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Tamlorn Winter-Rose

The weight of words pressed against his mind and trickled into comprehension. Slowly, a frown bloomed across his face, and he chewed the corner of his mouth in mute consternation.

“Moreover,” adding to Jehenne’s points, “would this Katherine not have herself placed in a position of power and trust if she could influence our sovereign so? And would a move against her not also threaten to divide this realm further?” He shook his head, as if trying to shake loose the clotting disbelief.

A weighing eye measured the Fragarach brothers; Libero gave away a lot during his pledge. Unlike Jehenne. She was a guarded secret.

“Inquisitor, whilst I hold my country and name as utmost, at present it is you and yours who seem the danger to both,” he breathed in, and then, out, “I hope whatever evidence you have is substantial.”

Feasting Hall | Shula Castle
Interacting with:

“And that is why you should never trust a woman’s word on whether she is married or not; it is much better to ask her husband.”

That got a chuckle. Eon finished his story and lounged into an easy smile, well-worn, skin-deep. A small crowd hugged close to him; their banal smatterings added to din that flared about them, their eyes searched hungrily for any scrap of approval. Even here he could not escape that oily ambition that shrouded men’s hearts and twisted deep beneath them like gnarled roots. Contempt hid itself behind the goblet he drained for too long. The drink touched his lips, or even swelled into his mouth, between his teeth, across his tongue, but he never swallowed a drop. When he lowered it, once more the smile hung over his face.

Sweat, smoke and sin wove into smells of food to create a thick carpet of odour. The decision to sit with those beneath his station was borne of vain attempt to escape the political games and careful discussion. At least amongst the rabble there was some slight freedom, and they were entertaining in their ignorance. Of course, not all were witless peons.

Another conversation began to brew, and Eon made to look as though he was interested. The man immediately to Eon’s left stepped up in the lull. There then came a thought from outside his mind. A slight, gentle thing, that flowed smoothly into his mind, a feather floating along the swell of the sea, heedless of depths beneath.

Must we linger? All here are crass and the beasts are no better; they foul the air. I will surely catch a disease. The thought that was not his own sounded young inside his mind, feminine and clear as a crystal chime, tempered by a sense of maturity that exceeded the youth. Ira.

Without letting any of this touch his facade, Eon split his mind in two, focussing one half on the people, and one on his companion.

Of course. The blue-bloods shield their words. Here, people will give what they can, if they think I am important. And they do. It is prudent to feel out the tensions in this hall. It makes travelling easier if we know where treachery lies, and where foul weather broods, and where war shall soon carve into the peace.

His mind was still, a mirror-pond. Outside, he laughed with the crowd, and made a facetious remark that brought more titters.

And if we get to know which fighters are favoured, we stand to gain more from our gambled coin, if our paintings do not sell so well.

I know.
The voice conceded. Her form shifted by his leg. He did not look down.

Not to mention I like the attention.

You are always too fond of it.
Rue tinged the thought, like the wilt of a flower, as Ira’s mind retracted across the border, resting just outside Eon’s consciousness, rain on the other side of glass.

With his whole mind returning to his audience, Eon could tell they were beginning to tire of the sweaty man who led them now, so he snatched their attention with both hands and had them wrapped around his little finger before he had even begun his next sentence.

As if in answer Ter alighted, coming to a stop on a low branch before the knights. His plumage of underwater sapphire seemed to take on the earthy browns and greens and drank in the shadow that surrounded them. Intelligent eyes stared out.

“It may be possible,” Jerel mused, his head tilted at the bird. Ter imitated him. Alacrity bubbled from the surface state of Ter’s emotions, relayed through the colour so the Jerel could feel it like the heat from boiling water upon a fire. A smile rippled across his face, starting in his eyes before it stretched his face into a close-lipped crescent.

“What say you then, Ter?” Jerel asked, measuring his words. Affirmation. Forbearance. Emotions splashed between minds. Jerel nodded, “Then go, watch for a signal, and let us know. Crack the night with your cry.”

With the beat of powerful wings, Ter was gone.

Jerel turned back to Sir Segremors, “We should not forsake our own faculties, of course. But let us hope your idea is fruitful.”

@HereComesTheSnow@Psyker Landshark
Tamlorn Winter-Rose

Jehenne’s eyes caught Tam, like a memory. Up close, it seemed she hadn’t changed. Her hair, those eyes, the sculpt of her shoulder...

Then she spoke, and ice had touched inside his chest. The spell broke. The breath he had not realised he’d been holding escaped. He blinked. Then his eyes flitted away, to the floating staff, the ground, his feet, anything else. Remorse stabbed its thin fingers into his heart and began tugging it downwards. Reluctantly, his face rose again to meet hers. There she stood swaddled in a motley of emotions and simple clothes, all beneath the dread-coloured patina that was fear.

He dredged words from murk of his mind, “I’m sorry,” he spoke lamely, his words clipped, his mouth twitched. He kept watching her, “For everything.”

Blessedly, Rote caught his attention. The man was a mystery, appearing at once mad yet also in possession of all his faculties. It was not clear whether his mannerisms were born of delusion or his noble upbringing. Perhaps both.

He followed them to the canal. He knew not what else he could do, seemingly trapped within the thoughts of his own mind, memories, words forming and reforming in a hundred iterations of a sentence and coming no closer to what he wanted to say.

The damp smells of flotsam and refuse clung inside his nose.

Danger sharpened his mind like a stone knapping flint. A wandering mind was a dangerous thing; now he stared down a dozen barrels of a dozen men. He recognised some of the faces, once fellow knights. Victory was a slim possibility, yet Tamlorn gripped his weapon, ready.

But, conflict was avoided. He bobbed his head at the Inquisitor, a small smile playing across his lips, “And house Winter-Rose will not forget.” He stepped onto the boat, equal parts curious and concerned of Jehenne’s fate. He was not sure he could leave even if he wanted to.

It was not until the black scar upon the cityscape, the Cathedral, reached up before them as if defying the heavens, that Tam spoke once more. Jehenne had pointendly ignored him the entire journey, so Tam had stewed in his own thoughts.

“Does the Church want anything with them?” Tam asked the Inquisitor, “Beyond their freedom?”

For all the voices, the group seemed quiet, a season waiting to end. The forest held its breath, watching. Jerel followed Sir Segremors. He did not speak, but nodded a mute affirmation. He offered one to Sir Hagen also. Jerel’s eyes searched the trees. The canopy wove a roof of green and brown to hide them from the moon, save for the slimmest of silver shafts; a faint reminder.

Ter fluttered between trees, following his master. Jerel slowly rotated his arm and hissed. His face clenched tight, scrunched up like mistake-riddled parchment. The pang of iron was unmistakable on his tongue. Again, he moved his arm. Slowly, his face relaxed, falling back into place, expect for his brows, which were knit together in consternation, though his eyes were flint-sharp and hard as the steel he carried.

Yet the doubt was growing, a treacherous undercurrent that tugged at his courage, or perhaps it was a snake, slowly constricting around him, tighter and tighter.

He huffed out. No more mistakes.

“Onwards indeed.”

@Psyker Landshark @HereComesTheSnow

Could I get an invite also please?
Sweat beaded on Tam’s brow. With wide eyes, he stared at the wall of flame. He had fallen into a crouch, his mind rested around a spell, chill and tingling, ready to grab it and pull it into the corporeal plane. Outnumbered, certainly, but perhaps not outclassed. Tam’s mind raced like a great river, branching out into every possibility, hand tightening on his spear in anticipation.

Yet, the girl that bent fire to her beck and whim surrendered. A safe decision, but and odd one nonetheless. He coughed, and rose to stand, smoothing out his clothes with one hand.

A small chuckle escaped him; he’d forgotten the flowers. The smile melted quickly into a thin line.

“I am not here as part of the ambush,” Tam said, and though he spoke to Louise his eyes weighed Mergoux as she approached, and was surprised by what he found. “Why I came to you is no longer relevant, it seems.”

Even before the half-elf cracked a fist into the girl, Tam had her painted as dangerous, and that just reassured it. He daren’t move. Now he was alone, surrounded by foes - herons watching for a single fish below water - that one reason to kill. One hand was held up by his head, but the other rested on his spear still.

“Jehenne,” He said calmly, eyes flicking between her face and Mergoux’s, “Your brother… did he - is he…?” He tripped on the words, choking in his throat. Always, it was so hard to ask, “I did not see him at the market today, do you think I ever will?”

@letter bee @landaus five-one @Zoey White @Overlord Thraka

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