable to his whims. there had been one occasion where he singled out fiach kavanaugh, a ward of house kolbeck, in a training duel after discovering the boy harassing one of the more softhearted squires, darby gronlund. the two had been locked in a training session, with fiach continuously forcing the other teenager onto his knees and proclaiming that since the other boy liked to eat so much, he might as well get on the ground and start eating the dirt. agitated by the boy's arrogance, søren forced him to take up an iron sword and face him in a duel. eventually, the lord ascendant had to be stopped by the order's grand master because he refused to allow the teenager to get up from the ground, continuously kicking him downwards or roughly pushing him back into the sand all while admonishing the boy for his family's sins. did he care to act in the way of a warm and dedicated mentor, the same as lord oddvar once did for him? no, he did not. he could trigger inquisitions with no real basis, target his own communities, and drag alleged heretics down into the tunnels of knarwood keep to be essentially persecuted to death because who was going to stop him? who was going to tell him he was stepping beyond the boundaries of his influence, that he stood to not only eventually destroy himself but everyone around him? søren has not only effectively isolated himself from those who could stand to help him but he has eroded most of his familial and personal relationships as a result of his own cathartic aggression. he has grown to epitomize the lesser transgressions of childhood badgering from individuals such as prince adonis to more extreme levels of preplanned brutality enacted by former rivals, for those who once stood to possibly help guide him into a respectable and honorable person such as his grandmother and lord oddvar were brutally murdered when he was young. his formative years were full of violence and heartache, so much so that he learned the realities of life and later embodied such teachings from those who sought to destroy him. he was like a sponge, absorbing not only the marginal details of his past mistakes but the blood and pain that came with it. and while he has learned from his faults, he also lost himself in the process, as shown by how quickly he unraveled and slipped into instability when he felt out of control.
indentsøren looked at calista from the corner of his eye as she approached him. the princess's question earned her a silent nod. it was almost amusing how she always appeared to grab his attention and pull him from the twisted depths of his own mind at just the right moment. his relationship with calista remained so sound because it was one currently built on the foundations of the past. having been relentlessly warring in manitoba, the princess could not possibly know the depth of søren's character; that much was clear by the way she interacted with him, how she lightly goaded him the way she did when they were children. his infringements were usually enacted against those of lower standing or, in the case of prince arkyn, individuals who he knew nobody would care about should something happen to them─naturally, nobody cared what he did to rival tribesmen unless they happened to be intelligent enough to recognize his atrocities abroad could easily be applied to his own people. it was abundantly clear that her perception of him was off, whether it be from søren's own actions or her own warped line of thinking. he did not intend on necessarily breaking that impression either, if only because it would be greatly beneficial for him to remain in her soft spot. but truthfully, would that even matter to her? would she still care for him, even if she was made aware of his baseless excursions and his criminality? he did not know. she was not exactly clean of blood herself, but one could argue that she had a good reason for what she has done throughout the years─at-least in terms of tribal culture, where vengeance is only expected to be enacted against those who have wronged you. could i say the same? he could not deny that her presence was a welcoming distraction from his increasing volatility, if only because her own demeanor was so greatly different than his. calista appeared almost entirely unaffected by the restrictive circumstances of her situation, and that was abundantly clear by the way she kept enticing him with playful challenges. søren turned to look at her as she began to retreat towards the canoe. while his mind remained heavy by his own thoughts, her frisky spirit was a welcoming distraction from what may loom in the horizon. he trailed after her, blue eyes observing the way her cloak billowed in the breeze. "i suppose i have no choice when you've been very elegantly threatening me all evening about it," he quipped, although there was some semblance of truth in his statement. "just promise you won't chain me down into the seat so i don-" the sudden sound of approaching footsteps made him pause in his tracks. before he could turn around, there was sudden movement rushing past his legs and the sudden sound of squawking piercing the air. aömwé was a blur of colors as she barreled towards the revenant princess. the young owl-bear dug her feet into the rocky soil beneath as she skidded to a halt directly behind calista. the creature began to paw at calista's back legs with an absentminded swipe of the foot, her chirps amiable but muffled. at first, he thought she was going to lunge at the woman in crazed excitement until he realized aömwé was trying to present her with something. the man immediately narrowed his eyes. "what is that in your mouth?" he questioned her. when she ignored him, he spoke in the tongue of his tribe, the language often used for owl-bear commands. "hæl, aömwétohen-ljós." the owl-bear cub immediately lowered her ears, the feathery tufts flattening against her head in visible irritation as she registered his command. aömwé slowly turned to face him. he was not surprised to see what looked like a night-heron hanging from her beak. with a stout body and short legs, its plumage was a mix of gray and white, with a distinctive black cap on its head. judging by the way it twisted its small body and flexed its talons with frenzied chirps, it was still very much alive. of course. søren was not surprised. he should have expected her to find something to prey upon, especially when she joined him earlier on the shoreline. "very cute, but you're not bringing that on the canoe. drop it." the owl-bear only stared at him. he had to resist the urge to frown at her defiance as if she were a human child. "slepptu því. now, aömwé." he began to approach the owl-bear cub, an action that immediately set her off. aömwé bolted from calista and into the shallow waters that lapped the shoreline, her chirps dulled by the bird in her mouth. søren lunged forward in a failed attempt to grab her, the heel of his boot digging into the sand in an attempt to keep himself from falling into the water. she stopped as soon as she was out of reach, her large eyes observing the man carefully. when he turned to face her again, she immediately stretched out her front limbs in visible excitement, her round form crouching ever so slightly. it was a playful bow, a sign that she neither took him seriously nor did she intend on dropping the heron. the owl-bear cub boasted a mesmerizing blend of avian and ursine characteristics, exuding both delight and a hint of wild majesty. she boasted light brown plumage that covered her upper body with the soft and downy-like the feathers of a young owl, interspersed with patches of coarse ivory-colored fur on her underbelly and face, giving her a warm, earthy appearance. her large, round eyes, a striking amber hue, were set wide apart, making it appear as if she held an endearing, almost inquisitive gaze. her eyes were framed by a delicate ruff of feathers along her forehead that accentuated her curious expressions. her body was stout and rounded, with a robust, almost muscular build that emphasized her youthfulness but predatory nature. along with a large black beak, she boasted long claws on each foot that were not only noticeably sharp but curled into the sand, hinting at the deadly beast she was growing into. she was almost three years old, but she was already as large as a hunting hound and twice as deadly, too. one precise swipe of her claws could easily disembowel a human being, although her appearance was so naturally lovable that people did not quite realize the dangers of even interacting with a young owl-bear.
indentsøren immediately recognized the puckishness behind her stance. conscious of the way calista and the two guards were watching him, he had to resist the urge to lash out at the young creature. it was almost comical how he had such a tight grip over the golden order's most staunch adherents, but he could not control an owl-bear cub to save his life. whenever he took a step closer, her bow would only deepen, the heron in her jaws squawking in dismay. whenever he took two steps closer, she would chirp in glee and run around in the shallows before facing him again, her stout form quickly bowing in young playfulness. quickly remembering the pastry he had stored in his pocket coat earlier (his drained appetite would not allow him to finish the sweet dessert), he fished the treat out of his coat and held it in plain sight of the owl-bear cub. "you want it? you got to drop the bird first. no, you can't have both," he added curtly when she curiously twisted her head at him, her cranium turning in an unnatural angle. she stood still for a moment before she finally dropped the heron. the bird fell into the water with a shrill call of terror, its lithe body immediately twisting this way and that until it was finally able to open its wings. it was obvious the creature was stunned, as shown by how it did not immediately take off. luckily, aömwé was no longer interested in the small bird. she immediately bolted towards the canoe as soon as the lord tossed the pastry inside of it. annoyed by her obstinate display, søren trudged after her. "alright, everyone get inside the damn canoe." he offered his hand to calista to help her step inside the small vessel. he did not care if he got his boots wet attempting to push the canoe further out into the water; it would be a minor discomfort compared to calista having to deal with a wet skirt. aömwé began to squeal in dismay, as if she were afraid the woman was going to steal her pastry. the round creature rose on her hindlegs and began to paw at the canoe; her body proportions were at an awkward stage where she was unable to pull herself over the edge. søren leaned down and carefully wrapped his arms around her stomach before lifting her over the edge of the canoe and allowing herself to scramble her way inside. he couldn't help but wheeze at the effort, for she was not only heavy but the strain of lifting her agitated a body that was still attempting to internally recover from the injuries he received over a year ago in the frostmire. unsurprisingly, the owl-bear cub immediately snatched up the honey cake as soon as she was inside the canoe. as søren gripped the right side of the canoe to begin pushing it deeper into the water (a surprisingly easy process given the water had already managed to snag the bottom of the vessel), the two guards who had been standing silently nearby moved to help the lordling. they only barely touched the sides before aömwé suddenly turned to face them, a large paw suddenly swiping at their greaves with a territorial growl. the two men gave a yell in response, one nearly falling back into the sand as they narrowly dodged the creature's sharp claws. it was obvious by the owl-bear's body language that she was not keen on sharing her claimed territory─that being calista, the canoe, and søren─with the two men. "what are you doing? stop it." søren pressed the palm of his hand against her face before he firmly pushed her back into the canoe, earning him a call of protest in response. he apologetically looked back at the two disgruntled guards before the canoe finally caught water, allowing him to carefully pull himself inside once they departed the shoreline and began to reach some depth. he could not help but feel somewhat wary over having aömwé in the canoe with them, although he supposed it was better than leaving her on the shoreline. it was obvious by her current attitude that she was feeling rambunctious, and the last thing he needed was for her to randomly attack wandering citizens. as he reached for the oars so they could begin to gain some traction, he looked over to calista, his words slightly drowned out by the owl-bear cub's now excessive chirping as she suspiciously glanced over the sides of the canoe. "regretting that invitation yet?"

[vaermina]

ＴＡＬＩＯＮ ＮＯＣＴＵＲＮＥxxx
I.xtribal affiliationsx II. a royal lunespawn of house nocturne


indentit was difficult to discern what the young prince was feeling. marred by chronic exhaustion and lingering despondency over the past few months, it was unsurprising why he was none too eager to entertain the grand cleric. she was an enigma, and he was unsure on whether or not he had the energy to decipher her mysterious intentions. her display of contrition earned the woman something of a raised eyebrow from talion, as if he were puzzled over why she was immediately jumping into penitence. "it's quite alright," he reassured her, an edge of stoicism still lingering in his voice from earlier. lady gwendolyn's behavior was peculiar, if not somewhat disconcerting. he has never met a grand cleric so quick to fall upon their sword as she. he appreciated her acknowledgment, although he could not tell if it was some form of psychological administration or genuine subservience. in talion's mind, clerics of particularly high reverence have always been the epitome of cold ambition, austere figures who have clawed their way to the highest echelons of the chantry—a place reserved only for the most scrupulously cunning and pragmatically ruthless. the cimmerian chantry was infamous for its strict doctrines, where humility was demanded of all but rarely shown by those at the top. clerics of such high rank were known to be imperious, regarding all below them with thinly veiled contempt, not deference. the prince's confusion stemmed from the incongruity: how was it possible that clerics, who have spent their lives in the pursuit of power through cold calculation, suddenly conform themselves into a state of almost humble brokenness, seeking diffidence with a fervor that seemed almost... genuine? was this a calculated ploy, or could the weight of the divine humble even the most hardened of hearts? the woman's unexpected display defied everything the prince has been taught about power and piety, but it was not enough to leave him entirely defenseless or helplessly questioning the true nature of both. it pleasantly surprised him. that was all. he watched her with careful curiosity as she rummaged for the appropriate materials for the gash on his palm. the ambiguity surrounding lady gwendolyn's intentions piqued his inquisitiveness. her display of humility and subservience could possibly reflect an authentic disposition, or it could merely be a prelude to much more malicious intentions. one could not help but wonder if the most powerful of invidia's clerics eventually find themselves weighed down by the spiritual burdens of guilt or fear of divine retribution. surely even the most devout make mistakes? have there been clergywomen in the past who have cracked under the immense pressure of wasting a lifetime spent in ruthless ambition or some other goal? having reached the pinnacle of power, do individuals like the dark cardinal suffer the terror of divine judgment, only recognizing the futility of their worldly success once they are faced with everlasting eternity? as much as talion disapproved of it, he could recognize the very real sociopolitical climate of annexed canada, with that being only the most fierce and apathetic of tribesmen reach old age. the chantry's harsh environment was no different than that of duskhelm's royal court. the actions of some of saint-arkh's most prominent officials are nothing more than a calculated performance, designed to manipulate those around them or maintain power in delicate political situations. in such a merciless hierarchy, where power was won through coldhearted machinations, it would be naive to think that men and women who have already made their beds in the advantageous throes of power may suddenly yield a different mindset. there have been many people within the past few years who have noted the prince's growing influence on the battlefield and have adjusted their behavior accordingly, feigning compliance to gain favor or avoid a looming threat in the shape of house nocturne's wrath. the ever-shifting landscape of administrative functions was why he could not quite pinpoint the grand cleric's underlining purpose, although he supposed she would not be stand here tending to his wounds if she thought he was expendable. the herbal poultice felt soothing as it was gently pressed against his skin, releasing a cool, refreshing sensation that eased the rawness of the cut. a faint tingle began to spread along the edge of the gash almost immediately as the woman quickly moved to bandage the palm of his hand. the prince's gaze flickered downwards to watch her handiwork, his mind still reeling in silent concern. while the prince was not predisposed towards questioning every little possible objective transpiring around him, these past few months have left him with increasingly strained patience and mental fortitude. he has never been as astute or deceptive as those around him, and he knew he had to try and protect himself by adapting a more questioning attitude. he could not allow himself to be intimidated by others, not when he was now the eldest son of king burchard and queen etheldreda. he had the potential to succeed his father and inherit the throne; how could a crown prince and heir to the throne allow himself to be subjugated to the whims of others?
indenttalion carefully flexed his bandaged hand as soon as the woman finished tending to his cut. "thank you." while he was unable to discern her true aims here, he could appreciate her methodical skills in healing. it was evident by her following gesture that she intended to look at his abdomen wound next, a process that would undoubtedly require the prince to take a seat in one of the tent's padded chairs. he did not reject her silent instruction, although it was rather uncomfortable to sit down in the bottom cuisses of an armor set without its corresponding upper sections. he could feel the warm pelts of the chair's backrest press against his skin as he took a seat. he looked up at the cleric as she placed the roll of bandages and her phial of herbal poultice on his writing desk. talion could only barely perceive her actions before she suddenly moved in front of him and stepped in between his legs. he immediately stiffened upon her sudden intrusion into his personal space. while one could argue lady gwendolyn was merely positioning herself for better access to his wound, her sudden relocation instantly made him uneasy. having been raised relatively sheltered from the more common aspects of arkhian life up until he reached adulthood, talion and his adoptive siblings have experienced only minimal personal contact with other citizens, reinforcing a sense of detachment towards other people that has never quite gone way. his holy position as a royal lunespawn only further deepened such a divide. revered as a symbol of divine favor, he was always treated with a level of reverence that set him apart from others, often leading to awkwardness in everyday interactions. his importance in sacred rituals and his symbolic role as a spiritual figure meant that even casual touch was rare and laden with meaning. consequently, he has grown wary of the physical closeness that others take for granted, perceiving it as intrusive or overwhelming. a bizarre combination of physical isolation and elevated status fostered an unease with intimacy, making even simple gestures of affection feel foreign and unsettling. it was why he did not know quite what to do back in the divination tent when she sliced open his palm, for his lack of familiarity with such affinity made him unsettled with not only his surroundings but his own turmoil of emotions. having grown up in the sheltered confines of royal life, he has always been distanced from the tactile bonds that most children form with the world around them. his mother, highly protective of their lineage and status, limited his and his siblings' interactions with outsiders to maintain their spiritual purity and control their exposure to their surroundings. physical contact felt foreign, almost invasive to him, as if it stood only to reinforce an internalized discomfort with the unfamiliar intimacy that it represented. it was probably why he has grown into such an introvert. he has learned to retreat inward when confronted with uncomfortable situations, for he found solace in solitude and quiet reflection. more often than not, the absence of physical interaction brought him peace, if only because he has grown up constantly prodded and poked by clerics of the chantry. talion has long developed a heightened sense of awareness over his personal space, carefully managing the few interactions he was able to control by relying on formalities and boundaries that preserve his comfort. there was little he could do to control such circumstances when it came to the role he played in saint-arkh's religion, but he was often able to bridle his own confines in secular environments. over time, the prince has learned to view his discomfort as part of the sacrifice he must bear for the sake of his people and their beliefs. the world was an inherently intolerable realm to bear in the first place, and tribulations were an unfortunate stipulation of a mortal life. talion has always been the type of person who appreciated emotional, far more than physical, support from other people. and while not exactly distrustful, he was fairly reticent about what he was feeling, hence his rather robotic responses with lady gwendolyn so far. he was unaccustomed with such casual personal adjacency, and that much was obvious by the way he reacted earlier to the ritual. whatever natural inclinations he may feel towards the opposite sex never dictated his actions or how he treated the women around him, and the spiritual weight of his status as a lunespawn only added onto the detachment he felt when it came to such dissipation. truthfully, talion could not recall even developing anything as innocent as a childhood crush. he was undecided on whether or not he cared for such close proximity, if only because he has been dealt limited exposure to said situations. luckily, the way the grand cleric has carried herself so far meant that the prince was not uncomfortable with her presence to the point where he immediately sought to kick her out. he would tolerate her closeness, for the most he could do was trust that she knew what she was doing. talion looked up at her in cautious disquiet. "yes, i know. it has not been a nuisance for very long," he reassured her mildly, glad that she did not immediately jump onto some passive aggressive spiel about how he shouldn't neglect his own care. the prince was not forsaking his own health, for he had intended to change his bandages sooner or later.
indentthe young prince stiffened even further as she began to peel away the old bandages from his abdomen. each shift of the bandage sent a jolt of discomfort through his body, his muscles tensing involuntarily as he fought to remain composed. he could feel the occasional tug as lady gwendolyn applied her craft, as though his skin was being pulled taut, stretching just a little too far. unsurprisingly, it was not a pleasant process to have sticky bandages changed. as she carefully peeled away the old bandages from his abdomen, the tender, red-rimmed wound where an arrow had struck him days earlier was soon exposed. the wound itself throbbed faintly, a dull ache beneath the sharper sting of the woman's touch. it was swollen and surrounded by bruised skin, still healing, the torn flesh sensitive to every lingering touch. a sharp sting shot through his side as the warm air touched the raw skin, followed by a dull ache that pulsed with each breath. the edges of the laceration burned, the tender skin still protesting the memory of the arrow's sharp intrusion. he briefly looked downwards. the wound on the prince's abdomen was an angry, puckered gash, slightly oval in shape, with the center still pink and raw where the skin had been pierced. the edges of the wound were red and slightly inflamed, though less so than in the days immediately following the injury. faint streaks of plum and sepia bruising radiated outward, mere remnants of the initial trauma he sustained when he was first punctured by the arrowhead. unnerved by the sight of his own injury, talion immediately looked away, instead choosing to study the various portraits that lined the quivering walls of the tent. carnage and bloodshed was unpleasant, but it no longer disturbed him the way it once did. it was one of those principles that he has learned to begrudgingly accept and come to terms with; there was no feasible away to avoid looking upon such discomforts during times of war, although he has never grown one hundred percent content with it. still, pain was not a particular agreeable sensation, and he had to practically bite the inside of his cheeks to avoid hissing in discontent when the cleric peeled off his bandages. "an arrow," he resisted the urge to huff at his own irritation. "or, if you desire to be more technical, a guerilla ambush and one stellarun soldier with a damn good aim." truth be told, he was almost surprised that this was the first major injury he obtained during the savalow campaign. with how disastrous recent excursions have gone, talion was lucky to not receive a more debilitating wound. the stellarun were not paltry fighters. in a tribe where warfare was seen as a survival mechanism rather than a source of bloody entertainment, their approach to combat was deeply intertwined with the need for protection, resource control, and territorial defense. the stellarun prioritized guerrilla warfare and the intimate knowledge of the local environment—dense forests, rugged mountains, or winding rivers—as strategic assets. camouflage played a crucial role in their frequently successful ambushes, with warriors blending into their surroundings by using natural materials such as mud, leaves, snow, undergrowth, and animal skins. rather than engaging in direct, large-scale battles, they employed hit-and-run tactics, ambushes, and traps to overwhelm arkhian forces, conserving their own limited resources. they stationed stealthy scouts to monitor arkhian movements, and swift communication allowed them to strike at weak points or retreat to safer ground when needed. the element of surprise, knowledge of terrain, and psychological warfare—like disorienting their enemies with the sounds of nature or misleading trails in forests that had no identifying landmarks—proved to be the key to their successes. their weapons were crafted from readily available natural resources, designed for efficiency, portability, and stealth in line with their guerrilla warfare techniques. as shown by talion's injury, bows and arrows proved to be one of their primary weapons, allowing their warriors to strike from a distance and remain hidden from sight. their arrows were always tipped with stone or bone, meticulously sharpened as to pierce armor and wound flesh. their ingenuity in using their environment as both a weapon and a shield complemented their tools of war. warfare was not glorified but seen as a necessary skill for survival and protecting their way of life from external threats, and the stellarun's long history with the ever combative tribe of saint-arkh only heightened their aggression towards breaching invaders. it did not help that a crippling sense of domestic morale has tainted the self-confidence of many arkhian soldiers. how could they remain sensible and prudent when the very institutions they admired were currently embroiled in a clash of egos? the threat of civil conflict on the home-front did nothing but wear down the men and women assigned to fight beyond their tribe's borders, for what was the point of claiming foreign territory when everything could fall apart anyway? it was an uncomfortable thought, so much so that talion did not realize the grand cleric began hovering slightly closer to him until she spoke. the prince only nodded in response; he was much more concerned over the vial of herbal paste in her hand than he was her proximity. his concern was not unwarranted. when lady gwendolyn began reapplying the herbal paste, its coolness offered a fleeting relief before the sharp, burning sensation immediately swooped in to claim it. the prince let out a soft, involuntary groan in response. the pressure of the cleric's hands, though gentle, sent sharp waves of discomfort radiating from the injury. his breathing came in shallow bursts, each one carefully measured as though any deeper might worsen the pain. talion averted his eyes from the woman in front of him, instead choosing to stare intently at the tent wall, as if unwilling to let his discomfort show too fully. the strain in his expression betrayed his inner struggle. in fact, he hardly registered the woman's sudden hand placement on his exposed shoulder.
indentunsurprisingly, pain can dominate sensory perception, causing the brain to prioritize the most urgent threat—in this case, the source of pain over less critical stimuli like touch. the cleric's caress would have probably agitated him if the circumstances were different. pain has a way of breaking down the barriers human beings construct to protect themselves. his usual aloofness stemmed from the need to appear levelheaded and in control, a vital aspect of his royal identity that was often so cruelly disregarded in the first place. pain can make even the most guarded individuals vulnerable, and in such moments, one might subconsciously seek relief in the presence of someone whose sole purpose was to help them. while lady gwendolyn's touch would have most likely been met with a rebuff in any other circumstance, her momentary role as a healer meant that her graze was not a breach of his personal space but a professional, gentle gesture of care, imbued with a sense of safety and trust. surrender in the face of pain can be deeply humanizing, allowing one to feel cared for, if just briefly, in a world where lunespawn are often required to be distant and untouchable beyond the confines of their religious duties. talion's muscles slowly relaxed, although his gaze remained guarded, eyes flickering between the woman's face and the point of contact as if weighing the decision to let it happen. talion could easily shrug her off or snap at her to mind her place, but what good would that do if only help reinforce the current strain between the crown and the chantry? it was obvious she was only trying to help him. he remained still, his pride intact yet momentarily suspended. he understood that in this brief exchange, vulnerability was not weakness but necessary. with the way his hand was twitching with malaise, he was almost tempted to reach up and graze her arm with his hand, although he was not quite confident in initiating such contact himself. as the herbal paste began to seep into the wound, the initial sharpness of the pain slowly dulled. the prince's breathing, once shallow and ragged, began to steady, though each exhale still carried a hint of tension. the coolness of the salve, though biting at first, gradually soothed the rawness of the skin around the injury. the deep throbbing in his abdomen began to subside into a more tolerable ache. his tightly clenched fists relaxed slightly, his fingers twitching occasionally when a fresh wave of discomfort rippled through him. the scent of the herbs, earthy and sharp, filled his senses, grounding him as he focused on the subtle numbing effect that spread slowly but surely from the initial point of contact. his eyes flickered back to the grand cleric when she stepped away from him. it took talion a moment to realize that she was no longer touching his shoulder. he did not know what was more peculiar: resisting the notion of touch or craving the thought of it. like much of everything in his life, the prince was indecisive on whether or not he cared for it. he has always been a bashful person, indrawn to the point where he did not necessarily seek out contact with others unless prompted to do so. it was probably why, complications of religion aside, he has yet to be betrothed to anyone. while fairly open-minded, he was not exactly the most animated or gregarious of people, and his reserved tendencies made it difficult to get to know him. the way talion carried himself was not exactly hidden knowledge. he has never acted as pitiless as his father or as austere as his mother, and his lack of novelty as a youth marked him as relatively boring, if not somewhat troubled, when he was a child. he was never picked on or necessarily treated in a bad manner outside of the usual power plays in the religious and political sphere, but he was always painfully aware of who and what he was. combined with his restrictive upbringing, talion did not have a branching network of interpersonal relationships and quaint connections.
indentlady gwendolyn's anodyne remark was met with a peculiar look from the young prince. having been content to sit in silence for a few moments, her words caught him off word. he was given only a few seconds to register her statement before the woman went on a reflective tirade concerning her past, revealing bits and pieces of her journey as a cleric in arachburn before shifting into a more analytic tone surrounding the perception of devotees such as herself. he listened to her with a raised eyebrow, her theoretical pandering briefly distracting him from the dull ache in his abdomen. don't you find it funny, how we tie faithful servants such as myself with notions of influence or power? well, he did not know about that. from talion's experience, a good chunk of those who sat in the upper echelons of the chantry's hierarchy were pretty adamant on maintaining a degree of influence over their subjects, although perhaps the woman was simply eluding to her own personal character. in a society where religion dominated all aspects of life, high-ranking clerics of the cimmerian chantry often wield significant influence over both spiritual and secular matters. their elevated status granted them not only the respect and reverence of the community but also considerable political, economic, and social power. they were adamant about maintaining their positions because their authority grants them the unique ability to control moral narratives, influence political decisions, and shape societal norms. the intertwining of religious and societal structures has long created an environment where their decisions are rarely questioned, allowing them to consolidate wealth, form alliances with political elites, and dictate policies that benefit their interests. talion knew that because he has spent so much time in the care of the chantry's followers, as well as the obvious irreligious sentiments that have begun to creep into every aspect of not only house nocturne but duskhelm's royal court. if anything, the two aligned with one another. politics was just the same as religion. what should be the upmost piety in upholding the rule of law and the will of the kingdom became not only matters of personal ambition but strategies to preserve systems that reinforce power and privilege. it was why the woman's question almost seemed to amuse him, as shown by the small smile that suddenly crossed his normally somber features. he waved off her apology with a light chuckle. "i am afraid that there is no such thing as drakonian politics anymore, my good lady. within the past few months the royal court has become nothing short of a kennel with no kennel-master. the court has been..." he paused for a moment, "restless since the death of the king's heir. it has become a largely unfriendly territory to transverse, if my sister's letters are true." he eyed her with halfhearted intrigue. "perhaps the touch of an outsider may quell their fears. i am positive that you will be able to find your way." truthfully, talion knew very little of what was transpiring back home in duskhelm. whatever semblance of decency and order remained in the capital city following prince amalric's death and the growing crisis between the crown and the chantry was only barely held together by his royal father. queen etheldreda, a once prominent figure at court, has all but vanished from the public eye since the death of her only biological child. she spent most of her time inside the castle's royal chapel, neurotically and compulsively praying at the stone feet of invidia. she was accompanied only by her ladies-in-waiting and spent the entirety of her waking hours inside the chapel, mumbling incohesive orisons and rocking only slightly back and forth with her hands clasped over a religious curio. according to his youngest sister, the queen was totally and utterly lifeless, sleeping only when she could no longer keep her eyes open and eating only when she could no longer tolerate the stomach cramps. it was an affliction of the broken mind, a physical reaction to a psyche cracked by grief and the incomprehensible. there was nothing that could rouse her. talion had to go to the chapel and find her before he left for skarrynden, for not even the threat of her lunespawn children leaving drakonia was enough to briefly shake her out of her miserable haze. and if anyone knew his mother, the notion of her adoptive children immersing themselves in foreign environments was always enough to put her on edge. talion's exposure to saint-arkh's political dogma has always been in tandem with the queen's diplomatic agendas. she was a prevalent legislative figure when he was young, and whatever awkward situations he found himself being roped into was usually because of his mother's initiative. she always had a keen eye for societal policies and public law, and her guilty pleasures for hosting extravagant balls and social gatherings made her a desired companion in many elite circles. she knew how to navigate the complexities of drakonia's establishment, albeit she has always been somewhat of a temperamental and capricious woman. her volatile behaviors stemmed more from cattiness than anything else, for her malice rarely reached a level of consequential damage. it was much the same when talion was young, for her anger never involved violence but instead impulsive and hotheaded reactions one might expect from a teenage girl instead. she was all bark and no bite, as shown by the way she has historically enjoyed watching her subjects vie for her favor and companionship. if fattened up with a good chunk of shallow compliments, winsome conversations, and appealing interactions, it was easy to get on her good side. his mother thrived at court, for she needed to know that she was useful and powerful in her own right. she has never been a warrior, but it was nevertheless alarming to see her crash and burn. and while his father has become a significant presence at court the past few years, he all but now dominated the crown's decision-making processes. queen etheldreda was no longer present to help temper his fury or urge him to heed caution in the face of the unknown─considering the overwhelming magnitude of her presence in helping forge crown-chantry relations over the years, it must be alarming for the chantry to realize that the queen could no longer aid them.
indenttalion shifted in his chair. "but i suppose it is amusing," he relented to her earlier question concerning her position. "it is peculiar, how men and women who do not yearn for power must still deal with its ramifications. it is not a delightful position to be in." he watched as she fiddled with the bandages in her hands. he could see how there might be devotees of invidia who, despite exclusively yearning to serve their goddess, might get caught up in political ploys of power throughout southern wild rose country. but was that really what was going on here? the prince was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, this time his tone taking a shift in direction. "and true as that may be, you were hand-selected by the dark cardinal herself to fill in the vacancy of your predecessor, no? that is a hefty role to fulfill, one that i cannot imagine her holiness would bestow upon just anybody given what happened to my father's former clergy. that would require a certain level of trust and established relationship, i would think. would you not agree, my lady?" while his words were not outwardly belligerent or hostile, there was certainly an edge to his tone that conveyed a sense of doubt towards the grand cleric's story and, if anything, a light challenge. talion's status as a royal lunespawn, nevertheless one gifted to the eldest son of the serpent queen, meant that he was not unfamiliar with xheskia neziri's infamous ways or her history with house nocturne. cloaked in a permanent state of righteousness, the dark cardinal has exhibited arrogance and insensitivity throughout the tenure of her leadership. by positioning herself as a source of unquestionable authority, claiming divine sanction for her every action, the old woman has grown obsessively familiar with the taint of power. she demanded absolute loyalty by disregarding the emotional needs and personal struggles of her followers, for she believed their suffering to be a necessary sacrifice in the pursuit of a higher purpose. her arrogance only blinded her to the individual worth of those around her; she treated their pain as inconsequential, even ordained, for that was just simply the type of person she was. rather than offering compassion, she coldly insisted that their hardships were the price they must pay for spiritual favor. she made unreasonable demands for their time, labor, and even health. to her, their devotion was proven through suffering, and she felt ever entitled to their toil, oblivious to the emotional damage her expectations exact. their lives belong to her faith, and any questioning of her authority was met with disdain and accusations of weakness or lack of piety. she justified her arrogance and harsh demands by invoking her perceived divine connection, claiming that her authority was not her own but directly from a higher power. to her, every command she barked was sanctioned by sacred texts or divine will, making her followers' obedience not a matter of choice but a holy duty. while talion could easily make excuses for just about anybody in the cimmerian chantry, the one individual he could not stand or swallow his contempt for was xheskia neziri. he hated her. in fact, she was probably the only individual alive that he felt such animosity for. according to his father and extended kin, she was a selfish woman, brutal and self-regarding with no love for anybody but herself. she would gladly destroy just about everyone around her if it meant exceeding her own goals. she was not aligned with invidia's agenda, no matter how much she attempted to play the pious card. while many were able to look past her faults on the basis of her divine position, it was difficult to ignore decades of insensitive and self-absorbed power moves initiated against house nocturne by the dark cardinal. it could be argued that the woman was responsible for a number of royal deaths over the years, ranging from talion's grandparents to his lunespawn uncle and now his older brother. it was almost like the dark cardinal felt she had a divine claim over the lives of everyone around her based on the holiness of her position, like everyone around her hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. she would gladly sacrifice her own subjects if it meant achieving her ambitions. she cared not for the individual but their relations to invidia. why else would she and her clerics approve of prince amalric's venture, if not to remove his unsightly role from hindering their own plans? it was similar to the way she had convinced king burchard's father to momentarily reject negotiating with the asturanii, despite their role in the death of his wife and their capture of his two eldest sons. she had proclaimed that the dark sister found it nothing short of wicked and ungodly to broker with impious tribes, a claim that not only ruined his grandfather's reputation but greatly soured the general public's attitude towards the woman at the time. in fact, the backlash the crown and chantry received for refusing to avenge queen boudicca and recapture her sons was the only reason why talion's father and uncle were even recovered in the first place. it was considered not only craven but downright criminal to ignore such heinous insults made against the tribe of saint-arkh, for if their institutions were too spineless to avenge their queen than how could they possibly hope to prevail in annexed canada? neziri felt righteous enough to involve herself in the crown's affairs no matter the generation, and damn the consequences and whoever ended up caught in the crossfire of her own objectives. the pattern was obvious, but nobody seemed keen on holding the woman accountable because of the religious and social ramifications. but when does it end? talion would like to trust lady gwendolyn—she has so far proven herself to be a helpful healer and engaging cleric—but he could not ignore the fact that her position in the chantry's bracket painted her in a dubious light. sure, she could have reached her position through years of hardwork and humble service but did she really? judging by her own claims, she rose to power through years of dedicated service in arachburn, but that still offered little explanation. he would be more inclined to trust her had she approached him as an ordinary grand cleric, not one chosen by the dark cardinal herself to fill in the delicate seat of king burchard's personal religious adviser. given how strained relations were between the two institutions, the dark cardinal would not choose just anybody. no, she would choose someone who was reliable, someone who mirrored elements of her own aspirations... right? talion could not say for sure. given his exposure to politics and nonsecular environments, he liked to think he had a pretty good understanding of how shrewd and unscrupulous these gambits can be, but he was not one hundred percent positive. there was always the chance he could be wrong, for his own judgments were often so clouded by personal vendettas and emotions.
indentthe woman could easily be who she claimed to be, a self-effacing and obsequious devotee eager to serve her goddess, but what if her intentions were not as sycophantic as they appeared?
indentshe has so far treated him profoundly different than most of her fellow colleagues would have, so he was inclined to believe she had good intentions but... he did not know. talion found himself questioning the people around him a lot more these past few months than he ever has in his entire life. his faith in others was thoroughly shaken, and his trust in the chantry only continued to erode as he grew older. the truth of the matter was a lot of the chantry's more powerful individuals held malice forethoughts, calculations and schemes that may not align with a divine agenda. true, the chantry would always operate with the end goal of ascendancy in mind, but it was not out of line to question how the scale of corruption has occurred within the group over the centuries. and while talion did not possess the knowledge of what said clerics may exactly be up to, it was easy to recognize the iniquity behind some of their actions when you're a lunespawn. it would not be easy to gain the prince's confidence, and that much was obvious by the way he engaged her. true, most of talion's current prejudice was the result of his exposure to his family's recent wrath and accusations—the dark cardinal's ambitions, the chantry's hidden motives and cruelty, the way some clerics may utilize their positions for their own gains—but he also lived through some of their less orthodox practices. having survived mother superior mona's less traditional tactics, he knew how brutal some of the chantry's followers could be. saint-arkh's various social classes admired the chantry because the organization's secretive practices were not readily available for public insight or perception. they were not familiar with their hierarchy or their operations, and public scorn of the chantry only occurred whenever the organization's communal interactions with the crown or other groups were viewed in a negative light. looking up at lady gwendolyn, the only movement talion displayed was the gleaning of his nails as his right index finger slowly picked at his thumb, his hand hanging off the chair's armrest. he was contending with her in a way that was not threatening or confrontational, although he could certainly put on a pugnacious front if he wanted to. given the way his father treated his former clergy by feeding their fiends to his wolfhounds and not so graciously threatening their lives, talion could act a lot more cutthroat in the way he treated the mysterious cleric, although he did not see the point in that when she has done nothing but help him. the way she treated him during the ritual was enough to keep him from rejecting her outright, for he would be lying if he said the way she did not approach him in the divination tent piqued his interest. it was why he was so uncertain towards her, and why he could not quite figure out what she wanted from him. he liked to think it was nothing harmful, but he could not be sure. it was obvious by the way he spoke that his parents' influence has rubbed off on him, for only one well-versed in the political scene—be it from mere exposure or active participation—would find a way to politely but firmly query someone else's statements. he was not exactly mistrustful of lady gwendolyn, but he would be lying if he said his general cynicism was not holding him back from blindly believing her or even opening up to her in some degree. the only reason he was even entertaining her was because of the way she handled him earlier, although it was evident by his current body language that any dissatisfying answer she gave him in the following minutes concerning her relationship with the dark cardinal would mark her subjected for dismissal. it was crystal clear that talion's preconceptions towards the chantry's leader were overwhelmingly negative, be it because of his family's influence or his own personal experiences growing up. his current mindset was probably something the chantry feared several years ago, when they often contended with his father over talion's participation in foreign war efforts. they feared what his kin's influence would do to him and how it would alter his perception of the chantry and their end goals. and while one might proclaim that he was prying into the woman's vocation, talion could care less. perhaps it was his darker afflictions speaking, but he was never given privacy or any semblance of self-autonomy by the chantry's high order growing up. why should he extend the same tact towards them when they have never cared to handle him with any sort of sensitivity? besides, lady gwendolyn herself remarked on how little they knew each other. and if she truly had nothing to hide, then it would not be so difficult for her to answer such an insignificant question, now would it? any potential rejection towards answering his question or even attempting to lean on the spiritual weight of her position to try and wrangle him into submission to avoid being truthful would only earn her the prince's scorn, and perhaps even the next carriage ride back to duskhelm. it was crucial for lady gwendolyn and her clergy to earn the approval of king burchard's children if they hoped to remain by his side, as any perceived affronts towards his lunespawn would only anger the man further and potentially establish yet another building block to permanent societal collapse in the form of civil war.

[vaell]

xxxxxＣＡＬＩＳＴＡiiＡＴＨＡＮＡＳＩＯＵ.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxthe revenant princess of the eidolon.
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indentcalista barely had time to register that søren's sudden break in speech had to do with a certain owl-bear cub hurtling toward her. she looked over her shoulder upon noticing his hesitation, almost missing the racing bundle of fur and feathers that was aömwé, her rapid approach accompanied by a flurry of excited chirps and affrighted squawks.
indentjust as calista made to turn around, she could feel aömwé begin to paw at the back of her legs, nudging her with the same persistent eagerness of a child seeking their parent's attention. she raised her brows when she looked down at the young creature, curious as to what could possibly be so urgent. it didn't take long for her to find her answer either. trapped between the mandibles of aömwé's beak was a stocky night-heron, it's eyes wide and startled as it struggled weakly within the owl-bear cub's constrictive hold. it seemed aömwé had brought her the bird as some sort of a present or offering, clearly quite proud of her catch. the corner of calista's mouth curved upward into an amused half-smile at the endearing display─though not everyone could be said to share her fond sentiment. the guards that accompanied her, whose trust in owl-bears was tenuous at best, exchanged uneasy glances as søren began to question what was in aömwé's mouth. their hands instinctively moved toward the weapons holstered at their hips, ready to unsheathe their swords should the owl-bear cub prove herself a threat. calista's attention flickered toward the pair of guards when she noticed them taking up defensive stances. their eyes remained fixed on aömwé with a mixture of suspicion and apprehension, the sight of the young predator so close to their revenant princess evidently stirring a sense of unease. calista flexed her palm open at her side, a subtle nonverbal command meant to placate their eagerness to take up arms. the men hesitated at first when they noticed calista's silent order, still wary of aömwé's proximity to her, though they ultimately heeded her signal to remain at ease, slowly retracting their hands from the hilts of their swords. once she was sure they were standing down, calista turned her attention to the lord ascendant, who was now ordering aömwé to release the small bird. the owl-bear cub at her feet only seemed to stare back at søren, acknowledging him though having no intention of heeding his words. it was almost comical to witness her blatant disobedience, her youthful spirit not yet fully acknowledging his authority as she stubbornly refused to comply with his command. unsurprisingly, søren's attempt to approach the young creature prompted her to run off into the shallow waters of the shoreline, quickly fleeing from calista with the night-heron in her beak. droplets of water flew into the air as she darted through the shores. the revenant princess had to stifle a laugh, her hand instinctively coming to cover her mouth as she watched the lord ascendant fail to grab aömwé in time, just missing the mischievous young cub. it was almost like aömwé saw søren's firmness as an invitation for a game, her playful defiance evident in the way she turned to face him once she escaped his reach. the young creature was clearly in an energetic mood right now, not surprising given the lively spirit of the city surrounding them. i suppose it's a good thing talos left my side when he did, calista mused. had talos not departed from the shoreline so soon, the wading bird hanging from aömwé's mouth might not have been her last victim of the day after all. the revenant princess watched the playful back and forth between søren and his owl-bear cub, finding the display almost endearing: each time he drew closer, aömwé would respond with a burst of excitement, outstretching her frontmost limbs or running around the shallow waters. as aömwé bounded along the shoreline, the night-heron's feathers became ruffled and damp, the poor creature flapping helplessly in her grip. she was seemingly oblivious to the bird's distress. it was humorous to see her playful defiance, a trait that seemed pervasive in most young creatures. it almost reminded her of how talos used to act as a fledgling, his desire to assert his autonomy once manifesting very similarly to aömwé's own. he used to frustrate calista greatly, although when he ignored her commands, it was often more difficult to rein him in, especially since he could take flight─much unlike the owl-bear cub. sometimes talos would not return when he was called, and other times he refused to land on her altogether, instead flying to a nearby perch or hovering in the air in a show of independence. she could recall his more playful antics too, such as teasingly swooping down at her and then veering away at the last moment, a way of testing a then-sixteen year old calista's boundaries. she was not incredibly patient to begin with─a fact that her uncle galen was quick to point out, insisting that raising the young bird would help teach her the value of patience and understanding. she supposed there was some truth to it. given talos' stubborn temperament, developing a bond with him took time, naturally fostering her patience. seeing søren's struggle with aömwé reminded her of just how long it took to earn her falcon's trust.
indentcalista couldn't help but smirk when she caught wind of søren resorting to bribery. he offered the owl-bear cub what remained of the honey cake she gave him earlier, a last-ditch effort to compel aömwé to release the night-heron. at first, calista almost didn't think she would yield to his sweet incentive. the owl-bear cub stood still for a moment, as if weighing his offer. then, she suddenly dropped the night-heron. the bird hit the water below with a piercing cry, its body wildly thrashing about the tides, wings beating erratically in a state of momentary disorientation. aömwé was quick to abandon the bird the moment the lord ascendant tossed the pastry into the canoe. the owl-bear cub immediately dashed over to where calista was standing, evidently quite eager to claim the dessert for herself. calista's eyes flickered to søren as he approached, regarding him with a look of amusement. she was tempted to remark on the absurdity of the situation─what with the lord ascendant not being able to control his unruly young cub─though she decided against it when it became clear that he was already exasperated with aömwé. when he extended his hand toward her so that she might board the canoe, calista accepted his offer with a faint smile, gratefully placing her palm in his. the vessel slightly tilted beneath her as she stepped foot on deck, though his steady presence helped keep her stable. calista could hear aömwé beginning to squeal as she began to settle in near the bow of the vessel, carefully tucking her skirt beneath her. the revenant princess arched a brow, leaning over the side of the canoe to peer down at the noisy owl-bear cub. the young creature looked up at her with large amber eyes, wide and panicked. she was frantically pawing at the canoe's wooden surface, having raised herself up on her hindlegs in a futile effort to try and get inside. ah. i see. calista glanced over at the pastry søren had tossed in the canoe. that's what you're after. aömwé probably thought she was going to take the honey cake for herself. "i'm not after your pastry, little one," she chuckled a little, watching the lord ascendant hoist her into the canoe. unsurprisingly, the owl-bear cub immediately dove for the dessert, snatching it up with eager delight. calista watched as she began to devour the pastry. aömwé was a magnificent creature to behold, her round body covered in soft, downy feathers that belied what predatory instincts lurked beneath. her almost cuddly appearance made it easy to forget that one day she would grow into a fearsome beast, capable of causing unimaginable carnage, destruction, and chaos. there was a reason why her people were so fearful over the creatures, be it young or grown, including that of her own guards. even calista often found herself subconsciously approaching aömwé with a healthy dose of caution, if only out of habit. either way, it was apparent the owl-bear cub had grown fond of her, a bond that she did not seem to readily extend to many others. with a quick swipe of her paw and a low growl of warning, aömwé sent both of calista's guards nearly stumbling backward in an effort to avoid getting slashed by her claws, effectively warding them away from the canoe. calista stiffened, eyeing the defensive young creature warily. though aömwé's possessive outburst wasn't directed toward her, she still found her hands tightening in her lap anyway. she wasn't afraid of the owl-bear cub harming her, but seeing her strong instincts surface certainly reminded calista of her wild nature. a part of her was almost thankful to have søren finally join them on the vessel, his presence relieving some of the mild unease she felt. she looked over her shoulder as the lord ascendant took ahold of the oars, taking a stroke that cut through the turquoise waters of lake huron. his words were barely audible above the sound of aömwé's incessant chirping. "you forget i'm used to the company of my darling siblings," she reminded him, her voice dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm. "i don't suspect you're going to start fretting over losing an earring in the waters anytime soon, are you?" she teased, observing him with a raised brow. her feigned scrutiny made it obvious she was only joking. "by the gods, you should hear cybil sometimes. it's like she thinks i would capsize a canoe on purpose." she almost mumbled the last bit to herself as she turned her gaze away from his, her exasperation over the younger woman's haughty inclinations managing to surface even despite her playful tone. in the eidolon, the central value binding family together was pietas, a virtue that admonished a person to do their duty to their tribe and their blood relations. pietas was said to reside within a person, a manner carried with them everywhere as they followed the will of the gods in their everyday life. it was an understanding based on reciprocal behavior but it was also marked by the bonds of obligation, acting as an expression of one's dutiful reverence for the family and the crown, ideally expressed to maintain harmony in society. as a potent marker of interpersonal relationships, it was a concept that embodied respect, loyalty, and affection. this form of dutiful conduct extended beyond family too, holding great importance in the realm of foreign relations and diplomacy. even the credibility of an eidolon martial officer relied heavily on their willingness to set aside personal gain and fully dedicate themselves to a cause. their commitment to fides demanded consistency. pietas could be troubling though, especially when it was possible for someone to both act in a pius manner toward their family while acting in an impius fashion toward other entities. sometimes, even calista found herself questioning just how much dutiful respect her siblings truly deserved from her. she knew it was not fair to be so harsh on someone like cybil─a young woman who was the blatant byproduct of a coddled childhood─and yet calista could not help but let her bitterness encroach on her own pius manner all the same, a fact she often found herself quickly growing guilty over. call it resentment or just plain jealousy, but calista often envied her for what a shielded life she had, unmarred by the typical tribulations or hardships of a tribal youth raised in the canadian wasteland. sure, cybil was not suited for warring, a shortcoming that put her at an immediate disadvantage given the brutal landscape of their country, yet some irrational part of calista couldn't help but feel frustrated over how often she took her lavish lifestyle for granted. the only reason why she could enjoy flaunting her affluence was because calista had paved the way for a new decade of prosperity in the heartlands, subjugating their grossly unruly western frontier─and that's saying nothing of the martial efforts of the women that came long before her.
indentlake huron seemed to stretch out in front of them, infinite and vast, each wave crest shimmering in the fading evening light. the sun continued to sink lower as night fell upon the city of gore bay, painting the sky above with strokes of orange and pink. the occasional breeze swept across the surface of the water, carrying with it a chill that nipped at her skin. calista drew her cloak closer to her body as she observed the stillness of the lake, its tranquility disrupted only by the presence of faraway canoes or rowboats dotting the horizon. the soft fur of the pelt draped over her shoulders tickled her face a little. it was strangely peaceful to be afloat in the middle of the lake, perhaps because she felt assured by the idea of spending the rest of the night in søren and aömwé's company. though calista should be more concerned about making a good impression on prince halvor─as well as that of any onlookers who might seek their unity as a betrothed couple─the thought of the man hardly crossed her mind right now. despite the fact that calista's dismissive behavior might suggest that marriage was a custom of little concern in the eidolon, nothing could be further from the truth. marriage was considered to be a matter of public interest, even more so when it came to the wedding of two royal houses, partially because the goal and focus of all unions was intended to be reproduction. centuries ago, following the end of the sanguinary age, laws revolving around marriage, parenting, and adultery became part of queen hypatia's endeavors to restore the eidolon's mos maiorum, or traditional social norms, while consolidating her power as revenant queen. during this time, the rates of marriage and citizen birth were said to have fallen, particularly among the wealthier classes of eidolon society. hypatian law on espousal and family life encouraged marriage, having children, and punished adultery as a crime (a matter once dealt with by the families concerned) in an attempt to harken back to a supposed golden age of eidolon morality. with the installation of the lex hypatia, cases of adultery were transferred to the courts. under the new laws, the father would be allowed to kill his child and their lover under very specific circumstances, whereas the court punished adulterers primarily by relegation to various remote island combined with some loss of property. in particular, the husband was not permitted to kill his wife because it was feared that husbands might murder their wives, claim adultery, and try to take her dowry. it was thought that a father would make a sounder decision, because he would be influenced by his love for his child, and would therefore only kill them if it was absolutely necessary. it was not legally acceptable for the father to kill the paramour and not his child, however. to be within the law, he had to kill both of them, at the same time, and without much delay. the lex hypatia made it clear that adultery was punished for the purpose of preventing unchastity, so that no offspring from illicit affairs might come into the family. a baseborn child in the elite or ruling class would counter all of the core eidolon social values, as well as the sanctity of marriage and honor of the family. scandalous stories concerning women who try to pass off bastard children as legitimate and raise them as if they were their husband's are seen as dishonorable for the woman herself and the family as a whole. interestingly enough, though, a few scrolls predating hypatia's rule seem to suggest that concubinage existed concurrently with marriage for royal women in the ancient period of the eidolon. conditions during this time were best described as prescriptively monogamous marriage that co-existed with female resource polygyny; powerful women had a principal husband and several secondary partners. the only known attempt to amend laws punishing adultery and accommodating concubinage came about during queen juno's reign. seemingly inspired by traditions of old, she successfully enacted legislation that clearly defined what constitutes a concubine and how such relationships differ from marriage and illicit affairs, sanctioning the practice on the basis of long forgotten historic tradition. what with the differing customs between the eidolon and the mythic dawn, including the ancient practice of concubinage, it seemed apparent that a new legal framework would need to be established in the near future, likely in the form of a governing body or council that included representatives from both cultures. this body would be responsible for overseeing the implementation and enforcement of a new legal system, formalizing agreements through treaties or binding contracts that might outline the specifics of family laws, perhaps even including provisions for how conflicts or disputes might be resolved. it might prove difficult to find common ground over legal matters, however doing so was non-negotiable if they wanted to remain in power. although juno's untimely death prevented her from facing any backlash over revising the lex hypatia for her own benefit, many still took this hypocritical effort as yet another indication that she was no longer fit to rule. several historical accounts have attributed juno's instability as stemming from a very early age, exacerbated by the loss of her mother, then of her father and what remained of her family. she spent her entire life preoccupied with survival─a reality evident in the way she handled personal affliction, quickly growing paranoid over threats of assassination, perhaps due to a longstanding suspicion that her mother had been similarly disposed of. what illness juno fell victim to apparently removed her pretense of decency, revealing her inner cruelty and ruthlessness. such was shown in the murders of her young cousin, the pretender queen antigone's only son, and the commander of her guard, ser anthimos vascilis, and anyone else deemed to have been staunch supporters of her aunt. it's been widely acknowledged that the people of the eidolon celebrated the death of juno athanasiou. from what calista could infer, several other accounts have described a more complicated political environment, though. it has been mentioned that juno's death was welcomed by politicians, nobility, and the upper class. the lower class, slaves, frequenters of the arena and the theater, and those who were supported by the famous excesses of juno, on the other hand, were upset with the news. most martial officers were said to have mixed feelings, as they had allegiance to juno but had likely been bribed to overthrow her when conspiracies began to form against her. various historical accounts give mostly scattered anecdotes on juno's personality, with most portrayals describing her as cruel and despotic, or even mad. one of the most well preserved accounts of juno and her reign, as written by one of her former counsels, dedicated about fifteen chapters to positive features of her rule, but nearly forty equating her to a monster.
indentby the end of juno's life, her conduct was said to have become far more egregious than ever before, having lost all sense of right and wrong. so sure that her aunt still held favor at court, she often made baseless accusations against the eidolon's nobility. she once sentenced two minor lords to death in the colosseum on the pretext that while they were not implicated in any plots, their house's growing wealth would soon make them unhappy with the province's current state of affairs. it's said that she even began to lash out over trivial inconveniences too, hinting at the growing disarray of her mind and her increasingly volatile temperament. one such notable incident happened when she was at the imperial baths, supposedly having sentenced an attendant to death after she found out the water was lukewarm. better yet, she was a tyrant who made claims of personal godhood─all of her pronouncements and iconography always underlined her unique status as a source of god-like power and physical prowess. innumerable statues around the capital city had been set up to portray her in the guise of the goddess bia, the eidolon's personification of force. nothing better served to confirm the popular notion of her insanity than her demands to be recognized as some sort of godly figure. for a time, even the eidolon's coinage showed her enthroned as the first reigning queen to be described as the nova vis, depicted with trappings of divinity such as the winged crown of the goddess bia. unsurprisingly, juno's name has since been erased from major monuments in the capital city, and her portraits have been reworked to represent other figures; such was a practice in the eidolon known as damnatio memoriae, a way in which the memory of disgraced rulers were condemned posthumously. while this practice certainly included the destruction of depictions or the removal of names from inscriptions and documents, damnatio could also extend to even large-scale rewritings of history. by definition, a completely successful damnatio memoriae results in the full and total erasure of the subject from historical record, not typically possible when it came to rulers for even the comprehensive eradication of their existence and actions in records would continue to be historically visible without extensive reworking. the impossibility of actually erasing the memory of a ruler meant that the goal of damnatio was a bit obscure. it was not so much as an attempt to obliterate memory entirely as to transform honorific commemoration into a form of visible denigration─that is, the power of an act of damnatio relied on the viewer of a monument being able to supplement the gaps in an inscription with their own knowledge of what those gaps had once contained, and the reasons why the text had been removed. the impracticality of these sort of cover-ups could be vast. in the case of queen juno, coins bearing her effigy proved difficult to entirely remove from circulation for several years, even though decrees praising her name had been smashed and thrown down wells and inscriptions referring to her had long been destroyed. most sources offer overwhelmingly negative assessments of her as a person and a ruler. she's been described as tyrannical, debauched, self-indulgent, compulsive, and corrupt, though her supposed popularity among the eidolon commoners made things more complicated. despite being pronounced a tyrant, calista could recall at-least one scholar having suggested that there was a deep-rooted antagonism between juno and the royal court: it had been noted that she never forgave the courtiers for how they had treated her or her closest family members during her aunt's rule, and when she finally ascended the hallowed throne, she took revenge by humiliating the eidolon aristocracy as deeply as she might. was it possible that a lot of her criticisms actually came from the upper class? the best tool any politician had to retaliate against a ruler that had curbed their influence over the less-prestigious political classes was to damn their memory with rumors and stories. while obviously much of juno's actions were utterly reprehensible (as confirmed by her queen mother), calista could not help but feel more blame has been placed on her so-called innate insanity rather than the conditions that might have fostered her unwellness. it was obvious that her troubled adolescence played a major role in her alleged descent to madness, having been held prisoner by her own aunt who had usurped her rightful throne and strategically kept her from accumulating any sort of influence among the great houses. calista supposed that she herself would never be afforded that sort of consideration, though. her supposed inclination toward madness has been evident since she was a young girl─nothing provoked her to behave this way, she just was this way. this madness─seeds sown of imprudent judgment and contumacious insurgency, foretold to erupt into flames of unbridled despotism that would bring about horrifying ruination─was supposed to be hereditary. something sinister ran through her veins, laying dormant in her bloodline for centuries only to corrupt the very foundations of her genetic makeup. she supposed she has done little throughout her life to rectify the public's perception of her, but it was hard to prove herself when she has long been forced into the image of a woman who she has never even met before. the west saw her as the reincarnate of juno, returned to wreak devastation across their lands for what vows of contempt she had not fulfilled during her last life, and the east knew only of tales spun about her violent purging, vicious martial endeavors that might be perceived no differently than juno's own─greedy, senseless, and all-consuming in the name of personal glory, wealth, and ambition. calista could not escape her grandmother's shadow no matter what personal acclaim she garnered for herself. juno's flaws would always taint her affairs one way or another, warping even her good intentions into calculated misdeeds. is it possible to loathe someone you don't even know? it was almost ironic, how juno continued to haunt the living well past her death even despite being subject to damnatio memoriae. maybe the rumors spread by the people of manitoba did bear some semblance of truth. juno had gone on to live through calista, just perhaps not through rebirth.
indentonce they'd paddled out to relative isolation, calista cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze briefly landing on the lord ascendant. it was hard for her to combat her feelings for him even despite her marital obligations to prince halvor looming on the horizon. eidolon philosophers have always put a high valuation on love and the abstract metaphysical plane on which it resides. in fact, love was often treated as the foundation of all things. through mythology or the telling of ancient stories, many have even postulated concepts concerning deep, predestined connections between two people. calista could recall one tale that had always stuck out to her, a story suggesting that human beings were originally two contrasting, yet combined bodies fused together. according to myth, two individuals were split in half by the gods, and ever since, each person has been searching for their other half─their soulmate. in the purest sense, true love was supposed to be about finding someone who completes you, restoring a sense of wholeness. it might sound peculiar but that was exactly how she felt when she was with søren. just like in the stories, she found herself struck by her love for him─by the sense of belonging with him. it was a feeling that explained why their physical separation almost always proved excruciating. she and the lord ascendant shared a connection that transcended love at first sight─their passion extended long before their initial meeting. he was her heart's desire before he was even known to her. unsurprisingly though, a lot of tales revolving around passionate love typically seemed to end with disastrous results. philosophers often write of love causing lamentation and illness, particularly when the loved one is cruel or uninterested. in a sense, love was supposed to be so potent that it could drive someone to a state of melancholy and despair. with aömwé beginning to settle down at the front of the canoe, calista shifted in the bow seat, turning to fully face søren. the revenant princess smoothed the fabric of her dress over her lap, tucking it neatly to avoid any creases. save for any curious chitters coming from the owl-bear cub, it was relatively quiet this far from the shoreline, much of the noise from the city's celebrations carrying over the waters in a faint, indiscernible murmur. calista studied the lord ascendant for a moment, taking in his exposed features. it was cold this far out at water, and he was indeed a tempting source of warmth. a part of her was inclined to bridge the distance between the two of them, no matter how bold of an idea that might be. she reasoned that they would have the cover of relative darkness, at-least at a distance, but should such a notion give her reassurance? calista was not sure she cared about propriety right now, not when this is the closest she and the lord ascendant have been to relative privacy all day. the heat of shared body warmth promised refuge from the cold night air, urging her to lean forward in her seat a little bit. the revenant princess' eyes flickered down to søren's lips. she didn't mean for her thoughts to become so quickly debauched, immediately conjuring fantasies of her lover almost bordering on carnal, but the gentle curve of his lips almost begged to be devoured in a kiss. she wanted to push him into the stern, finally tasting him and feeling his burning body against hers. it was an impure desire, she knew, and yet she could not help herself. she wanted to look down upon him as the waters of lake huron plashed against the side of the canoe, to see him as he came undone by her own hand. how tempting it was to imagine running a hand through his platinum hair, grip tightening in a slight tug. even more titillating was the thought of feeling his muscles strain beneath her hand as she pinned him down against the bow. calista bit the inside of her lip. she could feel her lustful desires begin to pool in her stomach, a warm sensation that made her realize just how concupiscent she was right now. why was she so ravenous? calista could not help but feel somewhat embarrassed when her eyes briefly met the lord ascendant's own once again. it felt as though he somehow had access to her most impure thoughts, like he knew exactly what she had been thinking only moments prior. obviously, he had no idea what was going on through her mind right now, yet it still felt like her thoughts were being laid bare all the same. her lecherous fantasies were the sort that would bring shame upon her and her family name for generations to come, marked first by a personal fall from grace. they were the kind that would not only be wildly insulting to their eastern neighbors but enough to threaten the very foundations of their relationship with the other tribe. calista did not seem to consider just how dangerous it was to continue engaging with the lord ascendant in the manner in which she did, nor did her shortsightedness allow her to consider what repercussions she could face if the nature of their relationship ever came to light. their illicit affairs would be scandal enough to provoke outrage among the masses, and that's saying nothing of the political fallout to come. neither of them would be spared. it was unlikely that calista would simply be exiled for bringing shame upon house athanasiou─no, she would first have to endure extensive public humiliation, being paraded around before the court or the public to face condemnation so that her reputation would be in ruins. her personal disgrace would not just end at ostracism or ridicule though. calista would quickly find herself stripped of her claim to the hallowed throne. her titles would be renounced and she would lose any power or influence she held among the great houses. most offending royals could be sent away over misdemeanors but given what was at stake, calista would likely be sentenced to the walk of perduellio, her fate sealed in the bowels of the gore bay dungeons where she would be fortunate enough to live out the rest of her days in chains. if such a thing ever came to pass, the line of inheritance would pass over adonis and be bestowed upon her younger sister. it was hard to say how that sort of situation might be rectified between the eidolon and the mythic dawn, for diplomatic tensions seemed imminent if not handled delicately enough. all those years spent cultivating a successful alliance would be for naught, and rival factions would sense their turmoil, too, like blood-sniffing sharks waiting for the right moment to strike already wounded prey. they would be vulnerable on all fronts, and that could potentially even mean seeing dynasties that ruled for hundreds of years come to fall. it was apparent─now more than ever─that any small misstep would come at a grave cost.
indentobviously though, such was not at the forefront of calista's mind.
indentthe revenant princess turned her gaze away from søren's to look out onto the waters. she rested an arm against the side of the canoe, her fingers beginning to absentmindedly trace up and down its wooden grooves. the sun glinted on the lake's surface, creating a long golden stretch of shimmering light. a faint sigh escaped her lips as she observed their tranquil surroundings. "it's a pity we can't take a dip in the water right now. if i weren't bound to some semblance of propriety, i'd have shed these layers long ago," she mused airily, a familiar hint of disdain in her voice. it's no secret that calista would much rather cast off the mantle of duty than embrace a gilded cage. such a notion was especially prevalent when she was a young girl, for she seemed to harbor an unspoken resentment toward the bonds of tradition, what with her audacious displays in the arena or her unconventional view on life itself. still, her words seemed to hang tantalizingly in the air. lake huron would be frigid at this hour of the day. no sane person would want to swim in its depths─not even someone as daring and spontaneous as she, and that seemed to make calista's true intentions more apparent. her gaze flickered to the lord ascendant from the corner of her eye, as though to gauge his response. admittedly, she wanted to draw him in, to tease his imagination with enticing scenarios that stood just painfully out of reach. a look of mock sympathy crossed her features as she observed him, as if she were only just now realizing how cruel she was being, taunting him with such unattainable situations. "aw, what a shame for you. i can imagine you'd have much liked the sight of that, wouldn't you?" calista clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in playful disapproval. "bad boy…" she tutted, her mouth curving upward into a cheeky smile. the revenant princess' fingers trailed down the canoe's rim until she was close to grazing søren's upper arm. it was almost as if she inviting him to reach out. one might argue that being on a canoe was not the most suitable of places to tempt someone else but that did not seem to deter her advances. their bond to one another was so potent that it almost overpowered her better senses immediately, obliterating any notions of self-restraint she might have initially set out to uphold. it was astonishing just how quickly his presence could get the better of her. she'd attached a sort of fondness to søren that was hard to shake. she still clung to the image of a boy who she knew to be gentle and kind, a loyal confidant that had faced the cruelty of others with quiet resilience. calista didn't see the man he had become; she saw the fragile boy who had weathered storms alone, the one who had once openly sought her support and reassurance. in her eyes, søren could no wrong—she romanticized the memories they shared together, painting over the present with the colors of nostalgia. her unwavering devotion to the lord ascendant blinded her to any of his immediate flaws, as if the scars of their childhood had created an unbreakable bond that perpetually tied them together. her perception of him remained fixed in that idyllic past, a time long before any true hardship had befallen either of them, rendering her almost incapable of recognizing the complexity of who he was know. it was a bittersweet ignorance, anchored to a time when innocence reigned. her dysfunctional mindset left her vulnerable to the truth lurking just out of sight though. with their communication mainly being through letters rather than face-to-face exchanges over the years, it's no surprise that she failed to consider the lord ascendant's inevitable change. words written by hand could be crafted differently than those spoken in person. he could easily omit the more unsavory details about his life should it benefit him and she would never know otherwise. calista had little interest in rummaging in the affairs of other people to begin with, a fact that did not help her when it came to uncovering the person he might've become. she was often far too preoccupied settling her own scores to be looking for deceit or dishonesty in places where there should be none. but even if søren was not the man she'd made him out to be, it was likely that her incongruent understanding of him would take precedence anyway. calista was bound to make excuses for him whether he deserved them or not, a fact that stemmed from her shared experiences with him as a youth. it would prove almost impossible for her to differentiate between the søren she knew then and the one that currently exists now. her adoration for him was almost corrupting. it forbade her from seeing him in any light that might reveal his imperfections, and even so, she would not be inclined to judge him either way. in that regard, the lord ascendant could not even begin to fathom the sort of power he held over her. her loyalty to him was so steadfast that it could probably even exceed her devotion to her own kin─again, yet another betrayal of her own sense of pietas. there was almost no line she would not cross for søren should he demand it of her. perhaps that was partially why her betrothal to prince halvor had such little effect on her right now. what she felt toward the lord ascendant was raw and true, remaining unwavering even in the face of political arrangements. no one could take away from her that which she felt, even if she were bound to another. it was søren she loved─whole-heartedly, and disastrously─and nothing else could impede on her faithful connection to the man. she saw no reason for anything to change between them. was this not the sort of love scholars waxed on about in philosophical teachings? the sort that could transcend all physical and emotional boundaries, that could emerge prosperous no matter what impediments made themselves known? who was she to ignore how søren made her feel when their love was of such a potent nature? shunning what existed between them would only be a disservice to the both of them. calista didn't think she could live in a world where she ceased to have søren in her life, for his absence would mean a part of her too would be gone, and no amount of fame or glory sought on the battlefield would ever be enough to compensate for that sort of loss. there were some things calista was not willing to compromise on, and søren was among those things. she would not allow others to dictate where her heart should reside, not when they could never come to understand the nature of her and the lord ascendant's love. what did marital arrangements matter when she knew who it was that had her heart? her affections belonged to søren alone, and damn everything else. though the entire city was busy celebrating her and prince halvor's union, here she was with the lord ascendant, indulging in indiscretions that seemed to hint at just how dishonest her marriage with the bloodborn prince would ultimately prove to be.
indentcalista's eyes flickered to the bottom of the canoe when she noticed the sun's rays reflecting off a golden band. it took a moment for her to realize that she indeed must have lost one of the rings adorning her fingers. the revenant princess drew her hand back into her lap, quick to notice its absence. before the lord ascendant could retrieve the piece of jewelry for her, calista had already begun to shift her weight, mindful of how the canoe required them to appropriately balance their weight. the woman was quick to abandon her position at the bow. calista sank to one knee, unperturbed by the way the wooden base of the canoe dug against her skin. she hardly realized that her pursuit of the ring would inevitably bring her before the lord ascendant and in between his knees. the woman, still peering down, picked up the band at his feet, inspecting it as she slid it back onto her finger, its smooth surface cool to the touch. the signet ring was a family heirloom, simple in design yet opulent all the same. its polished surface had been engraved with the first letter of her last name, though otherwise it was quite plain. it was tradition that each heir to the hallowed throne received the ring upon reaching adulthood, a ceremonial passing that marked their place in the family. it was a tangible connection the past, of the numerous women who had worn the ring long before she ever did. in a way, it carried with it the weight of tradition and the expectations of leadership, symbolizing the values that bound her to her royal lineage and her ancestors. once having secured the ring back on her finger, calista glanced up at søren, catching his gaze. how convenient. rather than grow flustered over their newfound proximity or what any onlookers might make of their current situation, the revenant princess kept her eyes locked on his. the beginnings of a faint yet sly smile played upon her lips. evidently, she was not going to shy away from what tension hung between them. calista leaned back on her heels just enough to accentuate their proximity, her body language relaxed though exuding an undeniable air of confidence. her hand brushed against his leg as she slowly reached up to find one of his hands. her fingers grazed his knuckles, gently guiding his hand open so that she might bring it down to her cheek. calista leaned into the warmth of his touch, pressing his palm against her skin. she had longed for times like this in his absence, aching for the day when they could finally come together again. her actions were bold but certainly less audacious than if they were standing in the middle of the city streets. calista turned her lips to his palm, pressing a soft kiss against the inside of his hand. "remember when last you were in the heartlands?" she murmured against his hand, her voice quiet despite their relative isolation. it was obvious she was referring to what sort of entanglements they'd gotten up to in the past, rather than the dire circumstances that brought him back down to gore bay to begin with. legio gemina keep was home to a complex web of tunnels and underground passages designed to facilitate a quick escape from the castle should its walls ever be breached. knowledge of these escape routes was intended to be kept concealed, only known to the revenant queen and those who she might entrust such sensitive information with. as queen anastasia's heir, one of such people was calista. she knew the tunnels by heart, though their purpose quickly became a means of allowing her to see søren whenever he was in the capital city of the heartlands. the cover provided by the castle's hidden routes has enabled them to meet up with each other on more occasion than one, a much safer alternative to the risk of the lord ascendant being spotted roaming the royal quarters. was it a severe betrayal of the trust her mother placed in her? sure, but at-least she had only shared the whereabouts of the passages with the lord ascendant rather than some scheming highborn lord or lady. it's not like she was putting her family in any imminent sort of danger, or at-least that's how she justified it. calista rose on her knees slightly, leveling her gaze with his lower body now. her opposite hand came to rest on the top of his leg, fingers just barely creeping up his thigh, if not somewhat teasingly. "perhaps you might find your way back to me tonight, my lord, the same as then... that is, unless you'd prefer i row us out to a nearby island," a flash of something mischievous crossed her face, her sultry tone quick to take on a more playful edge. "delos is close, you know. the kythnos isles, too." calista couldn't help but smirk at him a little. she was only half-joking, of course. it was certainly tempting to abandon lake huron for a couple of hours to find seclusion elsewhere, but given the lord ascendant's initial wariness about canoeing together, she doubted he would welcome the idea of embarking on a spontaneous getaway in the wilderness right now. either way, calista seemed unafraid of the current closeness they shared. she placed far too much faith in their isolation combined with the growing cover of night and it made her bold. none of this could be deemed acceptable conduct, especially with them being in such close quarters, but who was going to correct her? calista had no intention of establishing boundaries between the two of them. that responsibility lay with søren─that is, if he had the strength to address the growing impropriety between them. truth be told, this was nothing compared to what she wanted to do with the lord ascendant. in fact, this might even be calista restraining herself. if she had it her way, they would not need to seek privacy on an island. the canoe would suffice well enough.
indentthe sound of shuffling behind her was enough to momentarily draw her attention away from the lord ascendant. calista glanced over her shoulder. her eyes landed on their third passenger, who was now facing them with large, inquisitive eyes. usurprisingly, she and søren must have piqued aömwé's curiosity. the young creature had remained at the bow for most of their trip, though it was likely the slight rocking of the canoe and the sound of their voices had drawn her attention. calista turned so that she was partially facing the owl-bear cub, a faint smile playing on her lips. drawing her hands away from søren, she inched closer to the young creature─half mindful of the need to distribute their weight equally on the canoe, and half conscious of the fact that, given how territorial she was earlier, she had no idea how aömwé might feel when it came to seeing her breach søren's personal space. the revenant princess extended a hand toward aömwé, allowing the young creature to approach her at her own pace. when her outstretched fingers made contact with the owl-bear cub's fur, she reached for a soft pat atop her head in greeting. "awe, are we boring you, aömwé?" she cooed, her hand moving to cup the side of the owl-bear cub's face once it was clear she had grown familiar with her touch. admittedly, calista had been so preoccupied with søren that aömwé's presence was quick to slip her mind. she almost felt bad for forgetting about the young cub, for surely their inattention would soon have led her to become restless, as shown by her sudden interest in their affairs. while the idea of being stuck on a canoe together in the middle of lake huron may be ideal for her and the lord ascendant, she doubted that aömwé felt the same, especially given her rambunctiousness earlier. calista glanced back at søren one last time before she carefully maneuvered herself around the owl-bear cub, reclaiming her seat at the bow of the canoe whilst still facing him and aömwé. she watched the young creature where she stood in the middle of the canoe, half-way between her and søren. "aömwé," she called softly, attempting to regain the young cub's attention, "come here, sweet one." calista held her open palms in front of her, inviting the owl-bear cub to return to her for some more scratches. it was quite typical of her to address the young cub so affectionately, a habit she'd picked up not long after first meeting aömwé. though calista knew better than to underestimate aömwé's ferocity, it was obvious that when she became comfortable with the owl-bear cub's presence, any sort of learned fear she held toward her was quick to dissipate. her eyes flickered over to the lord ascendant's own, a faint smile still lingering on her lips from her interaction with aömwé. although calista was preoccupied with the owl-bear cub, she could not entirely shake off her libidinous feelings for the lord ascendant. it was probably a good thing that aömwé had distracted her, for if not, it's hard to say whether or not she and søren would have continued to behave in line with the expectations required of them. søren needn't even do anything, either. it was so easy for her to succumb to her own desires that even sharing a canoe with the man appeared to be a challenge. granted, her carnality was not exactly unexpected. it seemed like it had been far too long since their bodies last properly touched─a sentiment she often felt regardless of whether it was years or just months from their last form of physical contact. it felt unfair that she had act with any sort of semblance of restraint around him. in fact, it seemed wholly unnatural to pretend like she held no tender inclinations toward the man at all. it all came back to the way she and her tribe valued various forms of love, such as érōs, philía, or agápē. the love she had for søren was the same kind often explained through mythological schema or a troubadour poet's verses─a dangerous, fiery, and irrational form of unrelenting dedication that could take hold of a person and possess them to act heedlessly. her not-so covert invitation earlier concerning søren returning to her bedchambers was telling enough. how is it that the celebrations have only just begun and she was already secretly defiling the nature of the marriage alliance? truthfully, such was only expected of someone like calista. there was a reason why her queen mother had been so slow to strike any sort of betrothal between her and a suitable high lord, let alone that of a foreign prince. queen anastasia recognized calista's impetuousness for what it was: a serious threat to the province's stability, as well as to that of the crown. her mother must have reasoned that the weight of their alliance with the mythic dawn would force her to correct her own behavior, a fact that might have been true had she not already been pursuing the lord ascendant for years prior. whatever hesitation her mother demonstrated prior to establishing a formal union with the mythic dawn was well warranted. calista has never been a tamable force, and her personality was one that could quickly offend the wrong person. in truth, she needed someone who could balance her more temerarious temperament. in the lands of annexed canada though, such were the few among the many. there were more tribesmen like calista than there were ones who cared for the country's political tidings. when it boiled down to it, her and prince halvor's marriage was one that was forged with the meticulous intent of amassing geopolitical and martial power. if it were a matter of congruity alone, it was unlikely that anyone percipient enough would willingly bind her and the bloodborn prince together. regardless, interweaving bloodlines together was a careful process that could promise power for centuries to come. gibraltar and the heartlands could potentially become the seat of all influence throughout annexed canada, and such was obviously a tempting notion the monarchs of each tribe liked to entertain. whether or not her union to prince halvor was one that complimented her demeanor had little to no effect on the arrangements being made. what mattered was the domination of resources and land and the continuation of a strong dynasty through the conception of royal heirs. whether the rest of the country would come to pay for such a binding tribal amalgamation was yet to be seen.

[vaermina]

ＳØＲＥＮ ＫＯＬＢＥＣＫxxx
I.xtribal affiliationsx II. the lord ascendant of the mythic dawn


indent"touché, although is it really that far-fetched to think you would not capsize a canoe if you were stuck on one with your sister?" søren offered her a cheeky smile in an attempt to soften her vexation. he would gladly take suffering a disastrous expedition on lake huron with aömwé than one of calista's royal siblings. he watched as the young owl-bear cub shuffled in the middle of the canoe, evidently timorous over what she must perceive as unknown surroundings. having been distracted by aömwé's frolicsome behavior back on the shoreline, the lord ascendant failed to discern the two athanasiou guards' initial defensiveness towards the young cub's presence. had he noticed, he would have likely grown irritated over their gross audacity to think he would willfully put the revenant princess in danger─to say nothing of his own protectiveness towards aömwé in general.
indentsøren could still hear the distant calls of laughter from the city's shoreline. as the canoe glided along lake huron's glassy surface, the air hung heavy with the soft strokes of approaching nightfall. a light chill had settled over the large lake, causing small ripples on the water whenever a gust of wind brushed against the canoe. the sky above was fading from a murky blue to a dusty pink and muted marigold. stars were just beginning to blink into existence, though scattered clouds on the horizon threatened to obscure them. the shoreline was dotted with the now fading clusters of towering structures and stone buildings, their dark silhouettes soon becoming swallowed by the murkiness of the filtering coastline. a mist had begun to rise from the lake's cold waters, swirling around the edges of the canoe. the once gentle sound of oars dipping into the water now felt muted, absorbed by the stillness of their watery surroundings as day faded into the icy grip of nighttime. the lanterns that hung from the canoe's polished hull twinkled like starlight, reflecting off the relatively still surface of the lake. retaining a firm grip on the oars, søren could only bare make out the distant delineations of the other vessels filtering about on lake huron. compared to the excited atmosphere of the marketplace, they were relatively isolated out here. the lord ascendant's gaze flickered to calista when she turned around in her seat to face him. søren regarded her with quiet curiosity. he would be lying if he said there were not moments where he desired to symbolically dissect her brain in order to better understand her thought process. he has witnessed plenty of highborn women fall into pitfalls of contentious disasters over unwanted betrothals, but the revenant princess appeared oddly tranquil over her unfortunate circumstances. knowing calista, her state of alleged repose did not stem from a place of acceptance but intentional disregard, as if she subconsciously desired the betrothal to fix itself without facing its hindrances directly. if only it were that simple. the finality of her situation had yet to click, and søren was unsure on whether or not he wanted to witness the ramifications of her eventual disarray. it was peculiar that she appeared far more unaffected than he, especially considering the fact he himself was free from the demands of such political arraignments. her visible indifference towards her engagement baffled him, and he already knew that any attempts to gouge her feelings would be met with the same careless mirth she expressed earlier surrounding the alleged impropriety of them sharing a canoe together. what did he expect? calista has never been one for forethought, albeit he was beginning to wish she had some semblance of perspicacity, if not for herself than for the way their dynamic would inevitably shift upon her wedding day. søren could not approach her with such worries unless he wanted to deal with statements of bemused heedlessness. there was no justifiable option for them to continue engaging in such inappropriate behaviors beyond that of an illicit affair, and no pathway would yield desirable results due to the many obstacles defining their individual characters. søren was forbidden to engage in venereal activities, and no recourse or justification could undo the nature of his vows. as her sworn shield, he was supposed to uphold calista's integrity and honor, not engage in borderline sacrilegious conduct with her. søren knew this, and yet it was not enough to discourage his foul behavior. their relationship was dangerous, for neither of them possessed self-restraint when it came to satiating their physical desires. it was a natural consequence of maintaining limited physical interaction over the years, with their conversations having been carried out in the form of letters. søren was just more adept at maintaining some level of public composure, as shown by the princess's sudden sigh and airy contemplation. the lord could feel his face begin to burn at her teasing, his features quickly contorting into one of obvious nonplus. he did like the mental image of that scenario, and calista calling him out on it made him feel almost instantly abashed. "you are such a cruel mistress, you know that?" his embarrassment appeared to stem from the stark contrast between his spiritual responsibilities and the raw physicality of the situation. as someone bound by sacred vows and expected to embody tribal piety, it remained a vicious struggle to contend with both his personal desires and the ideals of purity or restraint he was expected to uphold. her advances not only provoked a sense of guilty pleasure and libidinous inclination but a faint mix of shame, culpability, and confusion—especially when he has already worked so hard to cultivate an aura of discipline and composure. the intrusion of physical attraction and flirtation, particularly in unexpected or inappropriate contexts, felt like an affront to his identity and calling. it exposed vulnerabilities that the lord has tried so hard to suppress, but he did little to rectify it by establishing proper boundaries with calista. truthfully, søren did not want to reject her. her provocative nature, though a stark contrast to the solemnity of his faith, stirred something within him—an undeniable excitement that he could not suppress. when it came to his relationship with calista, he was often torn between duty and indulgence, mortified by how easily he succumbed to the sensual pull of their encounters. yet there was a thrill in abandoning his rigid self-discipline, a personal vice in feeling desired and wanted in ways that transcended the cold, reverent adoration offered to him by the golden order. whatever peccant offense he would find himself wallowing in after their late-night encounter was nowhere near the front of his mind.
indentsøren's attention flickered to the bottom of the canoe when a glint of resplendence caught his eye. it took him a moment to realize that one of calista's rings had slipped off her finger. before he could move to grab it, the revenant princess was already sinking to one knee to fetch it herself, her newfound position landing her right in between his legs. he could feel his heart begin to race again as soon as she made eye contact with him. he watched her with a mix of curious caution and simmering ardor. he did not pull away from her when she grazed his knuckles with her own fingers, her touch gentle as she pried open his hand and brought it down to her cheek. her skin felt warm against his palm. he offered her a small smile when she kissed the inside of his hand, his thumb instinctively flexing to caress her cheek with evident tenderness. the love he had for her was an affliction that carved into his heart, a fever that overtook his mind and body. she shattered his resolve through mere touch alone. the very heat of her presence sent his pulse racing, his thoughts nearly spiraling out of control. no matter how often he forced himself to reconcile with the weight of his vows and the sanctity of his position, it did little to stifle the fierce, aching desire that consumed him. her mere existence was a wound, bleeding in torment and deepening his inner crisis. the forbidden nature of their connection only intensified his longing, making his restraint almost feel like a mockery of the very discipline he was sworn to uphold. with her near, there was no prayer, no scripture, no holy rite strong enough to keep him from wanting her entirely. and in her absence, the hollow ache of his own yearning gnawed at him, leaving him raw and restless. "mhmm." søren acknowledged her quiet inquiry with his own form of mild cognizance. he recognized the intentions behind her probing. the heat of her touch, the teasing words that lingered in the air, the growing tension between them—all it did was serve to awaken a primal need within him that he secretly craved, even as his moral conscience resisted his own impulses. it was an impermissible temptation that he loathed to admit but could not bring himself to refuse, for the contradiction between his holy vows and his carnal indulgence proved to be both exhilarating and damning. the love he had for calista was no mere fleeting passion; it was a consuming ache that grew stronger with each passing year. it was an intense physical, emotional and almost spiritual need. søren gently placed his free hand on top of calista's as her fingers began to creep up his thigh, lest his body betray him with a physical reaction. he was keenly aware of how dangerous it was to have her hands anywhere down there. "are you trying to accost the lord ascendant with exotic advances? tsk. if you're going to proposition me as if i were a male streetwalker, you might as well throw a coin my way." it was clear by his tone that he was only teasing her, the same way she had done to him earlier. unfortunately, calista's proposition did not offend him. the intense convolution of their shared past, full of fond memories and child-like promises from a time when they were both unburdened by their current duties, blurred the lines upon which he knew was appropriate conduct. her very presence stirred a longing in him that he has long tried to suppress, but the depth of his fiery adoration only served to weaken his resolve. he was painfully aware of how inappropriate and debarred their conduct was—given her betrothal to his own royal cousin—but he lacked the iron will to fortify his own self-discipline and rebuff her advances. søren rejecting her would be severing the one connection that still tied him to the murky image of his former self. love was not without its complications. there were thousands of sagas and poetic folk tales composed by the skalds of the mythic dawn that depict the unpleasant truths behind love and attachment, stories that søren used to indulge in when he was younger.
indentsagas of tragic romance mirror the complexities of his and calista's own forbidden relationship, and they offered a sense of validation and catharsis in the portrayal of doomed love. nowadays, he found that the misfortune of a tragic romance and the passion of its lovers' were magnified by the obstacles they face—be it societal expectations, duty, or personal guilt. it served as the foundation of an emotional intensity that they cannot openly pursue. the inevitable fall of fictional lovers who happen to grow too bold in their pursuits mirrored the fragile nature of he and calista's own bond. in a way, it allowed them the option to explore the consequences of their love without having to face them yet. the relationship they shared showcased a bittersweet reality that love, no matter how passionate or faithful, cannot always conquer the hurdles standing before it. søren knew that the odds were against them, but it was not enough to discourage him from pursuing the revenant princess. "i don't want to hear you even mention the word 'island' again tonight," the lord responded to her joke with a half-retort of his own, if only because he knew a part of her conscience was capable of rationalizing such an expedition in the first place. "but... perhaps i will seek out your company again later... or not. i'm not sure yet. i don't appreciate the way you've been treating me tonight." it was clear by his tone that he was only acting coy to get back at her for earlier. he had no intentions of establishing boundaries with calista by rebuffing her advances. he wanted her in every imaginable framework, so much so that he was willing to immediately capitalize off his own lust to fulfill his desires than halt and ponder the consequences of his actions. their physical relationship was a storm of suppressed desires and stolen time, ignited by years of unresolved tension and unspoken conversations. it was no surprise that they both yearned seclusion in the form of a few hours away from prying eyes. their ferocious passion transcended all notions of propriety, to the point where all søren could think about was their bodies moving together with a hunger that colored all the moments they have longed for. he wanted to be intimately destroyed by his overpowering need for calista, to be left ravaged by the dangerous adoration of their romance. their physical connection, born from years of desperate longing, only solidified the foundation of their bond, pulling them into a dangerous spiral where their desires overpowered all sense of responsibility or restraint. pursuing calista was not only a betrayal of his vows but an undeniable truth of his soul's deepest wants, a type of hankering that no religious endeavor or martial victory could ever fulfill. the weight of their titles and responsibilities faded beneath the force of their love for one another, so much so that the two of them were completely and utterly disregarding the consequences of their actions. none of it seemed to matter right now. while he cared little for the distressing circumstances that brought him back to gore bay a little over a year ago, søren could recall their late-night encounters with a certain fondness in mind. the revenant princess, a woman who has grown to fit a turbulent mantle in the eyes of many, unraveled in his arms upon their reunion like a mass of disentangled ribbons, her opulent gown slipping away as his rough hands—trained for rituals, not intimacy—caressed her skin with a fervor born from years of repressed longing. his touch was both worship and rebellion, a mixture of reverence and yearning that mirrored her own. in the flickering light of their first secret tryst, his touches had been hesitant at first—haunted by the knowledge of their transgressions—yet electric from the weight of his own feelings, and soon enough his initial uncertainties burned away as soon as he felt her lips against his own. each kiss was an amalgam of debarred excitement and deep familiarity, sparking a bond far more enduring than either could have anticipated when they were children. he yearned to feel her hands glide across his skin, the weight and heat of her body against his own as they both indulged in each other's lust; he yearned to feel wanted in a way that transcended the normal boundaries upon which the citizens of gibraltar interacted with him. there was almost an intoxicating solace to be found in the physical side of his relationship with calista, for even engaging with her reminded him of how distant and cold his existence has become. as a figure of esteem, he was surrounded by constant adoration but never affection—hands that revere him but never truly hold him. whenever her fingers traced the lines of his face or gripped his arm in moments of shared passion, she anchored him back to something deeply human, something that slips further from his grasp with each passing day. søren savored the warmth of her embrace, the tantalizing sensation of her breath on his skin, as if he drew some sort of life force from it. he was not a religious icon, feared and exalted, but a man with desires, needs, and vulnerabilities. her mere presence was a balm to the aching loneliness that his position demanded of him, and the physical contact she offered invigorated him in a way that reminded him just how starved he was for real connection. with calista, the cold isolation of his station melted away, revealing a sense of impending worldliness as he was forced to acknowledge the gross needs of his own humanity. her warmth, so freely given, broke through the isolation that was his life, sending a surge of vitality through him as he relented himself to embrace her affections without restraint. he adored her without cause, loved her as if she were his significant other in a past life, and he would do anything to make her happy.
indentaömwé's presence interrupted their shared closeness. søren glanced over the top of calista's head to study the young creature, as if attempting to discern her animalistic temperament amidst his own thoughts about calista. the cub let out of a concerned hoot, head tilted slightly downwards as she studied the pair with a look of evident discomfort. it was clear that she did not care for lake huron and its dark waters. søren watched the two interact with vague amusement as calista reclaimed her seat at the bow of the canoe, her soft voice echoing in the surrounding mists as she attempted to reclaim aömwé's attention. the owl-bear looked towards the lord ascendant briefly before she shuffled her stout form closer to calista, her beak searching to amicably nip at the woman's fingers. a deep rumble emanated from the creature—something akin to a purr—before she lowered her head, allowing calista's hands to stroke the dense feathers of her neck. pride stirred alongside affection as he observed the unlikely display of trust; it was rare to witness an owl-bear's docility, and rarer still to see it offered so freely to another. the cub, a juvenile creature of such wild instinct and fierce constitution, chose to willingly forgo her learned truculence for calista, a wordless acceptance that mirrored his own deep feelings towards the princess. and for a moment, all three were bound together by something untamed and quietly profound, as if they were entranced in their own secluded, watery world. it was broken only by the sudden intrusion of a fish smacking against the canoe's watertight hull, an unexpected noise that immediately triggered aömwé into raising her head. the owl-bear twisted her neck to cast a weary glance at their surroundings before she hooted in restless apprehension, eyes narrowing up at calista as if she were attempting to communicate her unease. "you are descended from an owl-bear who brought down the terror of the great lakes and yet you are scared of a fish? come on now," søren teased her as she maneuvered her way over to him. unsurprisingly, she was quick to abandon the princess's company when confronted by her own distress, her long tail tucked between her legs as she shoved her head in-between the lord's calves. he received naught but a muffled hiss in response. the man offered her silent reassurance in the form of running his hands along her sides. despite aömwé's clear fondness for the revenant princess, she still sought her "father's" consolation in the face of adversity, a seemingly common element of mortal adolescence. but despite his acts of comfort, it did little to soothe her growing agitation. pulling away from søren, the young creature immediately shoved her head against his flank, her face becoming squished between his hip and the wall of the canoe. she hooted in stifled distress, her long talons scrabbling for purchase on the slick wooden surface underfoot. "what are yo- okay, okay, alright," søren migrated to the center seat in order for the cub to claim her spot at the stern of the canoe. she immediately settled down, her round belly pressing flat against the wood. her round ears tilted backwards, still alert but growing steadier with the canoe's continuous motion. she claimed the stern as her domain with an unsurprising sense of stubborn pride. occasionally, she let out a soft, purring growl, a self-soothing sound, as if trying to find courage in this uncomfortable environment. balancing herself with splayed claws on the vessel's damp floor, she tucked her beak into her chest, eyes half-closed in a determined bid to appear unbothered. "oh, my poor darling," the lord sympathetically sighed at her lonesome display. despite his earlier annoyance, it was difficult to stay cross with aömwé for long periods of time. it was not uncommon for him to grow utterly disarmed by his owl-bear's antics. her wide, round eyes and fluffy coat proved to be a masterful guise for her pigheaded streak. her young age softened his austerity even further—how could he hold her accountable when she was so new to the world, her mischief less a matter of defiance than innocent curiosity? she radiated an impeachable charm that belied the havoc she could wreak in a heartbeat. there was a mischief in her, one that would normally require steady discipline, yet her young age and unmistakable inexperience softened his usual resolve. it was clear to him that this was her way of testing boundaries—not out of rebellion, but out of youthful impulse, which he couldn't find it in himself to punish. in that way, he was much like a parent unable to scold their young child. she was an endearing mix of curiosity and neediness, a creature capable of deep love and affection for those she considered family. she was wild at heart, undoubtedly balky, but in the way she waddled up to calista earlier—muddied, feathers askew, her round eyes blinking in blameless confusion—he felt a well of unguarded affection that left him quick to forgive. it wasn't that he wanted to encourage her unruly streak, but holding her to account seemed almost cruel when she so clearly relied on his patience and indulgence for her own development. søren unbuckled the golden clasps of his leather coat, shrugging off the article of clothing with stiff precision before he tossed it over the cub's burly form. he figured she would appreciate whatever thin comfort its protection offered her, even if it served to merely block her unsavory view of their surroundings. pale slivers of gold observed him from beneath the coat before the owl-bear snorted, her face turning back into her chest.
indenthaving claimed the middle of the canoe after aömwé bulldozed her way to the stern, søren turned around in his seat to face calista again. he offered her a smile. "i would say that since we put the kid to bed that perhaps you will indulge me a preview of what i might find in your chambers tonight, but i know you enjoy my torment enough to deny me even that. i'm not risking a dagger to the stomach from some fanatic for nothing, lady." he teased her, his body leaning forward slightly so that he could rest his hands on either side of her seat. he was just pulling her leg; his duties as her sworn protector remained resolute no matter what devilry they got themselves into. their shared history—the long-forged intimacy from bright childhood moments and ridiculous plans whispered beneath their bedchamber doors—stirred something softer within him, temporarily dissolving his usual temperament. the sanctity of their bond, rooted in innocence but tempered by passion, bestowed him such rare freedom. there was tenderness in the way he forgets, if only briefly, the world beyond them. it allowed her to draw him into lighthearted games or exchange playful motifs that sound almost timeless, rooted in the former years of their unharmed adolescence. it was almost as if he were drawn out by memories and the enduring sanctity of their connection, forgoing the usual blasé and callousness upon which he held himself in the public eye. his usual cutthroat edge had softened upon their reunion, replaced by a boyish warmth that melted away his petulance as he indulged himself in her presence. it was obvious that he had dropped his guard around her by casting aside the austere dignity that defined him as a religious lordling. he felt a tender urge to embrace her whimsy, if only because it helped him feel that much closer to her. abandoning his usual fault-finding steeliness felt like peeling off layers of old, weighty armor—relieving and strange all at once. søren was experiencing something of a turbulent pull towards the princess, his yearning sharpened by her cruel betrothal to another. the way she touched him earlier only intensified his hunger; it was an unspoken plea to be the one who held her, who knew the comfort of her nearness before she was no longer his. the tension was almost unbearable. their impeding separation only served to solidify the significance behind every fraught moment, like something of final benediction that he cannot refuse. there was a fierce need to capture her attention and soak in her affections as if they were hallowed prayers, for her anglicized beauty was nonnegotiable, her primitive elegance a breath of fresh air in such an enclosed noble system. slowly, søren shifted his weight off the canoe's middle seat so that he could submit himself to the princess's feet. he got on his knees directly in front of her, a direct parallel of what she had done earlier, although he lacked her earlier confidence and instead appeared possessed by the genuine weight of her own feelings for her. luckily, they did not need to worry about the canoe capsizing from an unequal weight distribution; aömwé alone was heavy enough to register as a human being. in a tender ache for closeness, he leaned forward until his head hovered above her lap, platinum locks spilling over her cerulean gown. the warmth of her body enveloped him, contrasting sharply with the growing chill of nightfall. one arm slipped gently behind her knees in a futile attempt to hold her close before he sheepishly pressed the left side of his face against her firm thigh.
indentoverwhelmed by a sense of longing that transcended their usual constraints, he surrendered not just to her but to the inevitable heartache that lay ahead. it was not easy grappling with a cruel fate that sought to keep them apart, even as their souls remain irrevocably entwined. she was radiant and unattainable, a terrifying force that no sane individual would dare challenge, and he loved her for it. he loved her dearly, and he could not live in this terrible world without her. the way in which he was currently positioned was vaguely uncomfortable—he could practically feel the growing ache from his wounds amplify from calista's knees pressing into his stomach—but it was not enough to stop him from seeking out her attention. his free hand moved to glide along one of her outer thighs, his touch light against the fabric of her dress. the scent of oakwood and jasmine was overpowering yet vaguely comforting. his act of submission, rare for a man so accustomed to wielding power and control, spoke volumes of his turmoil; the depth of his longing was evident in the way he surrendered himself to her. conscious of the way his mask marred what remained of his surroundings, his free hand reached behind his head to expertly pull away the straps that kept the gold visor clamped against his face. he lightly tossed it aside before his remaining arm stretched across her lap. whatever remained of the iconic mark of jorgunnr was plastered deep in the skin above his right eye. physical trauma has long distorted the ritualistic scarring below his eye, twisting the lower right portion of his face into something almost unrecognizable. the scars on the lower right portion of søren's face were jagged and fierce, a violent map of where flesh had once been savagely torn away. years of crippled healing had left his skin taut and pale, an unsettling blend of textures, hardened and thickened in some places while sunken and jagged in others—like dried clay that's been shattered and left to set. shallow grooves tracked down his neck where the skin had stretched and puckered in attempts to heal, creating a patchwork of raised, uneven tissue that contrasted with the unmarred skin around it. a network of thin, silvery lines spider-webbed out from the rough, darkened center of the wound, ghostly remnants of torn skin that tried to stitch itself back together. the indentations of where teeth had once ripped into muscle and bone sat like a permanent sneer along his jawline, pulling slightly at the corner of his mouth and giving his expressions an unintentional severity. faints currant hues and mulberry-colored bruising marked the edges as a testament to the scars' depth, while the jagged curves hinted at the shape of a human bite mark. it was a wound that seemed less a mark of time passed and more a fresh reminder of violence. his scars lacked the clean, predictable lines of a blade-inflicted injury. instead, they formed chaotic crescents and indents where teeth once sank deeply, raking through flesh and muscle with savage intent. a faint line of discoloration traced down his neck, hinting that the damage went even further as though it still struggled to heal itself. his cheek appeared hollowed, an obvious indentation in the right side of his face that lacked the density of soft cheek flesh. his entire right profile appeared almost skeletal, what with his jawbone pressing against pallid layers of torn flesh and stretching to an almost alarming degree whenever he grinned. faintly purple where tissue healed poorly, the bite marks cut close to his mouth, giving the corner of his lips an uneven set. the wound's consistency matched that of the scarring along his throat and neck, a gruesome reminder of its once fatal potential. even after healing, both wounds left behind a series of irregular, uneven scars, where each tooth mark appeared as a slightly raised, reddish line against the surrounding skin. the deepest parts of the bites—where canines had broken through flesh and muscle—were still an angry, mottled purple, contrasting with the paler, puckered areas that had begun to scar over. close to his jugular, the wound bore an even more raw intensity. the punctures themselves have dried to a dark, crusted crimson, with raw, ragged tissue visible in the deeper recesses of the wound. despite its age, the injury appeared disturbingly fresh, as if the violence of the bite continued to radiate from the torn veins and arteries that were once pulsing with life. where teeth had punctured closest to the throat, there was a deep, hollowed section of missing muscle that told of the fatal damage inflicted on vital blood vessels. a few scabs had formed where the skin hadn’t quite knitted back together, leaving small, sharp points along the ridge of the scar that felt tender to touch. and right in the middle of his facial scarring lay another wound, bestowed by the sleek touch of a dagger that appeared much more pink and fresh than the others. it curved from the edge of his hairline to the middle of his nose, a horizontal slash across his already marred cheek that was evidently applied in the heat of the moment. the entire area looked strained, the once-smooth contours of his face marred by the brutal imprints, as if the flesh itself recoiled from the memory of the assault. there was nothing left of the mark of jorgunrr below his right eye. it was clear that his mutilations were the result of vicious attacks and not that of a mythic-ritual blade, like the suture scarring along his lips or even the markings etched all across his body.
indentwith one arm still wrapped securely behind her knees, his free hand moved to slowly caress her outer thigh. his features half-hidden in the rich folds of calista's gown, søren did not break the silence between them. a part of him was tempted to prod her psyche in a futile endeavor to dissect her current line of thinking. in many ways, calista was predictable. right now? not so much. he had a feeling she would blow him off if he tried to nudge her into cautious speculation over the future, and the last thing he needed to hear right now was his lover delving into illusory confidence that neither of them had the luxury of entertaining. he wished he possessed calista's insouciance over the matter. it was deeply unpleasant to confront reality, so much so that he could not entirely blame her for choosing to entertain fantasy over actuality. jealousy and indignation aside, søren's chronic embitterment threatened to derail whatever potential he possessed of truly analyzing the alliance's possible exploitations and weaknesses, particularly around the fragility of unity and cultural differences. the clashing of collective military forces, mismanagement of imbalanced resources, fractured joint political direction, delicate societal offenses: the possibilities of future provincial conflicts that would grant søren his own slice of respective power was inevitable. his role in ensuring a peaceful transition of tribal conglomeration was nonnegotiable, although how far he could stretch that influence had yet to be seen. the possibility of a new administration under calista and halvor promised opportunities that, realistically, søren would never be granted during the reign of king ulrik and his mother. unchecked power was not a savory ingredient when trying to concoct a recipe for collective amalgamation; there was no hope for søren's plans beneath the current monarchy. should he choose to swallow his acrimony and discard his feelings of possessiveness towards calista, the lord ascendant could afford himself a significant amount of elbow room in how he chose to navigate the path forward. his respective connections with both the crown prince of the mythic dawn and the revenant princess of the fallen eidolon granted him an unrivaled advantage over a royal court that had yet to be even established. his nostalgic romance with calista and he and halvor's blood relations─to say nothing of his strong ties with their tribe's all-domineering religion─quite literally encapsulated what the base nature of his standing with the future monarchy might look like. trust would be afforded to him based on association alone. their ascension to the throne would be perilous, marked by a long period of uncertainty, caution, and vacillation─it was important that their future king and queen were not preyed upon by pretentious social climbers and opportunistic elitists seeking to establish some new line of industrious groundwork. pragmatically, they needed a strong council and an able-bodied court if they were to succeed. laical laws of the non-ordained would not be strong enough to support the growing bedrock of a massive tribal alliance. the rudiments of their new society would quickly become tainted by overconsumption, intemperance, and disorder─without the guiding hand of divine principles, whatever potential the alliance promised its future generations could become compromised by the greed of the current aristocracy. to søren's great annoyance, anyone with an ounce of sanity would look upon the lord ascendant and immediately raise concern with their liege lords over issues of religious pluralism and conflicting establishmentarianism. in all honesty, the noble class has pulled at the strings of their faculty for far too long, with little intervention from the ruling establishments. some individuals are meant to rule; others to serve their betters. the church and state are meant to work in tandem. the coercive arm of the divine preserves both public order and class distinctions. emissaries of a new moral order were needed; they could not build a productive realm off the backs of those predisposed to the leadership of former monarchs. unsurprisingly, many secular politicians and temporal businessmen would fiercely disagree. based on what philosophies he alone exemplified, søren's lingering presence would be met with much resistance from those eager to cozy up to the royal couple. he did not intend on sharing calista's ear with just anyone. the man's proprietorial line of thinking extended beyond his romantic relationship with the revenant princess, although in his grand delusions he himself did not even appear to recognize the manipulative undertones of his future proposals. søren has grown so candidly self-assured in what he wanted to achieve that he instinctively assumed his vision served calista's interests as well. his own desires to place himself upon the untouchable pedestal of a new society free of unhallowed violence and transprovincial chaos could very well serve to protect calista in the future, but that meant keeping her mind free from intruding influences and keeping a light gait as not to provoke her. søren would gladly utilize her own citizenry as sword fodder if it meant achieving his dream. he felt entitled to their flesh and blood in the form of exhausted soldiers, green-faced offspring of dead parents who felt they had no other choice but to follow in their kin's footsteps. the investment in a better society was not in people who were already unrefined with decent habits declining over time, whose rudeness magnified in relation to their brutal encounters with the wasteland. the people of the heartlands were expendable (a mindset he has undoubtedly developed based on his poor fosterage in gore bay as a child and subsequent hatred of the eidolon) and he felt no desire to nurture their growth when they have already so pitifully rejected a superior faith. and while calista's track record of constant warmongering may have depleted her connection with the baseborn population, such carelessness did not extend to her mother. queen anastasia would not live forever. while she appeared to no longer be extensively involved with the physicality of military campaigns, the threat of gaining age will eventually claim not only her life but that of her husband's. what mighty protections queen anastasia embodied as a stern source of political power would die with her. the immortal queen had no idea the future peril she has already sowed by failing to reinforce all three of her children's familial bonds. the hidden resentment, the competition, the growing enmity and unwillingness to forego active dissension: it was a recipe for a kindred blowout, and søren did not intend on allowing her remaining kin much leverage in the new royal court.
indentsøren's face remained pressed against her lap, his features oddly contemplative and almost sour with thought. his eyes flickered upwards to gaze upon calista's face. his piercing gaze traced the ease of her comely features. he knew better than to approach her thoughts with blunt force. she has long perfected the art of deflection by veiling her dormant dread behind a façade of playful irreverence. calista spoke of everything around her with a hint of breezy dismissal, as if it were a passing inconvenience rather than the monumental shift it would bring to both their lives. the lord ascendant, wary of causing her distress, hesitated to disrupt her fragile mirth with the weight of political reality. a subtler approach would be required—one that respected her vulnerability yet pressed her to indirectly acknowledge the truth she so clearly wished to avoid. her knack for sidestepping heavy truths with a veneer of unrealistic lightheartedness was a common defense mechanism. she has never been one for critical thought, her mind more attuned to whims and pleasures than to the intricate gears of politics. her avoidance was not born of malice but of a stubborn ignorance that has always kept her afloat in a world of treacherous depths. attempting to couch his concerns in clever wordplay or subtle insinuations would only confuse or irritate her, as her baser nature—focused on immediate gratification and fleeting joys—left her blind to the complexities others so often wrestle with. finding the narrow path between sincerity and indulgence would not be easy. eyes shifting in careful concern, søren slowly lifted his head from her lap so that he could look up at her. "cali," he began, his tone almost gentle, "my dearest love." his hands moved to clasp hers, his fingers lightly gliding across her knuckles. "i was looking forward to seeing you out in the arena tonight, but i suppose public appearances amongst the... common folk are necessary for the image our mothers seek to convey. but i do not think it is outlandish to say the current monarchy is overly concerned with statecraft and public presentations, yes? they will sacrifice collective heritage for shared power over canada, and they will stifle anyone who does not fit their worldly views. the tribal elite are afraid of offending each other over perceived differences and unpleasant histories, so they put muzzles on those who refuse to conform to their expectations. anything that is unpleasant, they do not want to hear it." ever the masterful orator, søren approached the topic with the kind of careful eloquence that made even the most sensitive of inquiries feel like an invitation to confide. his voice, warm yet laced with a subtle urgency, wove a cautious introduction designed to gently prod the princess's illusory thought process. he observed her features, albeit not with overt intensity but with the subtlety of someone who desired to be attuned to her innermost thoughts. "but you and i, we were made to serve a higher purpose. do you not wonder what might lie beyond the gilded cage they have built for you? tradition is but only one path to security; a royal unbound by custom could draw allies who share her vision—those who understand her strength and see her for what she truly is. the gods did not create you to sit on a throne for the rest of your life. you are a conqueror, and your spirit belongs to no one but yourself. the elite class has inherently grown shiftless. they view the righteous extermination of foreign mongrels as signs of madness because they no longer need to fight their own wars. why would they, when their very freedoms are protected by the same leaders they delight in slandering? their viewpoints have even begun to taint their own subjects. i mean, just look at that peasant in the marketplace. rustic churls are quick to compose treacherous ballads about their own rulers when said individuals are the only reason they are not currently shackled in some foreign slave market." his words were twinged with softened gravity. despite the intensity of his statements, he did not speak loudly but instead with precise desirability, all while struggling to avoid biting his already cut lip. he spoke to her with a certain sweetness. "we could ignite change, you and i. we could create a world where voices like ours are not muffled by the weight of the past but amplified to lead the future. you need not be shackled by the fears of others. your mother is... a wise ruler," his tone bore a brief hint of fleeting begrudgement, "but she is afraid of what she cannot control. she is afraid of you, and what she thinks you might become, but she does not allow you the chance to express yourself or even grow beyond this establishment. she does not understand you, not like i do. i would do anything for you. there is nobody in this world who loves you as much as i do. you know that, right? those who stand on the outskirts of our relationship cannot understand because they do not know. my own queen mother would keep me away from you because she fears what we would become. but just this once, allow me to cast aside these boundaries imposed by faith and duty, not for myself, but for you. let me stand as your silent ally, a shadow at your back, guiding where i cannot lead and advising where i cannot command. without you, i am adrift in mind, body, and soul; without me, you might face these storms alone. i do not ask for recognition or glory, only the privilege of serving you once you ascend the throne." his words carried the charm of a lover, the persuasion of a politician, and the seduction of a dark-hearted paramour. tradition was wielded as a yoke, binding even the freest spirits to paths not of their choosing. calista, a woman who was so ordinarily radiant, so untamed in her vicious brilliance for independence, was absolutely stifled by her marital arrangement—a thing borne of dusty scrolls and brittle oaths, not the fire of her own will. calista stood as the rejection of everything royal propriety stood for: emotional restraint, proper diction, garish dress, and obvious refinement. nor was she entirely callow, or the embodiment of old-fashioned imperial simplicity.
indentsøren's relationship with the revenant princess was not only deeply complicated but rooted in a multifaceted foundation. his words were laced with a subtle inducement by appealing to her yearnings for autonomy and rebellion, though his motives were far from selfless. while his love for her burned with an intensity that bordered on devotion, it was entwined with an obsessive need to control, to possess. by altering her defiance into a weapon, he sought to tether her fate to his own, not only as lovers but as allies in his intricate schemes. her independence would not liberate her, at-least not in the way one would assume. it would bind her ever more tightly to his own will by trading the usual mechanisms of courtly manipulation into one of a more personal nature. of course, he did not view it that way. søren's devotion to calista was undeniable, but it intertwined with a burning desire to see his own vision for their shared future come to fruition—a vision where his religious zeal and political machinations align with her royal power. while he would never consciously admit to deceiving her (and he indeed lacked the clarity to even view himself as acting unscrupulous towards her), his conviction that his goals benefited her blinded him to the ways his actions could undermine her own individualism. he viewed their union as a sacred alliance, one destined to unite the divine and mortal realms under their combined influence. it was partly why he came to her now, for they were both already so impassioned from their interactions that it might prove even more difficult for her to reject his pleas. he did not seem to comprehend that his beliefs often skewed his perception of what was best for her. it was part arrogance and part cultural pretension. naturally, he believed that calista would benefit just as well as he if his own self-endorsed visions came to fruition, even if it meant unconsciously weaving her identity into the fabric of his own grand design. it was almost a sign of his own deep-rooted affections for her, that he would include her in the same proposals he thought to be groundbreaking. he cherished her, yet his attachment was almost suffocating, driven by an almost compulsive need to keep her close and shield her from unworthy influences. søren viewed calista's status as heir to the hallowed throne with a mixture of reverence and strategic ambition; he was convinced that her ascent was not only divinely ordained but also a means to protect and strengthen them both. in his eyes, the secret union of their power—her crown and his spiritual authority—could forge an unassailable dynasty, reshaping the sociopolitical landscape of annexed canada to align with transcendental ideals. her birthright was not merely a symbol of power but the fulcrum on which their shared vision might be realized. calista's standing was not just leverage to advance his own religious and political aims but also the potential to create a radical new order, one where the throne's authority was aligned with their own aspirations. unlike those around her, he foresaw a way to shape the alliance's future around calista as the person she was, and not the person individuals like her mother desired her to be. her kin, her subjects, the very people she sought to protect or impress: they would all rather destroy her based on their historical fears than give her the chance to grow. her deemed recklessness, often dismissed by others as a dangerous liability, could potentially be the boldness they needed to shatter the stagnant policy-making that has governed their societies for generations. rather than forcing her to conform to the rigid expectations of the crown, he imagined molding the crown itself to reflect her fiery personality and passions. she did not need to be dismantled but reshaped; her reputation could easily be salvaged with the right amount of perceptive influence, societal propaganda, and tribal publicity. the very same traits people scorned her by could be remelted into something more personable, something more presentable. farmers and merchants cannot relate to rulers who ransack the royal treasury every year for war efforts, but they can appreciate someone wanting to salvage farmland and warehouses from being burned and ransacked by invading foreigners. was that necessarily calista's goal when she was on the battlefield? not really, but her people do not need to know that. image was everything, and royals were always fair game, no matter how shallow, fleeting, or obnoxious the label pasted on them was. søren could easily utilize his influence to temper her impulses—just enough to channel them into a force of transformation, crafting a regime where their ideals reign supreme. together they could forge an era of governance that was unpredictable yet dynamic, a root-and-branch metamorphosis that could help both of them break free of the molding their mothers have placed upon them. her marriage could potentially be used a tool to help revamp tribal norms. the power to challenge outdated systems and enemies of their shared ambitions, consolidating their safety in a realm restructured to favor their ideals, was far too tempting to ignore. faith would be inseparable from the throne. søren cannot stand visibly at her side as a lord bound by sacred laws and societal taboos that forbid their union, but he could easily stand as the invisible architect of her reign. he could guide her decisions, leveraging his influence over the clergy and the devout to secure the allegiance of the faith-bound masses while subtly dismantling opposition from those seeking to base affairs of state on naturalistic considerations. her crown was a shield against the dangers of their forbidden connection by consolidating their safety through sheer dominance of power and perception. after all, calista and halvor are going to be the highest powers in the land once they are crowned. who would dare challenge them once their parents are gone?
indentof course, søren's vision of a unified dominion where the crown and clergy works seamlessly to enforce an ironclad hierarchy that silences dissenters and crushes rival factions might be his alone. calista was not spiritually ambitious nor was she politically suave. in fact, one might argue that she showed very little interest in her birthright to begin with, and the possibility of her seeing eye-to-eye with søren was debatable. given her blatant disdain for authority, he had no idea how amenable she truly was. the revenant princess visibly resented directives when they were younger, and there was a high probability that she could prove resistant or even hostile to his methods. søren was not looking to push her into submission or hector her into seeing his point of view. it was why, even now, he avoided bringing up her betrothal or even heckling her kin outright, for she might prove more acquiescent to his request if he avoided charged language. in his mind, he had their best interests at heart, although others might view his viewpoints as radical or militant. calista might not prove as accommodating to his future desires if she thought he proved a threat to her citizenry or even those around her, because that is exactly what he intended to do. he did not aspire to have anyone around her that did not embody his own agendas, and that included both her kin and eidolon advisers. all he had to do was wait for her mother to die so he could target her kin. once her mother was dead, there would be no strong figurehead left to protect calista's siblings or athanasiou loyalists. queen anastasia was the sole uniting factor for much of the eidolon. with her gone, weaknesses and vulnerabilities were ripe for exploring. calista's apathy toward her siblings, particularly for what she has already hinted as irrelevancy in her eyes, was already a promising boon—he could stoke her indifference into full complicity. eliminating her siblings from the public sphere and other potential rivals was a chilling but necessary step in his grand design. prince adonis and princess cybil were obstacles whose very existence threatened the stability of calista's envisioned reign, even if they currently lack significant influence. their mere survival provided a foothold for dissidents to rally against the throne and undermine not only calista's future rule but the absolute control søren sought to wield, especially if the aristocracy desired a change in leadership. it would be easy to manipulate her disdain for them by subtly encouraging her to see their removal as both pragmatic and inevitable for eastern canada's security. a permanent erasure was impossible; kinslaying was not only highly frowned upon but an invitation for royal instability and social aggression. they would have to be eliminated from the public sphere. out of sight, out of mind.
indentthrough calista's rule, søren envisioned orchestrating a campaign of political and social purges under the guise of royal justice. by silencing dissent and consolidating power within their inner circle, they could forge a kingdom wholly subservient to their combined will. it would not be a mere a conquest of thrones but a sanctification of their bond, a divine partnership that could reshape their world to reflect their ideals, no matter the cost. obviously, they must tread carefully. a crown may grant her power, but it also placed her in a glaring spotlight where every decision will be scrutinized. he could advise her all he wanted, but the limits of her patience and trust remain uncertain. beneath the surface of his ambitions lies an unsteady foundation of doubt. he was more than aware of her strong will and explosive nature, qualities that both attracted him to her and could potentially mark her an unpredictable partner in this endeavor. how far can he push before her devotion to him fractures beneath the weight of his demands? could his influence over her outlast the moment she felt he was steering her crown for his own benefit rather than the alliance's? unanswered questions kept him from fully committing to his plans, even as his mind raced with the possibilities. the same defiance that emboldened her as a formidable leader could turn against him if she sensed manipulation. søren dreamt of consolidating their safety and power through her throne, but he must navigate their dynamic with care by balancing his ambition with the precarious thread of their forbidden bond. there was a risk of her lashing out, rejecting not just his schemes but him altogether. but then again... would she even care? it was no secret that calista had no sympathy for her siblings, and her bond with her mother was strained at best. she was frequently mocked by not only powers abroad but her own people, and the horrors she endured as a young woman appeared null-and-void in the minds of many. there was a very real chance that even if calista sensed dishonesty about him—she did not strike him as neither perceptive nor discerning—she would not feel threatened enough to act against him because she had no connection towards those he sought to harm. it was like søren was navigating strange tides here. he and calista have not been around one another long-term since the days of their youth, so it was difficult to gauge how much she would tolerate from him, and if she would even endorse his behaviors. she could very well grow aggressive if she thought søren was being two-faced or, if she felt as isolated one might think she would, she could cling to him instead and the comfort he offered her. it was hard to tell what she was thinking beyond her general recklessness and disregard for duty. for all he knew, she did not share the same mindset as he when it came to shunning customary familial values and upholding yourself and your select people above all else. she obviously had no qualms degrading the sanctity of her future marriage, but would she extend that same selfishness towards her own people, her own kin? he had yet to find out.