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๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

_{Mom! I'm boooreeedd....}

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴏɴꜱ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ [ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ᴍᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ]

_______________
◊ Brunhildr ◊
_______________

_{__________________
• The Antarctik - Yrskald
• Noble House - Frostrune passageway
__________________}

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. “I’d rather be anywhere they aren’t pouring wine and calling it strategy.”

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.

“They would decide where we arrive,” she said, voice edged with suspicion. “Convenient.”

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.

---

_{__________________
• The Planes - Aethelguard
• Aethelguard Royal Palace - Banquet Hall
__________________}

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. “Give them time.”

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.

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

@TokyoPewPew For that wonderful post, have this tray of biscuits.

〖 𝚁 𝙾 𝙶 𝚄 𝙴 𝚁 𝙾 𝚆 〗⌠ The Fall from Disgrace ⌡⌠ British Espionage / Crime RP⌡

@themaybreeze
May we bow and salute. Thanks for the opportunity.

Also:

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

I swear if this collab post doesn't break the site I'm going to be thoroughly disappointed.

〖 𝚁 𝙾 𝙶 𝚄 𝙴 𝚁 𝙾 𝚆 〗⌠ The Fall from Disgrace ⌡⌠ British Espionage / Crime RP⌡

@PatientBean Dang! That sucks. Did you at least send a pointed e-mail to management for failing to have stable internet? :P No rush, stuff like this happens.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴏɴꜱ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ [ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ᴍᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ]

_______________

◊ Brunhildr ◊
_______________

_{__________________
• The Antarctik
• Valley passage
__________________}

The sound of sharp steel echoed out the mountain valley, a guttural roar rumbling when an axe bit deep into the troll’s arm. The bone cracked beneath the strike, ice crystals blooming along the wound. Brunhildr wrenched the weapon from frozen flesh. Her thick cape coated in heavy snowfall as she surged forward to lock the edge of her oaken shield into the jaw of the hulking monster. Her knees bucked at the weight, boots sinking deep into fresh snow. Runes edged along her arm flared, flickering once, twice, muscles tensed as she forced the towering brute downward. With a roar she drove the axe into the thick sinew and rough fur of its leg.

“Leif! Right flank!” The blonde bellowed through the thick snowstorm, an arrow loosed into the troll's eye when it desperately tried to push itself upright. Whether to flee or charge one last time the two warriors didn’t know.

Brunhildr scoffed, ending it with a final strike of her axe. Skull split to the teeth to silence the desperate growl. A fur-clad boot kicked at the lifeless body, blood trickling from the final wound before freezing shut. Like the aftermath of a brutal fight. She straightened, shook the sudden tension in her shield arm and proceeded.

“Lady Brunhildr, a masterful blow.” Said the gruff man, the runes on his armour denoting his lieutenant rank in the Antarctik’s army.

The valkyrie smirked at that, then crushed it. Head held high, pale blue eyes indicative of her disdain despite the amusement it solicited. “Flattery is for court clowns, Leif.” She nodded once, then pressed onward into the valley.

It wasn’t unusual to find a mountain troll this side of the border. What was strange was its sudden aggressive behaviour. They had been stealthy, after all. Wide berths of its habitat, no unusual lights or sounds.

… And yet it decided to attack anyway.

Brunhildr grimaced at that when she and her compatriot doubled back. The storm had settled, it always did when the city gates were within arm's reach.

---

Palace duties were a dull affair. Brunhildr often considered whether biting her own tongue might be preferable to enduring them. She was no scholar. Antarctik valued strength far more than debate. Still, some obligations could not be ignored.

She was reading the letter when the raven arrived. Or rather, when she noticed it had already been there for some time, waiting with patient irritation. A summit of powers. That alone was enough to sour her mood.

〖 𝚁 𝙾 𝙶 𝚄 𝙴 𝚁 𝙾 𝚆 〗⌠ The Fall from Disgrace ⌡⌠ British Espionage / Crime RP⌡

@themaybreeze Still here! Obviously :)

@PatientBean Hope you're doing okay!

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

⫘⫘⫘

⫘⫘⫘

---

It’s not that Fig hated being caged, just preferred being able to jumpscare people at a moment’s notice. The ferret spun in circles at a similar prospect when Trish’s hands hovered near the cage lid, a melodious yip vibrating outward; stubby paws scratching in search for freedom. Or maybe an excuse to touch her owner’s familiar calloused palm. Trish allowed herself a smirk at that, her pinky finger teasing that sniffing nose as the ferret’s tongue lapped at the digit affectionately.

“She’s a fucking menace, honestly.” Came a begrudging acknowledgement, more habit than actually interested in entertaining someone’s curiosity. Not that she didn’t appreciate someone giving a crap about the little things and gave a curt nod at the Irish woman anyway.

Something about being amicable, probably.

The mention of a basement and voluntarily sleeping there made her smirk more noticeably than she cared to admit, thoughts immediately whirring with obvious questions to that strange decision. “Probably me, but I don’t think mold makes good bedfellows.” A shrug. Nonchalant, but intrigued.

She turned her attention to her brother, snagging the duffel bag with a challenging grin. “Could ask if she’s looking for a roommate.” She teased, her shoulder brushing against his hunched form.

Introduction could wait, however, and Trish was more than eager to call dibs on the least invasive room in the building. Preferably on the far end so nobody accidentally bothered her in passing, she hated that too. Hated a lot of things, thinking about it. Heavy boots thudded on worn wood, stairs groaning when Trish deliberately tested their resistance and quietly praying they would give in with a satisfying snap. They didn’t, but a girl could dream and stomp a little harder next time. She was patient in that, at least.

While others choose their room by sheer magical guidance, weird-ass preferences or chance. Trish’s eye fell on one of the simpler bedrooms, though still flashy and bathing in that grand Gothic design. Tall windows, taller walls. Probably able to house about five people with enough space to swing a dead cat around. She slung her guitar case off her shoulder, propping it in an empty corner to keep it from dipping. The duffel with clothes and unmentionables fell onto the bed with a lazy thud.

Then, with careful hands she set Fig’s cage down and opened the lid. The ferret dooked happily, immediately slithering out and crawled up Trish’s arm to find that warm spot around the punk-gal’s neck, small paws fidgeting with tufts of dyed hair while her owner assessed the room a second time before deciding she’d better be one of those social guests.

The stairs held firm at Trish’s insistent stomping, the gesture made her smirk impishly as she landed safely on the main floor. The smell of tea leaves and pastries guided her toward the kitchen, spotting their host and the old gentleman having a chat that stilled when she approached. “Nice place,” She offered with a huff as she dropped into one of the empty seats, eyeing the extravagant banquet with a wry smile. “Very rustic.” She added, glancing at her furry companion.

Fig’s nose twitched, her body crawling along Trish’s shoulder to stretch and sniff at the pastries below. Beady eyes looking expectantly at the promise of treats.

〖 𝚁 𝙾 𝙶 𝚄 𝙴 𝚁 𝙾 𝚆 〗⌠ The Fall from Disgrace ⌡⌠ British Espionage / Crime RP⌡

@themaybreeze Yeah, I think that could work really well. One idea I'm also toying with is Spot tracking the Homeland Party website (I'm assuming they have one) server and finding a mirror/shadow site about the Homeland Brothers (think darkweb stuff) that's encrypted and not accessible through regular means. Not sure how you feel about that, but it might be an interesting way RR could connect the two groups with proper evidence.

And unless they, too, have a tech savvy guy, they probably wouldn't think to use seperate hostings or assumed nobody would look that deeply?