Antebellum (before The Civil War)
Jul 26, 2023 15:36:08 GMT
Ian, Velania Kalugina, and 4 more like this
Post by Jaezred Vandree on Jul 26, 2023 15:36:08 GMT
“She still hasn’t come out of her room? You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s been a month.”
Lord Jaezred is freshly returned from his tour of the western Witching Court — a month-long business trip mixed in with bucolic pleasures such as hunting, horse-riding, sightseeing, sampling local beers, and spending evenings at a hotel within a giant snail’s shell. The three ladies who’d been chosen to fill in for the hags were lovely company, but alas, he must leave them awhile to take care of matters in the palace and beyond.
Still in his hunting leathers, he sits down on a pew in the chapel of Eilistraee, setting a black tricorn hat down and looking at the dark elves gathered around him: Chanet Chaulssin, Dirzafay Zauvyn, Brilaena and Konan Hun’sek.
“No, it’s true. We tried to drag her out for meals, but she asked to have her food delivered to her room,” Dirzafay says.
“We tried everything to lure her out,” says Konan, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “Sarin most of all. He tried really hard.”
“Oh, but we threw a surprise birthday party in her room,” Brilaena adds. “It was…um…”
Konan scoffs. “A party, sure, if you could call it that.”
“Well, Chanet baked a cake and it was lovely.”
The youngest drow amongst them straightens up when he hears his name being spoken. “Oh, yeah,” he says coolly, flicking his nose with his thumb. “It was a gâteau au chocolat. A real culinary challenge, y’know.”
Jaezred frowns. “That’s just…Draconic for chocolate cake.”
“…S-Some people may call it that…”
“Right,” he sighs. “This can’t possibly be healthy for her. So, shall we pay a visit?”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in,” the faint answer comes after a pause. Jaezred glances over his shoulder at the drow behind him, hesitating for a second, before opening the door.
The room smells mildly stale, like there has not been fresh air inside it for a long time. Zola is sitting up on the four-poster bed, adjusting a cloth half-mask on the left side of her face, concealing the gruesome scars and empty socket he knows to be there. Her moonstone eye sits gleaming on the nightstand, upon which the Twins are leaning, sheathed in their decorated scabbards. The tall, panelled windows opposite the bed have been covered with heavy drapes.
“Rise and shine, Miss Oussviir!” Jaezred holds his tricorn hat to his chest and strides in with an easy smile. “I have just returned from the countryside, as you can see. The villages are fine — nothing to worry about — and everyone who knows you there sends you their well-wishes. Ah, how are you doing?”
She looks awful. The darkness accentuated the gauntness in her cheeks and the bags under her eye, like a prisoner who has not seen light for months. It mars her beauty more than those scars ever did.
“Any news?” Her voice, once musical and melodic, sounds more like a small whimper now.
Jaezred walks up to the windows and throws the curtains open. Pale light from the Witching Court’s ever-present full moon streams into the room, softly highlighting the clutter of dirty plates, discarded clothes, and random household items on the floor. “Not yet, I’m afraid. My contact in Aeschira knows of someone called Zoland, a mercenary of small repute. However, his whereabouts are currently unknown. She’s searching for him in between performing her duties to her house. Until then, we must wait.”
Brilaena sits down on the bed next to Zola and gently strokes her messy, tangled hair. “I know it’s been difficult for you, but we’re doing everything we can with what little we have,” Jaezred finishes.
“Be patient, dear,” Bri adds.
“Have you been back to the Material Plane at all? To see your friends in the Dawnlands, perhaps? I bet Sister Velania has been wondering where you are. Also Pipper, and Kavel, and the Queen of Harmony’s little brother — er, what’s his name again… Oh, and the archangel of Selûne too. They might be worried about you, wouldn’t you think?”
Zola gives no reply. She pushes herself up against the headboard of the bed, away from the border between moonlight and shadows, hugging her knees to her chest. Dirzafay frowns, Brilaena looks at her with pity, and Chanet chews on his bottom lip anxiously. Konan glances at Jaezred and shrugs, as if to say: See what we’ve been dealing with here?
The drow lord sighs and sits himself down on the far edge of the bed. He lets the heavy, umbral silence settle in the room for a long moment as he thinks.
“You know, there’s still no news about the Wild Hunt either. I suppose the Lord of the Hunt has been doing nothing but enjoying Queen Morinn’s…company. Which is good for us, of course,” he says, adopting a casual, conversational tone once more. “Not the case in K’ul Goran, though. It’s total chaos and panic over there. I fear terrible things are about to happen.”
He hears a shifting sound on the mattress, like Zola has turned to look at him. He continues, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a violent extremist movement has been trying to overthrow the sitting government and take over the country for months now. The problem is it’s not just some fringe group, roughly half the military supports them. You visited Kundar not too long ago, didn’t you? It’s like the vehement anti-Dawnlands movement over there — certainly stemming from the same conspiracy — except with more tyranny. More organisation, more firepower. Gangs are spreading violence across the country, targeting foreigners, non-minotaurs, and anyone with a different political opinion. People are afraid. K’ul Goran may be on the brink of yet another civil war…”
“That’s horrible,” Zola murmurs.
“Quite so. Two people in my web have been fighting this movement from the beginning. They have personal and emotional ties to K’ul Goran, you see. They give me information, I offer them strategic advice.” Jaezred turns around to face her. “What they do is highly dangerous work, and…I’d very much appreciate it if there’s someone to watch over them the next time they cross the channel.”
She sits back up, staring at Jaezred, blinking, taking a deep breath. “All this time I’ve been here, I’ve been neglecting my oath.”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way…”
“Kindle the Light. Shelter the Light. Preserve my own Light. Be the Light. That is what I swore to do to the Dark Maiden. I haven’t been doing any of that just sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”
“I’m sure the big lady in the moon would unders—”
“If people are in trouble, I should be there to help. Otherwise, what am I good for?”
Jaezred raises a hand to stop her. “Look, you need to relax— Well, as much as you can in this sort of situation, anyway.” He shakes his head at his foolish choice of words. “You just look out for my charges, and stretch your legs and get some fresh air whilst you’re at it. That’s all I’m asking. Alright, Miss Oussviir?”
Zola straightens out her legs and heaves out a sigh. “Yeah. I can do that. Sorry. I should…probably go do some physical training, then.”
The other drow in the room, despite the surprised looks on their faces, affirm this with a series of encouraging nods.
“Yes, that sounds good, Zola,” says Dirzafay, as Brilaena puts a comforting arm around the girl’s drooping shoulders.
“Y-You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Chanet adds, his face flushing beet-red.
“We’re all here for you,” Konan says.
Jaezred, for his part, simply smiles at Zola. She doesn’t seem to notice the tiny, worried crease in his brow.
“Lord Jaezred, are you sure that was a good idea?” Dirzafay whispers to him as he shuts the door behind him. He glances at the other drow already walking ahead of them, chatting amongst themselves.
“Zola Oussviir can handle herself,” he murmurs back. He feels the discomfiting tug of self-consciousness in his whole body, knowing that he is trying to convince himself as much as Dirzafay. “She is strong and capable and she’ll get back on her feet in no time. She just needed…something to get her out of the door. But don’t me wrong, Miss Zauvyn, I do regret that it appears only the implicit offer of violence could do th…”
His voice trails off, shutting off his wandering thoughts. The look of deep concern that falls like a shadow on Dirzafay’s angular face tells him that he has said too much. He turns to begin walking and offers an arm to her.
“She’ll be fine. I’m certain of it.”
Lord Jaezred is freshly returned from his tour of the western Witching Court — a month-long business trip mixed in with bucolic pleasures such as hunting, horse-riding, sightseeing, sampling local beers, and spending evenings at a hotel within a giant snail’s shell. The three ladies who’d been chosen to fill in for the hags were lovely company, but alas, he must leave them awhile to take care of matters in the palace and beyond.
Still in his hunting leathers, he sits down on a pew in the chapel of Eilistraee, setting a black tricorn hat down and looking at the dark elves gathered around him: Chanet Chaulssin, Dirzafay Zauvyn, Brilaena and Konan Hun’sek.
“No, it’s true. We tried to drag her out for meals, but she asked to have her food delivered to her room,” Dirzafay says.
“We tried everything to lure her out,” says Konan, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “Sarin most of all. He tried really hard.”
“Oh, but we threw a surprise birthday party in her room,” Brilaena adds. “It was…um…”
Konan scoffs. “A party, sure, if you could call it that.”
“Well, Chanet baked a cake and it was lovely.”
The youngest drow amongst them straightens up when he hears his name being spoken. “Oh, yeah,” he says coolly, flicking his nose with his thumb. “It was a gâteau au chocolat. A real culinary challenge, y’know.”
Jaezred frowns. “That’s just…Draconic for chocolate cake.”
“…S-Some people may call it that…”
“Right,” he sighs. “This can’t possibly be healthy for her. So, shall we pay a visit?”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in,” the faint answer comes after a pause. Jaezred glances over his shoulder at the drow behind him, hesitating for a second, before opening the door.
The room smells mildly stale, like there has not been fresh air inside it for a long time. Zola is sitting up on the four-poster bed, adjusting a cloth half-mask on the left side of her face, concealing the gruesome scars and empty socket he knows to be there. Her moonstone eye sits gleaming on the nightstand, upon which the Twins are leaning, sheathed in their decorated scabbards. The tall, panelled windows opposite the bed have been covered with heavy drapes.
“Rise and shine, Miss Oussviir!” Jaezred holds his tricorn hat to his chest and strides in with an easy smile. “I have just returned from the countryside, as you can see. The villages are fine — nothing to worry about — and everyone who knows you there sends you their well-wishes. Ah, how are you doing?”
She looks awful. The darkness accentuated the gauntness in her cheeks and the bags under her eye, like a prisoner who has not seen light for months. It mars her beauty more than those scars ever did.
“Any news?” Her voice, once musical and melodic, sounds more like a small whimper now.
Jaezred walks up to the windows and throws the curtains open. Pale light from the Witching Court’s ever-present full moon streams into the room, softly highlighting the clutter of dirty plates, discarded clothes, and random household items on the floor. “Not yet, I’m afraid. My contact in Aeschira knows of someone called Zoland, a mercenary of small repute. However, his whereabouts are currently unknown. She’s searching for him in between performing her duties to her house. Until then, we must wait.”
Brilaena sits down on the bed next to Zola and gently strokes her messy, tangled hair. “I know it’s been difficult for you, but we’re doing everything we can with what little we have,” Jaezred finishes.
“Be patient, dear,” Bri adds.
“Have you been back to the Material Plane at all? To see your friends in the Dawnlands, perhaps? I bet Sister Velania has been wondering where you are. Also Pipper, and Kavel, and the Queen of Harmony’s little brother — er, what’s his name again… Oh, and the archangel of Selûne too. They might be worried about you, wouldn’t you think?”
Zola gives no reply. She pushes herself up against the headboard of the bed, away from the border between moonlight and shadows, hugging her knees to her chest. Dirzafay frowns, Brilaena looks at her with pity, and Chanet chews on his bottom lip anxiously. Konan glances at Jaezred and shrugs, as if to say: See what we’ve been dealing with here?
The drow lord sighs and sits himself down on the far edge of the bed. He lets the heavy, umbral silence settle in the room for a long moment as he thinks.
“You know, there’s still no news about the Wild Hunt either. I suppose the Lord of the Hunt has been doing nothing but enjoying Queen Morinn’s…company. Which is good for us, of course,” he says, adopting a casual, conversational tone once more. “Not the case in K’ul Goran, though. It’s total chaos and panic over there. I fear terrible things are about to happen.”
He hears a shifting sound on the mattress, like Zola has turned to look at him. He continues, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a violent extremist movement has been trying to overthrow the sitting government and take over the country for months now. The problem is it’s not just some fringe group, roughly half the military supports them. You visited Kundar not too long ago, didn’t you? It’s like the vehement anti-Dawnlands movement over there — certainly stemming from the same conspiracy — except with more tyranny. More organisation, more firepower. Gangs are spreading violence across the country, targeting foreigners, non-minotaurs, and anyone with a different political opinion. People are afraid. K’ul Goran may be on the brink of yet another civil war…”
“That’s horrible,” Zola murmurs.
“Quite so. Two people in my web have been fighting this movement from the beginning. They have personal and emotional ties to K’ul Goran, you see. They give me information, I offer them strategic advice.” Jaezred turns around to face her. “What they do is highly dangerous work, and…I’d very much appreciate it if there’s someone to watch over them the next time they cross the channel.”
She sits back up, staring at Jaezred, blinking, taking a deep breath. “All this time I’ve been here, I’ve been neglecting my oath.”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way…”
“Kindle the Light. Shelter the Light. Preserve my own Light. Be the Light. That is what I swore to do to the Dark Maiden. I haven’t been doing any of that just sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”
“I’m sure the big lady in the moon would unders—”
“If people are in trouble, I should be there to help. Otherwise, what am I good for?”
Jaezred raises a hand to stop her. “Look, you need to relax— Well, as much as you can in this sort of situation, anyway.” He shakes his head at his foolish choice of words. “You just look out for my charges, and stretch your legs and get some fresh air whilst you’re at it. That’s all I’m asking. Alright, Miss Oussviir?”
Zola straightens out her legs and heaves out a sigh. “Yeah. I can do that. Sorry. I should…probably go do some physical training, then.”
The other drow in the room, despite the surprised looks on their faces, affirm this with a series of encouraging nods.
“Yes, that sounds good, Zola,” says Dirzafay, as Brilaena puts a comforting arm around the girl’s drooping shoulders.
“Y-You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Chanet adds, his face flushing beet-red.
“We’re all here for you,” Konan says.
Jaezred, for his part, simply smiles at Zola. She doesn’t seem to notice the tiny, worried crease in his brow.
“Lord Jaezred, are you sure that was a good idea?” Dirzafay whispers to him as he shuts the door behind him. He glances at the other drow already walking ahead of them, chatting amongst themselves.
“Zola Oussviir can handle herself,” he murmurs back. He feels the discomfiting tug of self-consciousness in his whole body, knowing that he is trying to convince himself as much as Dirzafay. “She is strong and capable and she’ll get back on her feet in no time. She just needed…something to get her out of the door. But don’t me wrong, Miss Zauvyn, I do regret that it appears only the implicit offer of violence could do th…”
His voice trails off, shutting off his wandering thoughts. The look of deep concern that falls like a shadow on Dirzafay’s angular face tells him that he has said too much. He turns to begin walking and offers an arm to her.
“She’ll be fine. I’m certain of it.”
