[center] [h1] _______________ ◊ Brunhildr ◊ _______________[/h1][/center] [right][sub] __________________ • The Antarctik - Yrskald • Noble House - Frostrune passageway __________________ [/sub][/right] When it came to political affairs, Brunhildr was decidedly opposed to being the voice of reason in debates and matters she would rather behead with an axe. The High Jarl, of a similar mind, appointed his sister’s daughter, Sigrun Berglund, to accompany the royal mage to Aethelguard. Brunhildr’s lips twitched when the woman came to stand beside her, equally tall and toned, though dressed with far more regal care than the mage in her bare arms and armour. Auburn hair was braided and laced with rune-carved rings. They exchanged a glance while artificers chipped away at the runegate, chisels ringing sharp as frostrunes sizzled with latent magical energy. “You look as though you’d rather be back in the pass,” Sigrun said, faint bemusement threading her voice as she caught the scowl carved across Brunhildr’s face. Brunhildr watched the runes flare along the half-cut stone. [color=#26619C]“I’d rather be anywhere they aren’t pouring wine and calling it strategy.”[/color] A breath of amusement ghosted across Sigrun’s mouth. “Then I’ll drink the wine. You can glower at the room until someone says something worth hearing.” Brunhildr gave a short nod. A sound enough plan. It also made it far less likely she would end the evening with some noble’s skull cracked open between her fists. The gate shimmered to life, frost crackling beneath their boots as the two Antarctikan women stepped through. The passage warped around them into a tangle of twisting roots and hollow dark, less a corridor than a living path cut through the void itself. It was strangely warm in contrast to Antarctik’s usual bite. Then Brunhildr felt it. A root groaned somewhere ahead, twisting sharply into a course not laid by the artificers’ runework. Her frown deepened, shoulders tightening as instinct settled hard beneath her skin. [color=#26619C]“They would decide where we arrive,”[/color] she said, voice edged with suspicion. [color=#26619C]“Convenient.”[/color] Sigrun’s gaze followed the bend in the path, her expression smoothing rather than sharpening. “If they’ve summoned every power to their table, they were never going to leave the door unguarded.” Brunhildr gave a low grunt, unconvinced. Her hand hovered near the haft at her back as the living corridor shifted again, roots knitting themselves into a narrower path beneath their feet. Whatever course the artificers had first carved was gone now, bent neatly beneath a foreign hand. The warmth deepened. Light began to bleed through the dark ahead, pale at first, then gold. The roots split apart with a long wooden groan, opening onto stone instead of snow. [hr] [right][sub] __________________ • The Planes - Aethelguard • Aethelguard Royal Palace - Banquet Hall __________________ [/sub][/right] They stepped through into the sharp salt-tinged air of Aethelguard, the runegate closing behind them in a hiss of frost and steam. Not the palace proper, nor any inner sanctum. The kingdom had spat them out at a safer remove, just beyond the royal city gates where white stone walls rose clean against the evening sky and banners stirred in the coastal wind. Guards were already waiting. So too were servants, composed and prepared in the way of those warned well in advance. Brunhildr’s eyes narrowed as she took in the placement, the distance, the order of it. Even here, on ground meant for welcome, the foreign touch of Aethelguard’s will sat ill against her skin. Sigrun adjusted one fur-lined sleeve with practiced calm. “Well,” she said, the faintest thread of amusement returning to her voice, “they have manners enough not to drop us in the sea.” Brunhildr looked toward the city beyond the gates, jaw set hard. [color=#26619C]“Give them time.”[/color] The rest passed in a blur of polished stone, measured courtesies, and servants who moved too smoothly for Brunhildr’s liking. By the time she and Sigrun were shown into the banquet hall, the gathering was already well underway. Antarctik’s seats had been left for them among the others. Sigrun claimed hers with the quiet ease expected of an envoy. Brunhildr stayed at her shoulder, preferring to stand while her gaze raked across the room, weighing crowns, mages, and warriors alike with open distrust.