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Tim the Yeti
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AlteredTundra
Arc I - Terreille in Trouble
Gen nodded as if in thought as Mikhail spoke. "Melian would have descriptions of myself I suspect." The eldest of ther bothers noted. As Faeril's constant companion he was a common sight near his old friend, and if there was indeed a traitor among the people of Aven or someone Faeril had healed then it was entirely likely that the wicked Melian had a description of him. "Bellinar travels enough I don't think you'd be missed brother." The warlord commented to his brothers.
Bellinar was lugging a box containing the basic amenities off the couch, setting it on the dusty road the man nodded. "Might not be a bad idea as I'm less noticeable." The Warlord Prince looked troubled at something as he looked about at the hot and weathered plains of Shalador noting the signs of fights in the past and the weary look of the land. A land that desperately needed a Queen's love and the Blood's care. "But then we have the problem of the fact that I'm a Warlord Prince. People get jumpy when an Eyrien Warlord Prince comes to town." Giving a wolfish smile at Jean, Bellinar gave a rueful shrug. "We generally spill blood before we leave." While the Kaeleer native might not be aware it was common knowledge to those who lived in or had been in Terreille for some time that Warlord Princes were outright feared and with good reason. They were the most vicious of the Blood and the 'delights' of the Queens often honed that temper into a shortened fuse. Eyriens more than any other as their fuse often burned at both ends and with their renown as warriors. The most fearsome of which was Saetan the Seducer. A Warlord Prince of rumor and legend that served the Queen of Hayll personally. A man who was arguably more feared than the Reaper, not that anyone was going to mention that even when Xandar was moving out of earshot.
"A Prince of exotic nature, a Warlord who could pass for a Dhemlan of this Realm, and a Pruulish witch passing through Shalador." Faeril sighed as she rustled her wings slightly. A cool breeze passed by the others in the shimmering heat of Shalador, a heat that rolled up from the deserts of Pruul. "I suppose if we doll up her a bit and hide those tattoos we might be able to have Dareen pass as somewhat wealthy.: The words were blunt but Faeril had been in foul mood for days since learning that her house had been trashed and they would have to flee. "Though I would want to know how you plan to hide Mikhail?" Giving the assassin an apologetic look, or as close to one as she could manage, Faeril sighed. "You stick out with how you look. Jandar and Dareen might pass as a wife and husband." It was a fair idea, Pruul bordered Dhemlan and while it was not common the long-lived races sometimes did marry the short-lived. A partner that would last mere decades in a life that would span the centuries. It was a rarity and the children often found it hard to find their own partners in turn. Too long-lived for the shorter-lived races and the long-lived races were loath to see their children die before their own time. It was a bittersweet match.
Yet Faeril turned her gaze towards the distant town looking puzzled and worried. "I do not think we should light any fires or risk any light above the ground at least. It would not do to be seen." But that was not the Black Widow's concern. There was a pull, an irresistible urge to go to the town or to weave one of her webs. Yet neither would be permitted with the way her old friends gathered about her nor did she suspect that the Reaper would take it well after complaining about her restlessness. Her brow furrowed more as she unintentionally glared at Jean who just happened to be between her and the town. The Black Widow trying to put a finger on what it was that was pulling her, as it was only her training in the Craft of the Hourglass that allowed her to notice it so definitely.
She was not alone to feel this pull, however, a subtle urging was pulling at the Queen's power as she opened the lid of the box to find a small flute inside warped with the age and elements. The Shalador were a people who adored their music and history and Hayll was tolerating of neither. The Queens raised the taxes for their own coffers and had dances and music only for their own pleasures. Giving nothing to the land and taking all it could offer to leave a barren wasteland that would in time become desert from the starvation of love. Xandar meanwhile would find himself in a large building that might have once been a manor house for a Queen. It was the most intact building and the yard in the front was thick with Witchblood. The red-leafed flowers declaring to Jandar's knowledge that while witches had been killed throughout the town this area had been the true site of death. There was a distasteful psychic scent that left what would be the parlor reeking to Xandar, but with a bit of looking about the Ebon-Grey would find his way to the cellar.
The darkness filled with the subtle chittering of a mass of viper rats as they suckled their young. If a light was shined into the darkness it would reveal a mass of bones, odd bits of wood and cloth that the rats had gathered in their search for food and had built a rat's nest with it. The pieced apart skeletons of horses, dogs and cats littered the pile as did the remains of humans that for all the knowledge in the world could be Blood or Landen. Some were whole hinting at the ugly idea that they had been tossed in here on purpose or perhaps were desperate to risk hiding in a pit filled with the vile venomous rodents. It would take a fair bit of witchfire to clear out the mess and that would surely rile the viper rats causing them to swarm and attack the threat to their claimed home.
Elsewhere in Eldra ,Shalador
It had been a messy few weeks since he had left Hayll in an uproar, the shattered and twisted body of Dorothea's little 'special guest' Alanya had been found in her room by her servants the day after the 'ball'. If one could call the parade such a thing, Saetan was more of the mind to call it what it was. A play for Dorotha's entertainment, to see what trouble she could potentially stir up for her own amusement. Fingering the glass of wine he held, the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince almost smiled as several youths apprenticing in Lady Laska's court scuttled past whispering between each other in hushed tones as their faces grew pale. Word had already spread here of what he had done, but not quite quick enough to the Queen of Hayll's delight. Laska had graciously accepted the gift of his services with open arms in exchange for a few of her apprentices to learn more about the 'culture of Hayll'. As if they had any! He, in turn, was to prance to the lowly Queen of Eldra's tune. Only it had been mere days when one of the apprenticing queens had sent back a letter hastily written to Laska of the true reason Saetan had been so cheaply put on loan. The poor, brave, little fool had undoubtedly paid with her life for risking so much under Dorothea's nose and the Queen of Hayll had let the letter go through to just stroke the flames of terror all the more.
Setting the wine to the side, Saetan almost wanted to just break the chain binding him to the bitch-queen but he couldn't bring himself to do it. There was so much at stake and to risk it would be a miscalculation on his part that would bath what remained of Dhemlan in blood. Blood that they were slowly losing to the Hayll Queens who had swooped in like harpies onto the land to divvy it up among themselves. If any of the queens already there opposed them or were in their way? They disappeared and no matter how many he made disappear it was never enough. Hayll was a festering breeding ground for the rot that plagued the Realm. The fear instilled in the men by Dorothea had them instill fear into the witches under them and so it spiraled until all the Realm would be a mess and the Blood for what they were. They were already forgetting with each passing year. Eons of training erased as people fought for power over each other and laid fatal flaws in the methods they taught others so they would not be shown up and later disposed of. It was a disgraceful situation and it drained on Saetan's weary heart.
He was tired of it. The hushed whispers, the urges that if he just complied things would go all the better, the offers and bribes for him to sweeten Dorothea to something or other. As if he had any control over what the woman did! Oh, he had some through the terror he inspired but it was an ongoing battle between them. Pulling on the light black coat over his white dress shirt, the man walked towards the door. No one stood in his way as he exited the Queen's Residence, no one dared. It was just as well, thought the man, he would rather not be interrupted with his thoughts. The streets of Eldra were clean for a time around the manor but after that... Shopkeepers let their windows dirty to discourage certain guests and people hurried along trying to hide the terror that they might be sighted as potential amusement for Laska or one of her favorites. A few braver souls nodded in greeting to him subtly, before going about their business. Yet no one approached the Black Jeweled Warlord as he strolled down the street. Disgusted by the smaller form of Draega that Laska's great-grandmother, Marthea, had built just within sight of what she had and her descendant now called the 'rat pit'. The ruins of what had been Sharon, a beautiful town before Marthea had driven out the queen and declared she liked where the landens lived better and was taking that for her own. The landens had been thrown out and left to rebuild while expected to pay a heavy tax. Thus Hightop had become Eldra, and Marthea had gained her own personal playground. The reports he had gained on the woman suggested she had kept a house there for her amusements complaining that her parties made a mess of her own residence and her servants never could clean it well enough for her liking. Saetan gritted his teeth, it was rumored that from time to time Laska too would use the 'rat pit' for entertainment though he had seen and heard little proof of that.
