Post by andycd on Jun 26, 2021 14:06:43 GMT
Meryll wiped her brow, looking over the layout for the Ascension gathering sketched out on the grass around her. So many of the great and powerful of the Feywild would be gathering here in such a short time for an event that may not happen again for countless years, so everything had to be perfect. The sweat was part stress for sure, but also due to the odd heat in the air.
The air had been unusually still, even stifling, all day. Time was a complicated subject here, but the Material Plane was deep into Summer, and so maybe that was the reason for this heat - this tension in the air. The feeling in Meryll’s gut however was unmistakable, so close to such a spiritual nexus - the Feywild was holding its breath.
==
The air was delicious. Titania lived for tension; the Faerie Queen of Summer hardly sat still these days. Not that she couldn’t make all the decisions required of her from her throne in Perihelion, the Summer Palace, but her court was on the move, and so she had to be too. Thunderstorms boiled in the distance, not from anger but making literal the metaphorical electricity in the air as troops moved, plans were made and remade and the tactical mind of Titania continued to race.
Surely this is it - the thought would not leave the Archfey. Victorious over Sarastra (may-her-stars-burn-the-brighter) in the Amaranthine Games, now with everything on the line she stood here with more territory than before even despite their losses, more resources, more power. There would be no denying the Summer Court’s power this time.
She didn’t begrudge the Twilight Court’s Ascendant position all these years - Queen Sarastra (may-the-evening-be-sweeter-for-the-life-she-lived) had done well and adjudicated some difficult decisions in the last decades. But it was Summer’s turn now. They were the biggest, the strongest, the bravest, the fiercest and the liveliest. Her revels were second to none, thanks in no small part to her ever-less-halfling daughter. The Chorus would sing her praises all the way to the Ascendant’s Seat.
Surely this is it. It has to be.
The thunder rumbled on.
==
The stillness in the air suited the Winter Court just fine. The harsh winds blew softer now, Morinn focused on quiet, meditative preparation. The silent labyrinth of secrets in that great glacier were sifted and sorted to search for any final notes, a last gambit or advantage to gain an edge in the decision to come.
There had been some great strides forward - the Lady of Silence and her young protege had done delightfully well, and Morinn’s multitude of agents had worked hard in the background too - always in the shadows, quiet and unseen. Favors had been called in, secrets leveraged, and great plans hatched long ago were now put in motion - even the greatest avalanche begins with a single snowflake, after all.
The perfectly smooth and icy facade that was the Snow Queen’s face cracked ever so slightly as she allowed herself the smallest of smiles. She had planned for this, prepared for it, and now all her hard work would come to fruition, like a perfect diamond born under the pressure of a mountain.
There could be no other decision. Summer was reckless, Wandering was a joke and Witching was too cunning to sit in a seat of impartial judgement. The Ascendant Court had to be cold, calculating, judicious and not afraid to make the right decision despite personal attachments. There was too much chaos already. What the Feywild needed was a steady hand; dependable, logical and just. There was no room for undue violence, nor the chancery of prophecy and witchcraft. The Feywild needed someone utterly dependable to come to peace, quiet and balance. Someone like her.
There could be no other decision. Morinn would not stand for it.
==
The Queen of Witches looked out at the perpetual twilight of the Feywild silhouetting the mountains of her domain and smiled. The air was foreboding, and that always boded well. Slipping the silver chakram of her office onto her belt, she turned from the rocky outcropping and walked into her throne room.
The gathered fairies, hags and other fey all cheered as Queen Nicnevin took her giant steps out into the centre of the room, standing taller than any of them underneath the huge quartz illuminating the room with refracted moonlight. With great ceremony, several elves bore a large platter to their queen, covered in the bones of some great beast or being. The giant queen scooped them all up in her hands, looking around at the crowd.
“The Strawberry Moon rises! Soon the spirits will converge and all shall join in song. Let us see what we can expect.”
Head bowed for a moment so her thick orange hair covered her face, Nicnevin heaved the bones into the air, scattering them around her. Pixies scattered to avoid being struck by them in mid-air. She floated gently into the air, looking down as the bones hit the ground, searching for the wisdom presented.
Her brow furrowed. She spun around, looking for a different angle. It all read the same.
“I need to speak to Miandra about our security arrangements, it seems,” was all she said, not bothering to explain further as they all knew how to read the signs too. The only word the spirits were saying - the only sign of the future they could give - was “Pandemonium.”
==
“Your majesty?”
“...”
“Your majesty?”
“...yes?”
“It’s the Ascension soon. Which robes would you like to have prepared for the occasion?”
“Is there a theme?”
“No sire, they did not specify a theme.”
“Then whatever, just make it look effortlessly expensive.”
“Of course, my lord. Enjoy the rest of your bath.”
“Oh and one more thing…”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Fetch me another piña colada.”
“At once, your majesty.”
The air had been unusually still, even stifling, all day. Time was a complicated subject here, but the Material Plane was deep into Summer, and so maybe that was the reason for this heat - this tension in the air. The feeling in Meryll’s gut however was unmistakable, so close to such a spiritual nexus - the Feywild was holding its breath.
==
The air was delicious. Titania lived for tension; the Faerie Queen of Summer hardly sat still these days. Not that she couldn’t make all the decisions required of her from her throne in Perihelion, the Summer Palace, but her court was on the move, and so she had to be too. Thunderstorms boiled in the distance, not from anger but making literal the metaphorical electricity in the air as troops moved, plans were made and remade and the tactical mind of Titania continued to race.
Surely this is it - the thought would not leave the Archfey. Victorious over Sarastra (may-her-stars-burn-the-brighter) in the Amaranthine Games, now with everything on the line she stood here with more territory than before even despite their losses, more resources, more power. There would be no denying the Summer Court’s power this time.
She didn’t begrudge the Twilight Court’s Ascendant position all these years - Queen Sarastra (may-the-evening-be-sweeter-for-the-life-she-lived) had done well and adjudicated some difficult decisions in the last decades. But it was Summer’s turn now. They were the biggest, the strongest, the bravest, the fiercest and the liveliest. Her revels were second to none, thanks in no small part to her ever-less-halfling daughter. The Chorus would sing her praises all the way to the Ascendant’s Seat.
Surely this is it. It has to be.
The thunder rumbled on.
==
The stillness in the air suited the Winter Court just fine. The harsh winds blew softer now, Morinn focused on quiet, meditative preparation. The silent labyrinth of secrets in that great glacier were sifted and sorted to search for any final notes, a last gambit or advantage to gain an edge in the decision to come.
There had been some great strides forward - the Lady of Silence and her young protege had done delightfully well, and Morinn’s multitude of agents had worked hard in the background too - always in the shadows, quiet and unseen. Favors had been called in, secrets leveraged, and great plans hatched long ago were now put in motion - even the greatest avalanche begins with a single snowflake, after all.
The perfectly smooth and icy facade that was the Snow Queen’s face cracked ever so slightly as she allowed herself the smallest of smiles. She had planned for this, prepared for it, and now all her hard work would come to fruition, like a perfect diamond born under the pressure of a mountain.
There could be no other decision. Summer was reckless, Wandering was a joke and Witching was too cunning to sit in a seat of impartial judgement. The Ascendant Court had to be cold, calculating, judicious and not afraid to make the right decision despite personal attachments. There was too much chaos already. What the Feywild needed was a steady hand; dependable, logical and just. There was no room for undue violence, nor the chancery of prophecy and witchcraft. The Feywild needed someone utterly dependable to come to peace, quiet and balance. Someone like her.
There could be no other decision. Morinn would not stand for it.
==
The Queen of Witches looked out at the perpetual twilight of the Feywild silhouetting the mountains of her domain and smiled. The air was foreboding, and that always boded well. Slipping the silver chakram of her office onto her belt, she turned from the rocky outcropping and walked into her throne room.
The gathered fairies, hags and other fey all cheered as Queen Nicnevin took her giant steps out into the centre of the room, standing taller than any of them underneath the huge quartz illuminating the room with refracted moonlight. With great ceremony, several elves bore a large platter to their queen, covered in the bones of some great beast or being. The giant queen scooped them all up in her hands, looking around at the crowd.
“The Strawberry Moon rises! Soon the spirits will converge and all shall join in song. Let us see what we can expect.”
Head bowed for a moment so her thick orange hair covered her face, Nicnevin heaved the bones into the air, scattering them around her. Pixies scattered to avoid being struck by them in mid-air. She floated gently into the air, looking down as the bones hit the ground, searching for the wisdom presented.
Her brow furrowed. She spun around, looking for a different angle. It all read the same.
“I need to speak to Miandra about our security arrangements, it seems,” was all she said, not bothering to explain further as they all knew how to read the signs too. The only word the spirits were saying - the only sign of the future they could give - was “Pandemonium.”
==
“Your majesty?”
“...”
“Your majesty?”
“...yes?”
“It’s the Ascension soon. Which robes would you like to have prepared for the occasion?”
“Is there a theme?”
“No sire, they did not specify a theme.”
“Then whatever, just make it look effortlessly expensive.”
“Of course, my lord. Enjoy the rest of your bath.”
“Oh and one more thing…”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Fetch me another piña colada.”
“At once, your majesty.”