agentlenpc (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
agentlenpc) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
agentlelog2019-01-31 01:03 pm
agentlenpc) wrote in agentlelog2019-01-31 01:03 pm
walking in a field of fog
Who: You and Fayura
When: Today, a week after the Strangers' arrivals
Where: The Queen's Residence and the Old Town Bazaar
What: Q&A
Warnings: n/a
When: Today, a week after the Strangers' arrivals
Where: The Queen's Residence and the Old Town Bazaar
What: Q&A
Warnings: n/a
EARLY MORNING, THE QUEEN'S RESIDENCE
The morning is cold and dark. Inhaling the frigid air is so shocking that those who aren't expecting it cough and wheeze with their first breath. No one really wants to make their way to the training field. Even the Queen's court moves sluggishly, but move they do with muttered recriminations against Allairavar. Cold weather doesn't stop training.
A warming spell around the field keeps it warm enough to practice, and bobbling witchlights and steady e-line floodlights keep the darkness at bay. All along one side of the practice area are weapons with blades live and dulled. The court eases onto the field alongside the Strangers with sighs and grumbles aplenty. No one likes practice on chilly mornings, but they like Allairavar's retaliation against tardiness even less.
Everyone has paired off by the time Allairavar strides out of the manor home with his arm around a woman's shoulders. In the harsh e-line lights and softer witchlight, it's clear she hasn't been well and still isn't entirely healed. Sunken golden eyes scan the field, and her expression is vaguely nauseated. She trembles, either from weakness or discomfort, as Allairavar pulls away and calls in two bladed sticks—weapons caught somewhere between sword and ax.
"Let's go," he tells her, and she takes one stick from his hand as court and Strangers alike look on.
Another male follows them in, sleekly predatory in his slow prowl around the practice field. A dangerous look glazes his eyes, and he circles the whole field once before making a second, tighter pass around the marked off area where Allairavar and the woman square off.
Members of the court trade wary looks, sharing them with the Strangers. More than a few murmur things like, "Verim will go for his throat if he pushes her too hard," and, "Should she even be out of bed yet?"
It seems Allairavar's rule for training is absolute. Even the Queen takes part. Under his watchful eye and tutelage, they run through a warm up that clearly exhausts her, but when he asks if they should stop, she snarls at him and pushes on for another five minutes. Only then does she sit off to the side of the field and begin stretching.
As she lifts from a leg stretch, she catches your eye and offers a small, shy smile. "Would you like to stretch with me? Allairavar's workouts are always hardest the first day back," she says softly.
Allairavar's exercises may be hard, but she looks like she's seconds from collapsing from exhaustion. If she spent this last week resting and still looks so wan and thin and weak, her initial injuries must have been severe.
MID-AFTERNOON, THE BAZAAR PAVILION
Snow drifts lazily through frigid air. Though temperatures hover around freezing, the Old Town Bazaar bustles with activity. Slowly, people rebuild homes and shops burned by the Hunter Guild, and for perhaps the first time in the past fifty years, sentiment has turned against the Hunters.
Strangers out and about in the Bazaar hear:
There's some commotion toward the center of the Bazaar, where the Queen has settled at the pavilion with a group of landen and Blood children. Her only guard seems to be the elegant man seated across from her at the pavilion's wooden table, his eyes watchful as the people pass by.
The Queen herself looks unwell. Though she wears a bright smile and her golden eyes glitter with laughter, they are sunken and dark smudges circle them. Her arms are thin, little more than skin wrapped around bone. In spite of the freezing weather, she wears a tunic with wide sleeves that pool around her elbows as she holds up a small plank of wood and tugs at a ribbon embedded in it. Here, in the chilly winter morning, the woman who brought some twenty Strangers across the vast distances of many worlds looks very human, very mortal, and very fragile.
Her eyes meet yours as she looks up, and you feel a gentle brush against your mind. No matter how familiar or strange mental communication is, no matter how disconcerting or easy you find it, the touch strikes you as incredibly polite. *We can talk, if you'd like,* she tells you over a psychic thread.
Should you join her, you find respite from the cold. A warming spell makes the pavilion pleasantly toasty, explaining why no one wears a jacket and, maybe, the Queen's clothes. She's dressed plainly in a loose, knitted tunic and fitted breaches. She wears no coronet and no visible jewelry except for a golden chain that tucks beneath her tunic.
Fayura offers a quick smile in your direction as she guides the end of the ribbon in her hand through the thin strip of wood in a twisting loop. She offers a soft-spoken explanation to the children before inviting them to try—and inviting the Blood to explain the magic to the landens, too.
As the children turn to their task, Fayura turns to you. "I'm glad to see you made it through the Hunters' attack relatively unscathed." She sets her plank down and taps her mug. Steam beings to rise from it and she lifts it to her lips with a sigh. "And I apologize that I wasn't there to greet you." A wry smile tugs at her lips; her appearance is, in her mind, enough of an explanation for why. "How have you found Draega?"
The morning is cold and dark. Inhaling the frigid air is so shocking that those who aren't expecting it cough and wheeze with their first breath. No one really wants to make their way to the training field. Even the Queen's court moves sluggishly, but move they do with muttered recriminations against Allairavar. Cold weather doesn't stop training.
A warming spell around the field keeps it warm enough to practice, and bobbling witchlights and steady e-line floodlights keep the darkness at bay. All along one side of the practice area are weapons with blades live and dulled. The court eases onto the field alongside the Strangers with sighs and grumbles aplenty. No one likes practice on chilly mornings, but they like Allairavar's retaliation against tardiness even less.
Everyone has paired off by the time Allairavar strides out of the manor home with his arm around a woman's shoulders. In the harsh e-line lights and softer witchlight, it's clear she hasn't been well and still isn't entirely healed. Sunken golden eyes scan the field, and her expression is vaguely nauseated. She trembles, either from weakness or discomfort, as Allairavar pulls away and calls in two bladed sticks—weapons caught somewhere between sword and ax.
"Let's go," he tells her, and she takes one stick from his hand as court and Strangers alike look on.
Another male follows them in, sleekly predatory in his slow prowl around the practice field. A dangerous look glazes his eyes, and he circles the whole field once before making a second, tighter pass around the marked off area where Allairavar and the woman square off.
Members of the court trade wary looks, sharing them with the Strangers. More than a few murmur things like, "Verim will go for his throat if he pushes her too hard," and, "Should she even be out of bed yet?"
It seems Allairavar's rule for training is absolute. Even the Queen takes part. Under his watchful eye and tutelage, they run through a warm up that clearly exhausts her, but when he asks if they should stop, she snarls at him and pushes on for another five minutes. Only then does she sit off to the side of the field and begin stretching.
As she lifts from a leg stretch, she catches your eye and offers a small, shy smile. "Would you like to stretch with me? Allairavar's workouts are always hardest the first day back," she says softly.
Allairavar's exercises may be hard, but she looks like she's seconds from collapsing from exhaustion. If she spent this last week resting and still looks so wan and thin and weak, her initial injuries must have been severe.
MID-AFTERNOON, THE BAZAAR PAVILION
Snow drifts lazily through frigid air. Though temperatures hover around freezing, the Old Town Bazaar bustles with activity. Slowly, people rebuild homes and shops burned by the Hunter Guild, and for perhaps the first time in the past fifty years, sentiment has turned against the Hunters.
Strangers out and about in the Bazaar hear:
A landen woman, to her friend: It's not right what the Hunters did, burning down our homes, too.
A well-to-do Blood male, at a food stall: …believe what that pompous Grand Master has to say about a Queen of the Blood.
There's some commotion toward the center of the Bazaar, where the Queen has settled at the pavilion with a group of landen and Blood children. Her only guard seems to be the elegant man seated across from her at the pavilion's wooden table, his eyes watchful as the people pass by.
The Queen herself looks unwell. Though she wears a bright smile and her golden eyes glitter with laughter, they are sunken and dark smudges circle them. Her arms are thin, little more than skin wrapped around bone. In spite of the freezing weather, she wears a tunic with wide sleeves that pool around her elbows as she holds up a small plank of wood and tugs at a ribbon embedded in it. Here, in the chilly winter morning, the woman who brought some twenty Strangers across the vast distances of many worlds looks very human, very mortal, and very fragile.
Her eyes meet yours as she looks up, and you feel a gentle brush against your mind. No matter how familiar or strange mental communication is, no matter how disconcerting or easy you find it, the touch strikes you as incredibly polite. *We can talk, if you'd like,* she tells you over a psychic thread.
Should you join her, you find respite from the cold. A warming spell makes the pavilion pleasantly toasty, explaining why no one wears a jacket and, maybe, the Queen's clothes. She's dressed plainly in a loose, knitted tunic and fitted breaches. She wears no coronet and no visible jewelry except for a golden chain that tucks beneath her tunic.
Fayura offers a quick smile in your direction as she guides the end of the ribbon in her hand through the thin strip of wood in a twisting loop. She offers a soft-spoken explanation to the children before inviting them to try—and inviting the Blood to explain the magic to the landens, too.
As the children turn to their task, Fayura turns to you. "I'm glad to see you made it through the Hunters' attack relatively unscathed." She sets her plank down and taps her mug. Steam beings to rise from it and she lifts it to her lips with a sigh. "And I apologize that I wasn't there to greet you." A wry smile tugs at her lips; her appearance is, in her mind, enough of an explanation for why. "How have you found Draega?"
no subject
"Lady, yes," she assures him, taking a bite of the fruit and sighing with pleasure. Fruit can be hard to come by, especially in winter. Draega isn't the final bastion of civilization, but it's one of the last. In winter, navigating the Heartsblood river becomes significantly more difficult, and traversing the empty land between Draega and the next city is a dangerous prospect. Trade thins in these months.
"I do wish the circumstances had been better. If the Hunter Guild hadn't attacked..." She frowns. "I still don't know how they knew."
"Especially since you didn't tell anyone what you were up to," Verim says dryly.
Fay shoots him a look. "You didn't draw the short straw," she reminds him. "You don't get to fuss at me." To Molly, she explains, "I made them draw straws or else I would have gotten my ears blistered by all twelve of the First Circle, plus the court's Healer, plus all their partners. Too much fussing."
no subject
He crosses one lanky leg over the other and makes himself a little more comfortable. "Well, it's not like you did it for fun. You've got your reasons, and you made some decent offers that we didn't have to take. And all thing being equal, you pulled me out of... Let's call it a less than ideal situation. I'm grateful for that, and it makes up for a harrowing welcome." He pauses and then adds, "Are you going to be all right? I'm not fretting- don't worry. You're a grown woman who can take care of herself, and I can see that. It's just... That was a lot of magic, wasn't it?"
no subject
His concern touches her, too, and she smiles. "No, it's fine. It's kind of you to worry." She runs her finger around the lip of her mug, staring at the dark coffee contained within. Black, no cream or sugar. Just pure caffeine. "It was. It was more than I thought it would be."
She calls in a pen and a notebook, flipping the notebook open to a blank page. She passes over pages filled with spiderweb designs with tight, neatly written annotations beside them. On the blank page, she sketches out the tangled web she wove. Tether threads extending from a single point to one of four sides. A single thread that starts in one corner and spirals slowly into the middle of the web. She draws a vaguely Jewel-shaped object in the middle and she taps it with her pen. "My Jewel was the anchor for the web. A drop of blood here." She taps the start of the spiraling line, at the edge of the web and then begins to draw little threads extending out from the spiral to the tethers. "These should have bled off more of the power. Should have prevented the blacklash. But they didn't."
She sets the pen down and scratches at her chin. "I guess there was more power in my Craft than I anticipated." Even to her, that sounds lame.
no subject
"And... It pissed those people off because...? They were specifically here for us, weren't they? I think that's what I heard."
This is a lot. But still better than being dead in a ditch and with a better opportunity to destroy the Shepherds. A woman this powerful could surely squash them if she can reach that far. She might even be decent enough to be glad of the chance.
His friends will be safe. He can leave them with that.
no subject
She doesn't know how the Hunters found out about her magic. "I only told the First Circle the morning of. I knew they wouldn't approve, and that's why I insisted only Verim be allowed to accompany me while I worked. All I said of the spell..." She frowns. "I don't remember much of that day."
Verim speaks up. "You said you'd found a way to bring help. A neutral, third party," he says, gold eyes flicking to Molly before returning to scanning the open air market around the pavilion.
Frowning, Fay takes a sip of her coffee. "So then they likely wanted to be at the residence to deal with whoever I might bring. The Hunters are quite proud of their ability to kill the Blood."
no subject
And it reeks to him. It's not like the Shepherds at all, and yet it's close enough to throw his weight behind it. "I'm fine with being a neutral third party, and I'm fine with people trying to kill me- I'm probably better at killing than they are." This is an exaggeration and a lie, but he has killed many things, so that has to count for something. "There's just a lot right now, and I don't have to tell you that. You're the one spinning the plates."
no subject
They'd sent so many against the Queen's Residence, one might almost wonder what they were expecting that would demand such numbers. But, well, she has just said the Blood are hard to kill. Maybe it's that.
"Thank you, Mollymauk." She drops her hand and offers a faint smile. "I know I'm asking a lot and none of you have a reason to go along with what I'm asking. I appreciate that you will."
no subject
One for one?
"You're welcome. I'm willing to give a healthy dose of suspicion to things like this, but I don't think anyone not on the level would be here in broad daylight with one guard. And... I'm usually a good read on people."
He pushes himself back onto his feet and gives her a little bit of a flamboyant, wrist-flicking bow. "My lady." He pivots and begins walking away before turning on his heels again to walk backwards, facing the pavilion, "And if you kids want to see something exciting after you're finished, I'm gonna try juggling swords in the market. It'll be great."
Look, you gotta boost morale some way. And sometimes you just gotta give the people some performance art for no reason.