Private RP between Sychev and Tfa_96
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“It is cold.”
The figure complained as he sighed, while closing the pale wooden door behind him.
The day was not at all unpleasant, earlier that day he was visited by lovely pair of newlyweds full of youth and laughter for his blessings. And a few hours earlier, a pair of folks he thought were sterile visited him to announce the arrival of their firstborn son. Weddings and births, the marks and signs of new bonds between people were always good for him. It was something he’d definitely appreciate for the rest of the day.
Complained he may, but there was not a speck of tiredness visible in his red, almost glowing eyes. His works were by no means can be done by any simpletons or ignoramuses, and the cold indeed helped him to keep his thoughts calm to do his job. And it was not that he hated the cold. While he does disfavor the snow for several practical reasons, he does love his cold. And thus what he did what a mere recitation of the fact, something that he had done at least a thousand times in his life. The words would not make him any warmer or colder, but he thought the words as an inseparable ritual marking that he was done for the day, a way of his own to say a job well done.
He carefully treads the obsidian halls, the sound of his steps echoes drearily on every corner.
Surely, it was not always like this, the figure thought to himself.
Surely, there were once great men, and great women, and walked on these halls they did.
His resident fort of Schneienkreuz, was indeed once a marvel to behold. In the land of Lucia where he belongs, as far as he had known, there were nothing like it. It was designed specifically as a border post, a means of ultimate defense. The designers and former master of this place built this structure on the only walkable path of the Gralean Mountains, effectively separating the historically rebelling east from the proper west. It was built from the strongest obsidian to withstand any possibility of siege engines, assuming those siege engines were able to successfully undertook the treacherous path should they come from the east.
But if the fort was so strong, would it give chances to its master to rebel against their lord?
The answer was a solid no. While Schneienkreuz was unkind to its visitors from the east, none of it can be said to its visitors from the west. The lord of the first master of the fort was a clever one, after all. He knew that a strong fort would give an incentive for its master to plot against him. So the lord, while acknowledging that the fort should be hard to access from the east, he mandated that the location of a new fort should be selected to assure an easy access to the common-folk in the villages westward, and should be reasonably able to prepare reinforcing army from the capital, which was also westward. And so while the eastern trail was perhaps reserved only to the most experienced of travelers, a child may safely tread and climb the western trail from the villages and reach the fort in four hours walk.
Now. While the traveling bards may sing the songs of the romantic aspects of the formidable fort on the top of the icy mountains, the figure had always known that it was not always the case. The wars were over, and the functions of the fort diminished. The fact that the road east was so hard to travel meant that the fort is not an option for a trade route. And living on the icy mountains meant that his supplies, his forages, would be severely limited. The lack of peddlers definitely does not help.
How did he ended up here, he'd not guess before.
It was customary in his matrilineal country for the next person in line to the throne to be exiled to this border-post, bearing the title of the “Countess of Schneienkreuz, guardian of the realm”, upon the ascension of a new lord. Perhaps it was meant as a symbol of humiliation or consolidation of power. Perhaps that was what in the mind of his sister when his lady-cousin ascended to the Crescent Throne. The County of Schneienkreuz was indeed, as large as any duchies in the country. It was degraded as a county mainly for two reasons. The person next in line to the throne must not hold a significant power, so a Duchess his sister could not be. And the second and the most important, that the land of Schneienkreuz was considerably barren and it was not a common trade route, and thus it was able to offer but a minuscule tithe to the crown, while there were no guarantee placed on the Countess’ coffers. Needless to say, his sister rejected the position.
However, a royal guideline is a royal guideline. She was nonetheless exiled to this place as a Viscountess and he, as her twin brother, was to go with her as the acting Count. He was a student of the University and he has had heard the facts of the land before he left for Schneienkreuz. And thus the first thing he did as an acting Count was to disemploy the live-in servants. He selected a several few and send them to the nearest village to settle there, instructing them to come to the fort with supplies every two days a week and to maintain what’s left of the once-astounding fortress, where at the end of the day they would be paid for their supplies and services. A move his sister hated, but it did indeed save his coffers.
He also dismissed all the live-in guards for he thought no one in their right mind would raid the fort. There was simply no incentive for them. And although he was by no means a fighter, he is quite proud of his resourcefulness when it comes to escaping dangerous situation. He was, by all means, in good terms with his ruling cousin. And when a letter came from her saying she was to place a horsed regular regiment in the nearest village down the mountain just in case he’d need it, he did not refuse the gesture. If there really were a time he’d need them, he’d simply send them a letter by a messenger eagle, and they’d come in a matter of minutes.
So life was not hard for the man. His sister is a shut-in and she does give him little troubles, if any. Several men and women and dignitaries would come to pay him a visit, to pay small tithe, tax, other purposes whatnot to ensure he was not alone in this decrepit place.
While some may question why he would not return to the university once in a while, he’d say he appreciated the great history of the place and he was doing the great men once walking through its large halls a favor. A half-truth, indeed, for he does miss studying although he was by no means good at it. But he did not lie when it comes to the fact that he had grown to appreciate the place.
However, there was one thing that did anchor him to this freezing remnant of a fort.
The figure stopped before a decorated, heavy-looking door made from stone. He gently pushed his figure inside and there he was, in the Hall of Light.
The Hall of Light, as the name suggests, is the only religious function of the fort.
Its design was intricate. Like the fort, he felt that only a handful of people can recreate this room. On the other side of the room there was a large stained glass, rich in color, gently breaking and recoloring the light of evening sun into hues of reds, blues, greens, yellows, and violets as it brought light inside. The stained glass itself, was as if it were a collection of jewels and precious stone, as they'd please the most weary eyes. Two large candles on the window’s right and left, and above them two curious lights emitting changing tender colors. Surrounding the room proper were two streams of warm water, oddly engineered and brought from the volcanic mountains in the fort’s southeast miles away. Floating on the streams were candles of various sizes, their scent soothing as their faint lights reflected by the clear lightly steaming water.
This was it. This was the thing that made it all worth it for him.
He’d stare upon that stained-glass, studying its elaborate light and patterns without ever getting bored. He’d relish the scent of the candles as he feels his rushing blood and his anxious heart slowing down. He’d snoop on the serene noise of the streams as its steam was dismissing the cold air he had caught outside.
It was perfect. It is perfect.
The man, Ilya Rosenfeld of Schneienkreuz, is a pious man.
In fact his piety was enough for any clerics and he was indeed appointed as one.
The Grand Cleric of Lucia, Inquisitor for the Faithful. So have people spoken.
He did not, however, like the room just because he wanted to pray all day and wish for good, not as long as people would say, at the very least. It was only and simply for the fact that this was the place in the world he felt he most belonged to. The very little aspects of this room were in his favor. And thus even when he is not praying, as long there is no work to be done, peasants and knights and servants and lords and sometimes few wandering travelers knew that they would most likely find him in this place.
“Today, the world is peaceful, too.”
He murmured and smiled, as he fell down and started praying.
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“It is cold.”
The figure complained as he sighed, while closing the pale wooden door behind him.
The day was not at all unpleasant, earlier that day he was visited by lovely pair of newlyweds full of youth and laughter for his blessings. And a few hours earlier, a pair of folks he thought were sterile visited him to announce the arrival of their firstborn son. Weddings and births, the marks and signs of new bonds between people were always good for him. It was something he’d definitely appreciate for the rest of the day.
Complained he may, but there was not a speck of tiredness visible in his red, almost glowing eyes. His works were by no means can be done by any simpletons or ignoramuses, and the cold indeed helped him to keep his thoughts calm to do his job. And it was not that he hated the cold. While he does disfavor the snow for several practical reasons, he does love his cold. And thus what he did what a mere recitation of the fact, something that he had done at least a thousand times in his life. The words would not make him any warmer or colder, but he thought the words as an inseparable ritual marking that he was done for the day, a way of his own to say a job well done.
He carefully treads the obsidian halls, the sound of his steps echoes drearily on every corner.
Surely, it was not always like this, the figure thought to himself.
Surely, there were once great men, and great women, and walked on these halls they did.
His resident fort of Schneienkreuz, was indeed once a marvel to behold. In the land of Lucia where he belongs, as far as he had known, there were nothing like it. It was designed specifically as a border post, a means of ultimate defense. The designers and former master of this place built this structure on the only walkable path of the Gralean Mountains, effectively separating the historically rebelling east from the proper west. It was built from the strongest obsidian to withstand any possibility of siege engines, assuming those siege engines were able to successfully undertook the treacherous path should they come from the east.
But if the fort was so strong, would it give chances to its master to rebel against their lord?
The answer was a solid no. While Schneienkreuz was unkind to its visitors from the east, none of it can be said to its visitors from the west. The lord of the first master of the fort was a clever one, after all. He knew that a strong fort would give an incentive for its master to plot against him. So the lord, while acknowledging that the fort should be hard to access from the east, he mandated that the location of a new fort should be selected to assure an easy access to the common-folk in the villages westward, and should be reasonably able to prepare reinforcing army from the capital, which was also westward. And so while the eastern trail was perhaps reserved only to the most experienced of travelers, a child may safely tread and climb the western trail from the villages and reach the fort in four hours walk.
Now. While the traveling bards may sing the songs of the romantic aspects of the formidable fort on the top of the icy mountains, the figure had always known that it was not always the case. The wars were over, and the functions of the fort diminished. The fact that the road east was so hard to travel meant that the fort is not an option for a trade route. And living on the icy mountains meant that his supplies, his forages, would be severely limited. The lack of peddlers definitely does not help.
How did he ended up here, he'd not guess before.
It was customary in his matrilineal country for the next person in line to the throne to be exiled to this border-post, bearing the title of the “Countess of Schneienkreuz, guardian of the realm”, upon the ascension of a new lord. Perhaps it was meant as a symbol of humiliation or consolidation of power. Perhaps that was what in the mind of his sister when his lady-cousin ascended to the Crescent Throne. The County of Schneienkreuz was indeed, as large as any duchies in the country. It was degraded as a county mainly for two reasons. The person next in line to the throne must not hold a significant power, so a Duchess his sister could not be. And the second and the most important, that the land of Schneienkreuz was considerably barren and it was not a common trade route, and thus it was able to offer but a minuscule tithe to the crown, while there were no guarantee placed on the Countess’ coffers. Needless to say, his sister rejected the position.
However, a royal guideline is a royal guideline. She was nonetheless exiled to this place as a Viscountess and he, as her twin brother, was to go with her as the acting Count. He was a student of the University and he has had heard the facts of the land before he left for Schneienkreuz. And thus the first thing he did as an acting Count was to disemploy the live-in servants. He selected a several few and send them to the nearest village to settle there, instructing them to come to the fort with supplies every two days a week and to maintain what’s left of the once-astounding fortress, where at the end of the day they would be paid for their supplies and services. A move his sister hated, but it did indeed save his coffers.
He also dismissed all the live-in guards for he thought no one in their right mind would raid the fort. There was simply no incentive for them. And although he was by no means a fighter, he is quite proud of his resourcefulness when it comes to escaping dangerous situation. He was, by all means, in good terms with his ruling cousin. And when a letter came from her saying she was to place a horsed regular regiment in the nearest village down the mountain just in case he’d need it, he did not refuse the gesture. If there really were a time he’d need them, he’d simply send them a letter by a messenger eagle, and they’d come in a matter of minutes.
So life was not hard for the man. His sister is a shut-in and she does give him little troubles, if any. Several men and women and dignitaries would come to pay him a visit, to pay small tithe, tax, other purposes whatnot to ensure he was not alone in this decrepit place.
While some may question why he would not return to the university once in a while, he’d say he appreciated the great history of the place and he was doing the great men once walking through its large halls a favor. A half-truth, indeed, for he does miss studying although he was by no means good at it. But he did not lie when it comes to the fact that he had grown to appreciate the place.
However, there was one thing that did anchor him to this freezing remnant of a fort.
The figure stopped before a decorated, heavy-looking door made from stone. He gently pushed his figure inside and there he was, in the Hall of Light.
The Hall of Light, as the name suggests, is the only religious function of the fort.
Its design was intricate. Like the fort, he felt that only a handful of people can recreate this room. On the other side of the room there was a large stained glass, rich in color, gently breaking and recoloring the light of evening sun into hues of reds, blues, greens, yellows, and violets as it brought light inside. The stained glass itself, was as if it were a collection of jewels and precious stone, as they'd please the most weary eyes. Two large candles on the window’s right and left, and above them two curious lights emitting changing tender colors. Surrounding the room proper were two streams of warm water, oddly engineered and brought from the volcanic mountains in the fort’s southeast miles away. Floating on the streams were candles of various sizes, their scent soothing as their faint lights reflected by the clear lightly steaming water.
This was it. This was the thing that made it all worth it for him.
He’d stare upon that stained-glass, studying its elaborate light and patterns without ever getting bored. He’d relish the scent of the candles as he feels his rushing blood and his anxious heart slowing down. He’d snoop on the serene noise of the streams as its steam was dismissing the cold air he had caught outside.
It was perfect. It is perfect.
The man, Ilya Rosenfeld of Schneienkreuz, is a pious man.
In fact his piety was enough for any clerics and he was indeed appointed as one.
The Grand Cleric of Lucia, Inquisitor for the Faithful. So have people spoken.
He did not, however, like the room just because he wanted to pray all day and wish for good, not as long as people would say, at the very least. It was only and simply for the fact that this was the place in the world he felt he most belonged to. The very little aspects of this room were in his favor. And thus even when he is not praying, as long there is no work to be done, peasants and knights and servants and lords and sometimes few wandering travelers knew that they would most likely find him in this place.
“Today, the world is peaceful, too.”
He murmured and smiled, as he fell down and started praying.
Bitterly cold and humid: such an enchanting combination. Every surface, every blade of grass and twig was growing long ice crystals ten or more millimetres in length around Rebecca’s feet. They were like little forests of ice, pure white ‘trees’ growing without roots. When she gazed into the distance she saw the low fog that clung, hiding the views further along the path. She felt it too: winters cold breath on her skin. It whisked heat away leaving her pale even though her blood still runs warm through her veins. She’s marching on but the night air was stealing her heat away faster than her body could replace it. She could turn back of course, but what good would that do? After hearing all the rumours and the tales, she couldn’t turn back now; for something so precious was awaiting her just a few miles further down this path.
Rebecca raised a gloved hand to shield her eyes; the black leather material contrasting the white snow raining down on her. She had anticipated the coldness and the sting of driven snow on her face, but not the ferocity of the wind and how the light blinded her. Before she set off, she had been warned by countless people that the journey there was difficult and the weather was possibly one of the greatest challenges she had faced. Every step was like walking into a fresh page as the fibres are still being laid down, threatening to make her part of the scenery instead of a person in her own right. All she could do was to bow her head until her chin touched her chest and keep walking. Though her feet were beginning to freeze and her footsteps were small, sinking in past her ankles with each stride, she knew that each step took her closer to the prize she had longed for. So long as she stayed on the right path, it was only a matter of time before she would arrive at her destination: Schneienkreuz.
Her eye’s seemed to reflect the summer sunset, the way that the reds and oranges would be spilled across the darkening sky like blotted vivid inks. In fact, they had a fiery feel to them; like a flaming hot fire that flickered through the snow surrounding her. They illuminated between the small snowflakes dropping down onto the ground, complimenting her long strands of red hair that peeked out from under her cloak; controlled by the harsh winds as she walked uphill. They reminded people of the red autumn leaves and the sight of fierce flames of fire which would usually be dancing around the twigs; setting them alight as they captured the heat. Her lips were usually a pale pink with a hint of red, somewhat similar to a rose bud. The top lip was thinner, but not too thin, and it had a natural cupid's bow; the bottom one was larger and plumper in size. The deep curve on her lips grew as she saw the sight of an outline of a massive fort just another mile or so ahead of her. ”This must be it,” She thought to herself. “Fort Schneienkreuz,”
Rebecca had heard plenty of stories before coming here; some more believable than others. It wasn’t often that she would get out of her way to travel so far without a motive. The harsh journey to this fort had lasted her numerous amounts of days; to the point where it felt as though time had begun to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain she had tackled earlier along the way. For some reason, the closer she got to the fort, the more she remembered the memories of the times when she had wept until the fountain of tears seemed dry; the times she had beaten with her hands against the heavy door of her room until her knuckles streamed blood; the times she had shouted and screamed until she sank exhausted to the floor because of everything that was going on around her. The thought of the hate she had felt brought back such memories that even the coldness of the weather seemed to cover her heart in thin layers, piece by piece.
As the girl neared closer, the outline became much clearer to the eyes than before. The great obsidian walls had surrounded the area, towering above the trees, clearly able to withstand any siege engines. Regardless, who would even think to drag a siege engine all the way up here in such harsh weather? The fort’s surrounding was a defence in itself, keeping travellers away from it. “No wonder powerful energies roam around this place,” She thought to herself, remembering her motivation to come here in the first place. With every step she took, the energies around her grew stronger, bouncing off the snowy trees surrounding her. From what she had been told by other travellers, this was the only walkable path of the Garalean Mountains which separated the rebelling east from the proper west. The fort sure was impressive, now that she was standing before the main entrance. She was usually able to control her body temperature - changing her blood from cold to warm at will – but this was something far different. Outside this fort, even her magic could not fully protect her from the temperatures, her lips transforming into a blue-purple colour.
It took her a second or two for the new information to sink in, even though it was right before her eyes, larger than life. Walking around, she spun her head to look at the beautiful historical buildings within the fort, the beauty completely blowing her away. It was evident that the place had a lot of history to it, but she would never get the accurate information without the help of a local citizen. She could feel her lips stretch wider into gaping grin and her eyebrows arch for the sky as she felt all the mystical energies surrounding her. This was no ordinary place, anyone who knew a slight bit about magic was aware. However with so much confusion within her surrounding, there was no way on Earth that she could tell which energy was the one she was searching for.
The weather on the inside of the fort was much calmer – calm enough for her to be able to regulate her temperature once again. Now, with the ability to focus once more, she needed to take a look around and adapt herself to the place. Usually, she didn’t feel this small when entering a new location which she had not yet been to. It was normally easy for her to blend in with the crowds of people running around the place; but this fort was different. With every step she took she felt a pang of guilt and distrust, refusing to let it get to her. The place seemed very underpopulated, for the beauty that it held. She couldn’t blame them though, with this sort of weather being constant it must be difficult to keep a smile on your face for a long period of time.
Still, her main goal was simple. She wanted to investigate moonsilver; a fine material that is used in weapons. She had always needed a weapon which was light and durable, and that was the only material which could be defined as perfect for her cause. In addition, the material cannot be stained by blood, which would soon come of good use to her in the near future, considering her role as a mage. It would ensure her maintenance and increase her attack speed by a fair amount which was something she had always been interested in. The only real drawback that Rebecca had on this material was the fact that it wasn’t great for stealth, for it glows in lightless conditions. On the other hand, she already has numerous daggers which are used for stealth, fitting perfectly for their use. The moonsilver dagger would instead replace her sacrificial dagger, letting her drain as much blood of her victim as possible.
The girl turned to face the blizzard outside the gates of the fort, suddenly snapping into the realisation of what torture she had gone through to get to this place, hoping it was all going to be worth it. In order for all of it to work though, she needed to ensure that the power of an old friend of hers worked out with her too. Her friend’s power wasn't unique, but it was a really good one to have: he could bend and sculpture with his words until people around him were almost believing that they was breathing what he just said, just because he allowed them to do it; he could make up every reality into a favourable situation for him, making everybody else guilty for every sin, even his own mistakes.
The problem was; Rebecca didn't want to use these powers for good things. Well, they were good for her. But for the rest, and especially for people who opposed her, these tricks which she wished she could do would only made others to be the villain in her perfect story where she was the misunderstood hero waiting for a chance to prove her worth. She wanted to be able to manipulate others into believing so many things to the point where even they wouldn’t know what reality was anymore.
As Rebecca proceeded to walk forward, a glimpse of a beautifully decorated door caught her attention in the corner of her eye. She turned her head and made her way towards it, amazed by a heavy-looking stone door. Her fingertips gently brushed against the crevices of the design, struck by the detail. Her attention was then drawn to a small sign beside it, covered in snow. Giving it a gently brush, she felt her fingertips turn ice-cold again from the tingling feeling that ran through her hand. Finally, she was capable of reading what was engraved in the stone sign in writing so beautiful; it was a piece of art in itself.
“Hall… of… Light..?” she muttered softly, narrowing her eyes to take a closer look, as if it was going to help her read it better in any way whatsoever. With that, she took a step back and looked around herself, realising that it seemed to be the main religious function of the fort. In fact, it seemed to be the only one around. Rebecca was never a fan of religion, nor was she going to go out of her way to look for one that fitter her needs, but she sure loved to discover things about the new areas she goes to. After all, there is nothing wrong with learning a thing or two about a place which she could possible return to in the future. With a small push of the door, she entered quietly, respecting the fact that there could be others inside.
She had to admit, the design of the room was extraordinary. She looked around herself to find a beautiful stained glass, extremely rich in colour; making the light come down to the floor in a number of different shades. It made the room look far more mystical, matching the feeling she got when she first stepped into the place. Her eyes followed the light in the room, till they landed on someone inside the room with her. She wasn’t certain if the stranger had heard her come in, but it didn’t stop her from slowly making her way through the room to get nearer to the figure and take a closer look.
She closer she got to the stranger, the easier it was for her to make out the features. The stranger’s straight, ashen hair was covering most of what she could see of the figure. Besides that, the figures fair skin was almost pale enough to blend in with the snowy surroundings, but not quite. The figure was slender but not nimble, and it wasn’t hard to guess that their experience does not lie in the art of war. Once she got close enough, she stopped, feeling as though the stranger was now fully aware of her presence.
“Hello..?” she said, drifting off a bit, hoping that this fellow was more talkative than most people in other towns. Perhaps the mysterious person could tell her a little bit more about this fort: the true history. They didn’t look like a traveller, suggesting this is exactly where they come from, meaning that they would know more than anyone else. Hope filled her lungs as she breathed in the warmth of the room before adding, “Are you from around here?”
Rebecca raised a gloved hand to shield her eyes; the black leather material contrasting the white snow raining down on her. She had anticipated the coldness and the sting of driven snow on her face, but not the ferocity of the wind and how the light blinded her. Before she set off, she had been warned by countless people that the journey there was difficult and the weather was possibly one of the greatest challenges she had faced. Every step was like walking into a fresh page as the fibres are still being laid down, threatening to make her part of the scenery instead of a person in her own right. All she could do was to bow her head until her chin touched her chest and keep walking. Though her feet were beginning to freeze and her footsteps were small, sinking in past her ankles with each stride, she knew that each step took her closer to the prize she had longed for. So long as she stayed on the right path, it was only a matter of time before she would arrive at her destination: Schneienkreuz.
Her eye’s seemed to reflect the summer sunset, the way that the reds and oranges would be spilled across the darkening sky like blotted vivid inks. In fact, they had a fiery feel to them; like a flaming hot fire that flickered through the snow surrounding her. They illuminated between the small snowflakes dropping down onto the ground, complimenting her long strands of red hair that peeked out from under her cloak; controlled by the harsh winds as she walked uphill. They reminded people of the red autumn leaves and the sight of fierce flames of fire which would usually be dancing around the twigs; setting them alight as they captured the heat. Her lips were usually a pale pink with a hint of red, somewhat similar to a rose bud. The top lip was thinner, but not too thin, and it had a natural cupid's bow; the bottom one was larger and plumper in size. The deep curve on her lips grew as she saw the sight of an outline of a massive fort just another mile or so ahead of her. ”This must be it,” She thought to herself. “Fort Schneienkreuz,”
Rebecca had heard plenty of stories before coming here; some more believable than others. It wasn’t often that she would get out of her way to travel so far without a motive. The harsh journey to this fort had lasted her numerous amounts of days; to the point where it felt as though time had begun to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain she had tackled earlier along the way. For some reason, the closer she got to the fort, the more she remembered the memories of the times when she had wept until the fountain of tears seemed dry; the times she had beaten with her hands against the heavy door of her room until her knuckles streamed blood; the times she had shouted and screamed until she sank exhausted to the floor because of everything that was going on around her. The thought of the hate she had felt brought back such memories that even the coldness of the weather seemed to cover her heart in thin layers, piece by piece.
As the girl neared closer, the outline became much clearer to the eyes than before. The great obsidian walls had surrounded the area, towering above the trees, clearly able to withstand any siege engines. Regardless, who would even think to drag a siege engine all the way up here in such harsh weather? The fort’s surrounding was a defence in itself, keeping travellers away from it. “No wonder powerful energies roam around this place,” She thought to herself, remembering her motivation to come here in the first place. With every step she took, the energies around her grew stronger, bouncing off the snowy trees surrounding her. From what she had been told by other travellers, this was the only walkable path of the Garalean Mountains which separated the rebelling east from the proper west. The fort sure was impressive, now that she was standing before the main entrance. She was usually able to control her body temperature - changing her blood from cold to warm at will – but this was something far different. Outside this fort, even her magic could not fully protect her from the temperatures, her lips transforming into a blue-purple colour.
It took her a second or two for the new information to sink in, even though it was right before her eyes, larger than life. Walking around, she spun her head to look at the beautiful historical buildings within the fort, the beauty completely blowing her away. It was evident that the place had a lot of history to it, but she would never get the accurate information without the help of a local citizen. She could feel her lips stretch wider into gaping grin and her eyebrows arch for the sky as she felt all the mystical energies surrounding her. This was no ordinary place, anyone who knew a slight bit about magic was aware. However with so much confusion within her surrounding, there was no way on Earth that she could tell which energy was the one she was searching for.
The weather on the inside of the fort was much calmer – calm enough for her to be able to regulate her temperature once again. Now, with the ability to focus once more, she needed to take a look around and adapt herself to the place. Usually, she didn’t feel this small when entering a new location which she had not yet been to. It was normally easy for her to blend in with the crowds of people running around the place; but this fort was different. With every step she took she felt a pang of guilt and distrust, refusing to let it get to her. The place seemed very underpopulated, for the beauty that it held. She couldn’t blame them though, with this sort of weather being constant it must be difficult to keep a smile on your face for a long period of time.
Still, her main goal was simple. She wanted to investigate moonsilver; a fine material that is used in weapons. She had always needed a weapon which was light and durable, and that was the only material which could be defined as perfect for her cause. In addition, the material cannot be stained by blood, which would soon come of good use to her in the near future, considering her role as a mage. It would ensure her maintenance and increase her attack speed by a fair amount which was something she had always been interested in. The only real drawback that Rebecca had on this material was the fact that it wasn’t great for stealth, for it glows in lightless conditions. On the other hand, she already has numerous daggers which are used for stealth, fitting perfectly for their use. The moonsilver dagger would instead replace her sacrificial dagger, letting her drain as much blood of her victim as possible.
The girl turned to face the blizzard outside the gates of the fort, suddenly snapping into the realisation of what torture she had gone through to get to this place, hoping it was all going to be worth it. In order for all of it to work though, she needed to ensure that the power of an old friend of hers worked out with her too. Her friend’s power wasn't unique, but it was a really good one to have: he could bend and sculpture with his words until people around him were almost believing that they was breathing what he just said, just because he allowed them to do it; he could make up every reality into a favourable situation for him, making everybody else guilty for every sin, even his own mistakes.
The problem was; Rebecca didn't want to use these powers for good things. Well, they were good for her. But for the rest, and especially for people who opposed her, these tricks which she wished she could do would only made others to be the villain in her perfect story where she was the misunderstood hero waiting for a chance to prove her worth. She wanted to be able to manipulate others into believing so many things to the point where even they wouldn’t know what reality was anymore.
As Rebecca proceeded to walk forward, a glimpse of a beautifully decorated door caught her attention in the corner of her eye. She turned her head and made her way towards it, amazed by a heavy-looking stone door. Her fingertips gently brushed against the crevices of the design, struck by the detail. Her attention was then drawn to a small sign beside it, covered in snow. Giving it a gently brush, she felt her fingertips turn ice-cold again from the tingling feeling that ran through her hand. Finally, she was capable of reading what was engraved in the stone sign in writing so beautiful; it was a piece of art in itself.
“Hall… of… Light..?” she muttered softly, narrowing her eyes to take a closer look, as if it was going to help her read it better in any way whatsoever. With that, she took a step back and looked around herself, realising that it seemed to be the main religious function of the fort. In fact, it seemed to be the only one around. Rebecca was never a fan of religion, nor was she going to go out of her way to look for one that fitter her needs, but she sure loved to discover things about the new areas she goes to. After all, there is nothing wrong with learning a thing or two about a place which she could possible return to in the future. With a small push of the door, she entered quietly, respecting the fact that there could be others inside.
She had to admit, the design of the room was extraordinary. She looked around herself to find a beautiful stained glass, extremely rich in colour; making the light come down to the floor in a number of different shades. It made the room look far more mystical, matching the feeling she got when she first stepped into the place. Her eyes followed the light in the room, till they landed on someone inside the room with her. She wasn’t certain if the stranger had heard her come in, but it didn’t stop her from slowly making her way through the room to get nearer to the figure and take a closer look.
She closer she got to the stranger, the easier it was for her to make out the features. The stranger’s straight, ashen hair was covering most of what she could see of the figure. Besides that, the figures fair skin was almost pale enough to blend in with the snowy surroundings, but not quite. The figure was slender but not nimble, and it wasn’t hard to guess that their experience does not lie in the art of war. Once she got close enough, she stopped, feeling as though the stranger was now fully aware of her presence.
“Hello..?” she said, drifting off a bit, hoping that this fellow was more talkative than most people in other towns. Perhaps the mysterious person could tell her a little bit more about this fort: the true history. They didn’t look like a traveller, suggesting this is exactly where they come from, meaning that they would know more than anyone else. Hope filled her lungs as she breathed in the warmth of the room before adding, “Are you from around here?”
A cold breeze interrupted his prayers.
Then, the sound of footsteps.
Two announcements. He knew someone was here. He wondered who it could be at this rather late hour. Could it be one of the village-folk, rushing here in an emergency, with tidings of a problem that needs to be taken care of immediately? Or perhaps it could be one of the messengers from the capital, sent by the Archduchess, or perhaps the Grand Steward. If this was the case, he'd wish Elisha, his good-for-nothing sister would at least come out from her chambers and made her presence known once in a while, just so the messenger from the capital could tell that his twin sister is alive and well to the courts in Nebelkreuz, sparing him from probabilities of unpleasant rumors of the inner echelons.
And so when the careful steps draws, nearer, and nearer. And when the stranger decided to call out to him. He ceased his prayers and faced the stranger.
What he stumbled upon, apparently, was the odder chance out of the two he had thought of. A stranger, that is without a doubt. Not of one he would have thought, though. This one was a human. A face he never saw before. In other words, a traveler.
It is quite the rare case for him, for except the peddlers from Pentagron, very few travelers would fare this very road. They have very little to no reason to, for they are better off if they were to choose the ships in the port of Hexagron up north if they meant to visit his country. He kept himself silenced for a while, glancing at the new figure and studying her features, while smiling to reassure the stranger.
The stranger is a lady. She was cloaked, but it was almost clear-cut that there was no chance of the otherwise. Her loose, lengthy, dark reddish hair rests carefully for there was no breeze to come inside. An intriguing beauty for human standards, and her youth is as apparent as the snow-rose in his courtyards. The finer details are here and there, suggesting she might be at her early adulthood, most likely in the twenties. But her most striking feature was indeed, her eyes.
It was red, but not of his kinsman. It was with a hint of brown. A reflection of the color of her hair, perhaps. Unlike the crimson color he got used to all his life, this one gives him an unsettling sensation, more of that of those treading the lands unknown. Never once he saw those eyes, not in the man-folks, at the very least. He knew that most men have black or brown eyes from his few encounters. But definitely not of this color.
He dropped his smile for a mere split-second before regaining it back.
This was no ordinary woman. He thought to himself.
For once, no ordinary woman would be able to stand the eastern trail of the fortress. That was for sure. He could easily tell that she did have the audacity to, indeed, travel from the east. There is a chance, of course, that she was ill-advised. A first time traveler most likely, climbed a bit too high and decided it was a waste of her collective efforts to turn back. Evidently, he judged that her gears, her cloak, is a bit short in their thickness and therefore have no business in the bitterest cold of Grale. Although her looks is unmistakably fatigued, she does have an incredible psyche for her age, that alone was to be discerned. Say that she managed to reach this land due to her strong physique. But the eastern Grale were supposed to be riddled by packs of wolves, what of them? Is it possible for a single lady, single-handedly, while conserving her strength to climb up, still manage to fend off these ferocious beasts? Or was it an act of a great, magnificent luck that she did not encounter any or only a few of them? No, no, indeed. This lady was not among the common folks.
And there was this unsettling feeling. Not of the arcane. Not of the gifted sixth sense. A common sense amongst the weaker beasts, if you will. It is something more primal, something more basic. It is like a prey who may tell if the beast before it is its hunter at a single glance. It is unshakable. An early warning bell is tolling inside of his thoughts although the stranger has yet to bear any ill news.
He decided that he needs to welcome the stranger anyway. Although he’d be keeping an eye on her, as close as possible but not so inquisitive that it may rouse her suspicions--- or worse, her bad side.
“Good lord… where are my manners? My apologies for staring at you. I mean no disrespect.” He rose, bowing in accordance to the manners expected of the court members. He extends his two hands as a gesture to welcome the stranger, and withdraws it. “The name is Ilya of Schneienkreuz. I am the lord of this land… I must say I have a few questions for you, traveler. Your name, your purpose being here, that sort of questions. But you are in no condition for that. No, definitely not, indeed.”
He started to walk to the hall’s entrance, gesturing the lady to follow him.
“You look terrible. Very, in fact. Never shall it be known that I am rude to my guests, and you are my guest. I shall not leave you in that state.”
He pulled the stone door before him, letting the breeze to intrude inside once again.
“We do not have much. But we do have enough for a proper dinner for you. Just in time for my own, anyway. Come, traveler. I will listen to your stories later.”
Then, the sound of footsteps.
Two announcements. He knew someone was here. He wondered who it could be at this rather late hour. Could it be one of the village-folk, rushing here in an emergency, with tidings of a problem that needs to be taken care of immediately? Or perhaps it could be one of the messengers from the capital, sent by the Archduchess, or perhaps the Grand Steward. If this was the case, he'd wish Elisha, his good-for-nothing sister would at least come out from her chambers and made her presence known once in a while, just so the messenger from the capital could tell that his twin sister is alive and well to the courts in Nebelkreuz, sparing him from probabilities of unpleasant rumors of the inner echelons.
And so when the careful steps draws, nearer, and nearer. And when the stranger decided to call out to him. He ceased his prayers and faced the stranger.
What he stumbled upon, apparently, was the odder chance out of the two he had thought of. A stranger, that is without a doubt. Not of one he would have thought, though. This one was a human. A face he never saw before. In other words, a traveler.
It is quite the rare case for him, for except the peddlers from Pentagron, very few travelers would fare this very road. They have very little to no reason to, for they are better off if they were to choose the ships in the port of Hexagron up north if they meant to visit his country. He kept himself silenced for a while, glancing at the new figure and studying her features, while smiling to reassure the stranger.
The stranger is a lady. She was cloaked, but it was almost clear-cut that there was no chance of the otherwise. Her loose, lengthy, dark reddish hair rests carefully for there was no breeze to come inside. An intriguing beauty for human standards, and her youth is as apparent as the snow-rose in his courtyards. The finer details are here and there, suggesting she might be at her early adulthood, most likely in the twenties. But her most striking feature was indeed, her eyes.
It was red, but not of his kinsman. It was with a hint of brown. A reflection of the color of her hair, perhaps. Unlike the crimson color he got used to all his life, this one gives him an unsettling sensation, more of that of those treading the lands unknown. Never once he saw those eyes, not in the man-folks, at the very least. He knew that most men have black or brown eyes from his few encounters. But definitely not of this color.
He dropped his smile for a mere split-second before regaining it back.
This was no ordinary woman. He thought to himself.
For once, no ordinary woman would be able to stand the eastern trail of the fortress. That was for sure. He could easily tell that she did have the audacity to, indeed, travel from the east. There is a chance, of course, that she was ill-advised. A first time traveler most likely, climbed a bit too high and decided it was a waste of her collective efforts to turn back. Evidently, he judged that her gears, her cloak, is a bit short in their thickness and therefore have no business in the bitterest cold of Grale. Although her looks is unmistakably fatigued, she does have an incredible psyche for her age, that alone was to be discerned. Say that she managed to reach this land due to her strong physique. But the eastern Grale were supposed to be riddled by packs of wolves, what of them? Is it possible for a single lady, single-handedly, while conserving her strength to climb up, still manage to fend off these ferocious beasts? Or was it an act of a great, magnificent luck that she did not encounter any or only a few of them? No, no, indeed. This lady was not among the common folks.
And there was this unsettling feeling. Not of the arcane. Not of the gifted sixth sense. A common sense amongst the weaker beasts, if you will. It is something more primal, something more basic. It is like a prey who may tell if the beast before it is its hunter at a single glance. It is unshakable. An early warning bell is tolling inside of his thoughts although the stranger has yet to bear any ill news.
He decided that he needs to welcome the stranger anyway. Although he’d be keeping an eye on her, as close as possible but not so inquisitive that it may rouse her suspicions--- or worse, her bad side.
“Good lord… where are my manners? My apologies for staring at you. I mean no disrespect.” He rose, bowing in accordance to the manners expected of the court members. He extends his two hands as a gesture to welcome the stranger, and withdraws it. “The name is Ilya of Schneienkreuz. I am the lord of this land… I must say I have a few questions for you, traveler. Your name, your purpose being here, that sort of questions. But you are in no condition for that. No, definitely not, indeed.”
He started to walk to the hall’s entrance, gesturing the lady to follow him.
“You look terrible. Very, in fact. Never shall it be known that I am rude to my guests, and you are my guest. I shall not leave you in that state.”
He pulled the stone door before him, letting the breeze to intrude inside once again.
“We do not have much. But we do have enough for a proper dinner for you. Just in time for my own, anyway. Come, traveler. I will listen to your stories later.”
Rebecca looked the stranger up and down, quite confused at first sight. She wasn’t sure whether the person she was addressing was in fact a man or a woman. It seemed like the combination of the two, but she wasn’t here to try and offend anyone in the process of getting what she wanted. Thinking back, she realised that she had encountered people like this before, but not anything specific had stuck in her mind about the beings. Her mind was still a surging perplexity even after she had the time to evaluate the person’s features. It became obvious to her that this was no ordinary human, like she had thought. In fact, Rebecca doubted that the stranger whom she had encountered was ordinary at all. At first glance, she was drawn to the eyes. The person standing in front of her had beautiful, deep, almond-shaped eyes; coloured in a crimson ruby hue, similar to her own. They gave the impression of priceless gems that shone in the glare of the light coming from the beautiful stained glass. Only now that the stranger had faced her, she noticed how their nose was upturned while their chin was rather pointed. The beautiful pale skin was speckles, making Rebecca wonder if it was a natural thing for a person like them to have such perfect skin.
Standing up close now, she could see that the stranger was definitely a lot taller than her, but just about the height of an average person; maybe a little taller. It was hard to tell from her perspective, for everything seemed far too high for her in the first place. Their hair looked even silkier when entwined with each loose strand, carefully being placed one on top of the other. The colour of it reminded her of a misty grey which one would encounter when caught out in foggy weather. She couldn’t help but notice the odd corsage of a rose dyed blue was decorating the persons left side along with a short piece of white cloth hanging downwards along with two sets of silver ribbons. ”Curious,” she thought to herself, getting increasingly fascinated by the stranger in front of her. They were both assessing one another, assuming things about each other based off the way they had presented each other at first glance. With their long, elegant lashes blinking patiently at her, it was almost hypnotizing to watch them in their white wool shirt decorated by a short ruffle and brown leather pants.
His wardrobe definitely suited the stranger’s slender figure, and judging by how he presented himself with the addition of the inquisitorial black overcoats, made of wolf fur; she figured the person she had encountered was of higher class, especially in these areas. However, what attracted her to most in his choice of clothing was not something she was willing to show interested her at this point. Although it was hard to tell, her senses were tingling at the feeling that what she was after was close to her; close enough to touch even. While being observant about one another, her eyes wondered to the area of his neck, where she had noticed a signature crescent-shaped pendant made of moonsliver being supported by a thin, almost invisible necklace.
There it was: her prized possession. If what her instincts were telling her was true, then the person standing before her may have been a blessing. She drew her eyes back to his having just about the same amount of emotion as wet concrete, keeping her facial muscles just as loose. There was no anger, no sadness, no joy or resentment. Instead, she waited a moment before giving the stranger before her a warm smile so that the subtle indention near the corner of her mouth was visible. The figure before her was older than her, maybe not too old though. She wasn’t quite sure with these things, especially when it was about beings that are not fully human, at least that’s what she thought. Nothing was ever certain until she was told, so she just had to wait it out and have it revealed to her.
Rebecca had travelled long and far, and it was evident that she was cold and tired after her journey, especially through the last part of it which she spent walking through a snowy blizzard. Her blood was enough to keep her teeth from chattering, but her hair was still damp from the snow and her skin was far paler than it would be on a normal day. Her lips were still an unnatural blue colour, which had only now started to return to its usual pale pink state. She didn’t want to come off was rude, so she kept her posture quite formal, avoiding crossing her arms in case it gave off a sign of disrespect to someone of higher status than herself. Thoughts were running through her mind as she wondered where things would go from here. Would the stranger kick her out from this land which she had just struggled to get to? Or maybe they would let her in with open arms, willing to take on someone new?
Her questions were soon answered by the sound of a voice, which sounded far manlier than what she had originally expected. As he spoke, she dipped her head to show respect, thankful to have stumbled across someone who was kind enough to treat her with the care that she was willing to give. After all, if she was to come to any sort of conclusion about the moonsilver she was after, she’d need to display her better side.
“Good evening, Ilya of Schneienkreuz, I am very pleased to meet you,” she began to say, minding every detail of their conversation which could end up being important. “My name is Rebecca Weatherly, I am ever so sorry to come with no invitation, I didn’t mean for such intrustion,” As she continued to speak, she took her time to select her words carefully, trying to ignore the coldness she felt run through her body. Noticing that the man was gesturing for her to follow him, she quietened down and accepted the offer without any further hesitation, desperately in need for some warm food and a shelter.
“Thank you for you kindness, Lord,” she spoke, her tone fairly deep for a woman; almost not fitting the small girl which she seemed. Her tone of voice seemed mature, implying that she had been faced with adulthood from an early age. Getting out of the door after him, she gave a smile and crossed her arms as the howling winds took over once again, deciding to leave his last comment on a hanging silence until they arrived indoors so that the weather wouldn’t overpower what she was trying to say.
Standing up close now, she could see that the stranger was definitely a lot taller than her, but just about the height of an average person; maybe a little taller. It was hard to tell from her perspective, for everything seemed far too high for her in the first place. Their hair looked even silkier when entwined with each loose strand, carefully being placed one on top of the other. The colour of it reminded her of a misty grey which one would encounter when caught out in foggy weather. She couldn’t help but notice the odd corsage of a rose dyed blue was decorating the persons left side along with a short piece of white cloth hanging downwards along with two sets of silver ribbons. ”Curious,” she thought to herself, getting increasingly fascinated by the stranger in front of her. They were both assessing one another, assuming things about each other based off the way they had presented each other at first glance. With their long, elegant lashes blinking patiently at her, it was almost hypnotizing to watch them in their white wool shirt decorated by a short ruffle and brown leather pants.
His wardrobe definitely suited the stranger’s slender figure, and judging by how he presented himself with the addition of the inquisitorial black overcoats, made of wolf fur; she figured the person she had encountered was of higher class, especially in these areas. However, what attracted her to most in his choice of clothing was not something she was willing to show interested her at this point. Although it was hard to tell, her senses were tingling at the feeling that what she was after was close to her; close enough to touch even. While being observant about one another, her eyes wondered to the area of his neck, where she had noticed a signature crescent-shaped pendant made of moonsliver being supported by a thin, almost invisible necklace.
There it was: her prized possession. If what her instincts were telling her was true, then the person standing before her may have been a blessing. She drew her eyes back to his having just about the same amount of emotion as wet concrete, keeping her facial muscles just as loose. There was no anger, no sadness, no joy or resentment. Instead, she waited a moment before giving the stranger before her a warm smile so that the subtle indention near the corner of her mouth was visible. The figure before her was older than her, maybe not too old though. She wasn’t quite sure with these things, especially when it was about beings that are not fully human, at least that’s what she thought. Nothing was ever certain until she was told, so she just had to wait it out and have it revealed to her.
Rebecca had travelled long and far, and it was evident that she was cold and tired after her journey, especially through the last part of it which she spent walking through a snowy blizzard. Her blood was enough to keep her teeth from chattering, but her hair was still damp from the snow and her skin was far paler than it would be on a normal day. Her lips were still an unnatural blue colour, which had only now started to return to its usual pale pink state. She didn’t want to come off was rude, so she kept her posture quite formal, avoiding crossing her arms in case it gave off a sign of disrespect to someone of higher status than herself. Thoughts were running through her mind as she wondered where things would go from here. Would the stranger kick her out from this land which she had just struggled to get to? Or maybe they would let her in with open arms, willing to take on someone new?
Her questions were soon answered by the sound of a voice, which sounded far manlier than what she had originally expected. As he spoke, she dipped her head to show respect, thankful to have stumbled across someone who was kind enough to treat her with the care that she was willing to give. After all, if she was to come to any sort of conclusion about the moonsilver she was after, she’d need to display her better side.
“Good evening, Ilya of Schneienkreuz, I am very pleased to meet you,” she began to say, minding every detail of their conversation which could end up being important. “My name is Rebecca Weatherly, I am ever so sorry to come with no invitation, I didn’t mean for such intrustion,” As she continued to speak, she took her time to select her words carefully, trying to ignore the coldness she felt run through her body. Noticing that the man was gesturing for her to follow him, she quietened down and accepted the offer without any further hesitation, desperately in need for some warm food and a shelter.
“Thank you for you kindness, Lord,” she spoke, her tone fairly deep for a woman; almost not fitting the small girl which she seemed. Her tone of voice seemed mature, implying that she had been faced with adulthood from an early age. Getting out of the door after him, she gave a smile and crossed her arms as the howling winds took over once again, deciding to leave his last comment on a hanging silence until they arrived indoors so that the weather wouldn’t overpower what she was trying to say.
"Miss... Weatherly it is, then? A surname I have heard not. Not ever, in fact. I presume you are not of this land-- My, the wind is getting worse by the second. Come, come, quickly now."
While commenting on the lady’s unheard surname, he gestured the newly acquainted traveler lady to walk a little bit faster. He himself kept himself at a controlled pace, not too brisk so that the stranger may follow, but quick enough so that the tired lady would not suffer a second more from the cruel winds of Grale. He is still cautious of her, but he is not in any worry of the chance of being, say, stabbed in the back by the rover anytime soon. She has nothing to gain from that. And although she seemed to have recovered slightly back in the Hall of Light, she is in obvious state of disorientation-- probably due to the acute cold she must've had experienced in the last few days. He decided to drop his guard down, for now.
It's not like it was the first time he'd stumble upon lost wanderers, or simply weary thalassophobic travelers from the near east wishing to access the villages and towns on the western base of the mountains. At times of these unfortunate winds, or when he'd find it's too late in the day for those travelers to carry on westward, he'd always inclined to spare them a chamber. A good company is rare in itself, not at these heights. It does not hurt him to provide another platter for the tired folks in exchange for a good conversation. He’d ask; any news from the east, or the north, perhaps? What of the eastern republics? Did something major happen elsewhere in the land? For him who was stuck in his post most of the time, these travelers would supply such stories for him. Of course, every now and then he’d find stories so inflated, so erroneous in account that there might be not a grain of truth in it. But it does not spoil the fun of having a company, not even when these folks at times would try a little bit too hard to convince him that their stories were true. Long he had concluded that he would believe what he would want to believe for no accounts can picture the whole truth. It is indeed within the nature of man.
While he does have an interest to hear the story of Miss Weatherly, he felt that he was never going to get the whole truth from the lady. A wise teacher once said to him, a traveling man’s story is for his own, for there are words better left unspoken in this world. Most certainly, the lady is not an exception. He’d expect narrations where she would linger around the honest truth, granted, he won’t be able to tell to which extent her words are untrue. Not until he heard her story.
There were trepidation in his mind as he plans to carefully extract the general idea of her purposes in his lands, while keeping in mind that he should not pry too much on the rover. This is indeed something he’d definitely do, but not soon, not tonight, he thought, as he silently promised would keep to himself as he hosts her for supper.
“There was a time when this fortress is much grander than what you are seeing, Lady Weatherly,” He said to the lady, as an attempt to start a topic and made her feel a bit more welcomed, “When I was assigned to this place, I had to salvage whatever I could.”
He passes through a series of closed doors. He could feel the blizzard is gaining strength, as the breeze inside the halls is stronger still, he could see it blowing over the remaining flickering candles unextinguished by its earlier onslaughts. The sound of their footsteps buried by the loud howl of the wolves and the snowy tempest.
“You can only see a very small portion of the fortress today, for I had to close and seal the passages here and there to ensure safety for the visiting folks… Apparently the bards, and minstrels, and poets, and whatnots thought the idea of having an impregnable fortress over the icy mountains is a fine idea worthy of songs. I can assure you it is not. While the masonry have held strong for centuries, it was only a matter of time until the weaker structures give way to the weight of the snow.” He carried on, and as he walks he would pick up his pace in straight hallways, and he would otherwise hold his velocity down in turns and stairs, “Dilapidated as this place may be, I daresay this place brings me no shame when rare travelers such as you, milady, decided to show up-- this way.”
A faint fragrance of snow-roses brought by the ever-blowing wind came into his senses, and it shifted his mind into the thoughts of what worthy meal he could offer to the drifting lady. Currently there is not a single servant in the fortress. Not until tomorrow. Worse, if the wind persists, then none of them will be here until the day after tomorrow. He could not afford to offer her cold, tasteless food. It would be against his pride. He tried to recall whether there were some ingredients of that sort in his kitchens, as he and his guest draws nearer to the dining room.
“After you... here beyond this door, milady, is our main dining room.” He gestured his hand to show Miss Weatherly an ornate oak door, similar-- although less grand-- in design to the door to the Hall of Light. He proceeded to open it, as he says to the lady, “The hearth inside is fortunately crackling. You are in luck. We are spared from the grueling task of having to start a fire in this terrible weather. Come, tarry not, enter at your will. Sit and settle down wherever you prefer. I shall get supper ready for you.”
While commenting on the lady’s unheard surname, he gestured the newly acquainted traveler lady to walk a little bit faster. He himself kept himself at a controlled pace, not too brisk so that the stranger may follow, but quick enough so that the tired lady would not suffer a second more from the cruel winds of Grale. He is still cautious of her, but he is not in any worry of the chance of being, say, stabbed in the back by the rover anytime soon. She has nothing to gain from that. And although she seemed to have recovered slightly back in the Hall of Light, she is in obvious state of disorientation-- probably due to the acute cold she must've had experienced in the last few days. He decided to drop his guard down, for now.
It's not like it was the first time he'd stumble upon lost wanderers, or simply weary thalassophobic travelers from the near east wishing to access the villages and towns on the western base of the mountains. At times of these unfortunate winds, or when he'd find it's too late in the day for those travelers to carry on westward, he'd always inclined to spare them a chamber. A good company is rare in itself, not at these heights. It does not hurt him to provide another platter for the tired folks in exchange for a good conversation. He’d ask; any news from the east, or the north, perhaps? What of the eastern republics? Did something major happen elsewhere in the land? For him who was stuck in his post most of the time, these travelers would supply such stories for him. Of course, every now and then he’d find stories so inflated, so erroneous in account that there might be not a grain of truth in it. But it does not spoil the fun of having a company, not even when these folks at times would try a little bit too hard to convince him that their stories were true. Long he had concluded that he would believe what he would want to believe for no accounts can picture the whole truth. It is indeed within the nature of man.
While he does have an interest to hear the story of Miss Weatherly, he felt that he was never going to get the whole truth from the lady. A wise teacher once said to him, a traveling man’s story is for his own, for there are words better left unspoken in this world. Most certainly, the lady is not an exception. He’d expect narrations where she would linger around the honest truth, granted, he won’t be able to tell to which extent her words are untrue. Not until he heard her story.
There were trepidation in his mind as he plans to carefully extract the general idea of her purposes in his lands, while keeping in mind that he should not pry too much on the rover. This is indeed something he’d definitely do, but not soon, not tonight, he thought, as he silently promised would keep to himself as he hosts her for supper.
“There was a time when this fortress is much grander than what you are seeing, Lady Weatherly,” He said to the lady, as an attempt to start a topic and made her feel a bit more welcomed, “When I was assigned to this place, I had to salvage whatever I could.”
He passes through a series of closed doors. He could feel the blizzard is gaining strength, as the breeze inside the halls is stronger still, he could see it blowing over the remaining flickering candles unextinguished by its earlier onslaughts. The sound of their footsteps buried by the loud howl of the wolves and the snowy tempest.
“You can only see a very small portion of the fortress today, for I had to close and seal the passages here and there to ensure safety for the visiting folks… Apparently the bards, and minstrels, and poets, and whatnots thought the idea of having an impregnable fortress over the icy mountains is a fine idea worthy of songs. I can assure you it is not. While the masonry have held strong for centuries, it was only a matter of time until the weaker structures give way to the weight of the snow.” He carried on, and as he walks he would pick up his pace in straight hallways, and he would otherwise hold his velocity down in turns and stairs, “Dilapidated as this place may be, I daresay this place brings me no shame when rare travelers such as you, milady, decided to show up-- this way.”
A faint fragrance of snow-roses brought by the ever-blowing wind came into his senses, and it shifted his mind into the thoughts of what worthy meal he could offer to the drifting lady. Currently there is not a single servant in the fortress. Not until tomorrow. Worse, if the wind persists, then none of them will be here until the day after tomorrow. He could not afford to offer her cold, tasteless food. It would be against his pride. He tried to recall whether there were some ingredients of that sort in his kitchens, as he and his guest draws nearer to the dining room.
“After you... here beyond this door, milady, is our main dining room.” He gestured his hand to show Miss Weatherly an ornate oak door, similar-- although less grand-- in design to the door to the Hall of Light. He proceeded to open it, as he says to the lady, “The hearth inside is fortunately crackling. You are in luck. We are spared from the grueling task of having to start a fire in this terrible weather. Come, tarry not, enter at your will. Sit and settle down wherever you prefer. I shall get supper ready for you.”
“Indeed,” she said loud enough for him to hear, overpowering the harsh wind and the swirling storm of screaming silver snowflakes that went with it. Her tone of voice was serious and well mannered, formal some may say. “I come from lands very far away from here, I doubt you’d have heard of them and if so, very little of the truth,” In the blizzard there was no way for Rebecca to know which direction to go. Without the assistance of Lord Ilya, she would be more lost than ever, for the usual landmarks were hidden behind the white snow that swirled so densely around the two. The icy grey sky restlessly grumbled and he thick blackened clouds were dragged down by the heavy rain combined with snow which they held in their delicate frame. The clouds had struggled to withstand the burden of the weight which the rain held and soon gave in, getting worse with each coming second. Rebecca followed his gruelling pace without complaint, knowing that the sooner she got to safety, the better for the two of them.
The woman had encountered various people in the past, but hardly any had greeted her with such respect. During a time like this, one of the hardest things to do was convincing someone to help you. The man before her seemed cautious of her movements, but she couldn’t exactly blame him for that. Anyone would react in the same way if someone had managed to overcome the obstacles they were faced with just to get to this cold, almost abandoned place. She was aware of many persistent travellers and even they refused to make such a dangerous journey. The pack of wolves along the way certainly didn’t make it any easier and without the help of Ulric, it was possible that she wouldn’t have made it here in once piece. She had to admit though; the man was very friendly and seemed to trust her more that she thought he would have, considering how inviting he was towards someone who had only just told him their name, nothing else. “I wonder if this is all set up.” she thought, keeping her guard up. You could never be too careful with these things. One time, she visited the land of Haronda, further down south from here, only to find that they were only being friendly to later slaughter her in cold blood before even getting to know her. She shook at the memory, remembering the blood which flooded the town just before she had escaped. Taking a deep breath, she snapped back into reality and continued to walk by him, ensuring that there was no one just waiting to attack her.
They were indoors now, where it was far warmer but still a little bit cold due to the material of the building. She did her best to avoid touching the stone walls for she knew they were almost as cold as the blizzard outdoors which could still be heard through the rustling of trees and the whistling outside. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the stone walls repetitively, giving her a bit of time to think. What was she going to tell him? Could it be so simple as to tell him why she really came; or was there more? She had already been informed by others that moonstone was something so rare and precious, that most people would never willingly offer the help. She couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by the Lord of the land, thinking quickly about other topics which sprung her interest in the area.
Then it hit her; “Rosabel is awake until the end of time”; apparently a common phrase amongst the people living here. She had heard rumours and stories about the Tomb of Rosabel and how her perfectly-preserved body was kept in a menacing mausoleum meant to seal her remains forever in one of the steepest mountain’s peak east of Nebelkreuz. Whether this was true, she did not know, but it sure grabbed her attention as she later found that none of her parts, including her eyes, decay; finding it quite hard to believe. She did indeed find it peculiar and was curious about what other secrets the Tomb had within.
The aggressive howl of the wolves outside overpowered their footsteps, making them almost impossible to hear. She wondered whether it was Ulric, trying to communicate with her to inform her that he was safe and found himself some company. He’s used to traveling with her, knowing that he needed to keep his distance until the time called for him instead. She was reminded of his beautiful black fur and his unnatural human-like eyes. She never quite understood what happened to the original Ulric she met, but there was no doubt about who he was now. Besides, no matter how hard she would try to find out, she didn’t have the ability to communicate with animals, so instead she just let to subject go.
“That’s okay, from what I have uncovered for myself I have found this place very beautiful, extraordinary in fact,” she responded, smiling at the magic she could sense since she stepped foot into the land. She followed him quickly, keeping up with his pace while trying to keep her warmed up. She was aware that during this time period, she could only reveal so much about herself to him. After all, blood magic was forbidden in many lands, this one no different. It was by far one of the vilest practices due to how much sacrifice and pain it requires the mage to inflict. Interestingly enough, it didn’t stop Rebecca’s interest from it. To him, she was just a traveller with her own secrets, which she was not ready to tell just yet, and that’s how it was going to stay for the time being.
As she entered the next room, the fragrance of snow roses was the first thing that stole her attention. It was coming into the room along with the wind from outside, and oddly reminded her of how beautiful nature is. For someone so vile, she sure appreciated the beauty in things, perhaps because she understood that even the beautiful had to have an end. Her mind drifted to the thought of food, as she suddenly realised that for such a large fortress it seemed quite deserted. Perhaps this was not where the servants stayed, that is if there was any in the first place. The longer they walked around, the more curious she became about the history of the land and its culture.
Rebecca had noticed that the design of the door which he was leading her though was very much similar to the door she had seen at the “Hall of Light”, admiring the work and the crevices of each individual indent in the oak material. There was no denial that it was a very beautiful piece of art, and the Lord clearly took quite a lot of pride in it, which she could not blame him for. Stepping in, she gave him a soft smile, looking around the place clearly impressed by what she was seeing.
“Thank you, Lord,” she said softly, taking a seat in one of the places in the dining room, getting comfortable as she turned to look at him. She felt oddly rude, not offering to help, so she added, “Would you like any help with the supper, Lord? One of your status shouldn’t be the one cooking for a stranger like myself,”
The woman had encountered various people in the past, but hardly any had greeted her with such respect. During a time like this, one of the hardest things to do was convincing someone to help you. The man before her seemed cautious of her movements, but she couldn’t exactly blame him for that. Anyone would react in the same way if someone had managed to overcome the obstacles they were faced with just to get to this cold, almost abandoned place. She was aware of many persistent travellers and even they refused to make such a dangerous journey. The pack of wolves along the way certainly didn’t make it any easier and without the help of Ulric, it was possible that she wouldn’t have made it here in once piece. She had to admit though; the man was very friendly and seemed to trust her more that she thought he would have, considering how inviting he was towards someone who had only just told him their name, nothing else. “I wonder if this is all set up.” she thought, keeping her guard up. You could never be too careful with these things. One time, she visited the land of Haronda, further down south from here, only to find that they were only being friendly to later slaughter her in cold blood before even getting to know her. She shook at the memory, remembering the blood which flooded the town just before she had escaped. Taking a deep breath, she snapped back into reality and continued to walk by him, ensuring that there was no one just waiting to attack her.
They were indoors now, where it was far warmer but still a little bit cold due to the material of the building. She did her best to avoid touching the stone walls for she knew they were almost as cold as the blizzard outdoors which could still be heard through the rustling of trees and the whistling outside. Their footsteps echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the stone walls repetitively, giving her a bit of time to think. What was she going to tell him? Could it be so simple as to tell him why she really came; or was there more? She had already been informed by others that moonstone was something so rare and precious, that most people would never willingly offer the help. She couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by the Lord of the land, thinking quickly about other topics which sprung her interest in the area.
Then it hit her; “Rosabel is awake until the end of time”; apparently a common phrase amongst the people living here. She had heard rumours and stories about the Tomb of Rosabel and how her perfectly-preserved body was kept in a menacing mausoleum meant to seal her remains forever in one of the steepest mountain’s peak east of Nebelkreuz. Whether this was true, she did not know, but it sure grabbed her attention as she later found that none of her parts, including her eyes, decay; finding it quite hard to believe. She did indeed find it peculiar and was curious about what other secrets the Tomb had within.
The aggressive howl of the wolves outside overpowered their footsteps, making them almost impossible to hear. She wondered whether it was Ulric, trying to communicate with her to inform her that he was safe and found himself some company. He’s used to traveling with her, knowing that he needed to keep his distance until the time called for him instead. She was reminded of his beautiful black fur and his unnatural human-like eyes. She never quite understood what happened to the original Ulric she met, but there was no doubt about who he was now. Besides, no matter how hard she would try to find out, she didn’t have the ability to communicate with animals, so instead she just let to subject go.
“That’s okay, from what I have uncovered for myself I have found this place very beautiful, extraordinary in fact,” she responded, smiling at the magic she could sense since she stepped foot into the land. She followed him quickly, keeping up with his pace while trying to keep her warmed up. She was aware that during this time period, she could only reveal so much about herself to him. After all, blood magic was forbidden in many lands, this one no different. It was by far one of the vilest practices due to how much sacrifice and pain it requires the mage to inflict. Interestingly enough, it didn’t stop Rebecca’s interest from it. To him, she was just a traveller with her own secrets, which she was not ready to tell just yet, and that’s how it was going to stay for the time being.
As she entered the next room, the fragrance of snow roses was the first thing that stole her attention. It was coming into the room along with the wind from outside, and oddly reminded her of how beautiful nature is. For someone so vile, she sure appreciated the beauty in things, perhaps because she understood that even the beautiful had to have an end. Her mind drifted to the thought of food, as she suddenly realised that for such a large fortress it seemed quite deserted. Perhaps this was not where the servants stayed, that is if there was any in the first place. The longer they walked around, the more curious she became about the history of the land and its culture.
Rebecca had noticed that the design of the door which he was leading her though was very much similar to the door she had seen at the “Hall of Light”, admiring the work and the crevices of each individual indent in the oak material. There was no denial that it was a very beautiful piece of art, and the Lord clearly took quite a lot of pride in it, which she could not blame him for. Stepping in, she gave him a soft smile, looking around the place clearly impressed by what she was seeing.
“Thank you, Lord,” she said softly, taking a seat in one of the places in the dining room, getting comfortable as she turned to look at him. She felt oddly rude, not offering to help, so she added, “Would you like any help with the supper, Lord? One of your status shouldn’t be the one cooking for a stranger like myself,”
“A man of my stature? Surely you jest, Lady Weatherly. I am but a simple---“
The rest of his words were held unborn before his tongue as he entered the dining room just after the traveler.
“---- count.”
He finished his words with a frown. For what he saw displeases him.
The dining room was of three meters height, lower than most of the chambers in the fortress, to ensure the warmth circulates inside. There were a few crystal windows where the lights usually come in from the day. Normally he’d prefer at least one of these windows open, but now he saw that the decision to close all of them tightly shut earlier when he had his afternoon meal was the correct choice. Wooden features accentuated most of the room, except for the parts before the masonry-oven and the hearth, which is now crackling, burning, as it consumes the aromatic wood he had bought from a peddler who visited a few months back. The arrangements of the mahogany table and the eight oak chairs were as he remembered. These factors would have had been perfect, except for one thing.
Books. Books of any length, of any width, of any thickness, were strewn and scattered all over the room except for the tables and the chair. He did not remember how these books got here. Did he carry one from his study every once he decided to have a meal? Or, perhaps a beast came in and carried these books and left them there? Too wild of an assumption, he thought to himself. One thing for sure, he believed the room was not proper for any reception.
But as the lady is fatigued from her journey, he thought that she would not mind. He’d bring it up once just in case, as he progresses to the kitchenette aisles on the eastern side of the dining room, slightly upset.
“I… Hmm. My apologies yet again, Lady Weatherly. The arrangements of this room are a bit… different than what I remembered. The books will not get in the way for your dinner, so I believe you would not mind. Nonetheless, you will not assist me in preparing the meal. You have toiled enough for the last few days. Settle down, let your physique and psyche rest,” He started to open a few cabinets and storages, “I always enjoy preparing meals, anyway. It is an art for me. Something I’d never master completely, of course. But at least I know my tongue…”
He started to season the fowl and the hare-meat with one hand while he tried to prepare the flames for the masonry oven with the other.
“Let’s see what we have here… ah, fowls, also, alpine hares. Hexagron’s salt... A few spices sent by Baron Ospreis--- basil, coriander, rosemary, some dried leaves which names I cannot remember. Yes, yes indeed.”
He trusted that the meats had enough seasoning. He casted the raw meats into the oven, in which reddish young flames were wavering. It was not long until a distinct aroma of burning meat and spices immediately filled the closed dining. He nodded and started preparing the silver-wares.
“It’ll take a moment. But I assure you this meal will please your ailing appetite.” He said, as he sorts his knives and forks, inspecting them whether they were sharp enough to use to cut through the cooked meat, “I do find the idea of consuming alpine hares to be appalling, I must say. Not because of the texture… nor the taste of their meat themselves. If you were to prepare them carefully, their gamey meat is edible, and their taste would be most appealing to some. I myself have a soft spot for small animals like them. You’d see them occasionally in the mountains, probably you’ve seen handful of them, I believe. Perhaps you’ve eaten them yourself.”
He carried the silver-wares over to the tables and carefully places them before the lady and the empty spot he decided would be his place, right across the lady. He saw that the candles on the table were unlighted, and thus he reached for them and brought them to the furnace.
“I abhor the idea of skinning them. So I never prepared them, not in my life. I’d ask the poor Baron of Spaetjahr, good Sir Ospreis, to skin them for me. And when I’d receive the meat, it will be but a chunk of meat, shaped in a manner that you would not be able to tell what beast it was when it was alive.” He brought the lighted candle to the table and returns to the kitchenette surface, “But here you have few choices… for example, bird-meat is a luxury. Granted, it’s very hard for them to find anything to eat here. Chicken, of which I’ve heard to be of a reasonable value in the villages eastward and the towns of the republic, was arbitrarily expensive when the peddlers came and offer them. And so the easiest game would be of these unassuming hares. By chance, or not, they are common enough to sustain the rest of the wolves though… You’re competing with the wolves to eat. Somehow, if you think deeper, would it not mean that you’re no better than the beasts? You eat the weak to sustain yourself. You’ve got to live one way or the other… Ah, what am I jabbering about? I’ll cease here.”
He’d check the furnace a bit more, and he picked up a few more lumber so that the fire would not go out in the middle of their little feast. Then, a distinct aroma came from the stone oven, it was quite a familiar aroma to him, it was the sign that the meats and spices were roasted enough to perfection, at least, to according his own palate. He poked the meat and waited for the meat to rest, and then plated and carried them to his table.
“I sure hope these meats are not too chewy for your palate.” He muttered as he settled down on the spot he decided a while earlier, “I will not bother you to say your gratitude or the likes or so… but before you start to dine. A quick question. I promised to not bother you with your affairs tonight, but I have to make sure of something.”
He carved the steaming fowl before him as he stared into the traveler’s eyes.
“Do you exactly know where you are? Let me word it this way. You know the name of this place, yes?”
The rest of his words were held unborn before his tongue as he entered the dining room just after the traveler.
“---- count.”
He finished his words with a frown. For what he saw displeases him.
The dining room was of three meters height, lower than most of the chambers in the fortress, to ensure the warmth circulates inside. There were a few crystal windows where the lights usually come in from the day. Normally he’d prefer at least one of these windows open, but now he saw that the decision to close all of them tightly shut earlier when he had his afternoon meal was the correct choice. Wooden features accentuated most of the room, except for the parts before the masonry-oven and the hearth, which is now crackling, burning, as it consumes the aromatic wood he had bought from a peddler who visited a few months back. The arrangements of the mahogany table and the eight oak chairs were as he remembered. These factors would have had been perfect, except for one thing.
Books. Books of any length, of any width, of any thickness, were strewn and scattered all over the room except for the tables and the chair. He did not remember how these books got here. Did he carry one from his study every once he decided to have a meal? Or, perhaps a beast came in and carried these books and left them there? Too wild of an assumption, he thought to himself. One thing for sure, he believed the room was not proper for any reception.
But as the lady is fatigued from her journey, he thought that she would not mind. He’d bring it up once just in case, as he progresses to the kitchenette aisles on the eastern side of the dining room, slightly upset.
“I… Hmm. My apologies yet again, Lady Weatherly. The arrangements of this room are a bit… different than what I remembered. The books will not get in the way for your dinner, so I believe you would not mind. Nonetheless, you will not assist me in preparing the meal. You have toiled enough for the last few days. Settle down, let your physique and psyche rest,” He started to open a few cabinets and storages, “I always enjoy preparing meals, anyway. It is an art for me. Something I’d never master completely, of course. But at least I know my tongue…”
He started to season the fowl and the hare-meat with one hand while he tried to prepare the flames for the masonry oven with the other.
“Let’s see what we have here… ah, fowls, also, alpine hares. Hexagron’s salt... A few spices sent by Baron Ospreis--- basil, coriander, rosemary, some dried leaves which names I cannot remember. Yes, yes indeed.”
He trusted that the meats had enough seasoning. He casted the raw meats into the oven, in which reddish young flames were wavering. It was not long until a distinct aroma of burning meat and spices immediately filled the closed dining. He nodded and started preparing the silver-wares.
“It’ll take a moment. But I assure you this meal will please your ailing appetite.” He said, as he sorts his knives and forks, inspecting them whether they were sharp enough to use to cut through the cooked meat, “I do find the idea of consuming alpine hares to be appalling, I must say. Not because of the texture… nor the taste of their meat themselves. If you were to prepare them carefully, their gamey meat is edible, and their taste would be most appealing to some. I myself have a soft spot for small animals like them. You’d see them occasionally in the mountains, probably you’ve seen handful of them, I believe. Perhaps you’ve eaten them yourself.”
He carried the silver-wares over to the tables and carefully places them before the lady and the empty spot he decided would be his place, right across the lady. He saw that the candles on the table were unlighted, and thus he reached for them and brought them to the furnace.
“I abhor the idea of skinning them. So I never prepared them, not in my life. I’d ask the poor Baron of Spaetjahr, good Sir Ospreis, to skin them for me. And when I’d receive the meat, it will be but a chunk of meat, shaped in a manner that you would not be able to tell what beast it was when it was alive.” He brought the lighted candle to the table and returns to the kitchenette surface, “But here you have few choices… for example, bird-meat is a luxury. Granted, it’s very hard for them to find anything to eat here. Chicken, of which I’ve heard to be of a reasonable value in the villages eastward and the towns of the republic, was arbitrarily expensive when the peddlers came and offer them. And so the easiest game would be of these unassuming hares. By chance, or not, they are common enough to sustain the rest of the wolves though… You’re competing with the wolves to eat. Somehow, if you think deeper, would it not mean that you’re no better than the beasts? You eat the weak to sustain yourself. You’ve got to live one way or the other… Ah, what am I jabbering about? I’ll cease here.”
He’d check the furnace a bit more, and he picked up a few more lumber so that the fire would not go out in the middle of their little feast. Then, a distinct aroma came from the stone oven, it was quite a familiar aroma to him, it was the sign that the meats and spices were roasted enough to perfection, at least, to according his own palate. He poked the meat and waited for the meat to rest, and then plated and carried them to his table.
“I sure hope these meats are not too chewy for your palate.” He muttered as he settled down on the spot he decided a while earlier, “I will not bother you to say your gratitude or the likes or so… but before you start to dine. A quick question. I promised to not bother you with your affairs tonight, but I have to make sure of something.”
He carved the steaming fowl before him as he stared into the traveler’s eyes.
“Do you exactly know where you are? Let me word it this way. You know the name of this place, yes?”
The woman sat there, patiently waiting for the Lord of the land to finish what he was cooking for the two. He seemed very gracious; careful with his words and thoughtful with his deeds. He'll see you as an equal, but he'll expect you to act as one too. She was similar in that sense; only she wasn’t as sociable and sympathetic. Unlike some, Rebecca was one of those people that never escaped their childhoods, not fully anyway. It's almost like a part of them just doesn't feel safe in the adult world. Every time she was faced with a memory of her childhood her head span faster than a helicopter blade. Once upon a time, her face was soft with the beginnings of laughter lines, not creased in that angry way that has become her only face to the world until recently.
Ever since she had started to gain an increasing amount of power, she had become far more confident with herself. She would smile a lot more and take on new interests such as reading and travelling. She loved to discover new places and learn their history a lot more that she did initially. She felt as though she had improved as a person over the last few years, trying to gain more contacts which could be beneficial for the future. However, even that didn’t excuse her regular practices. The dark art of blood magic was still close to her heart, something she would never let go of, especially when Ulric was still around. There was something about the art and the darkness that came with it that really appealed to her. It made her feel safe – protected even.
Looking around the dining room, she had noticed the stacks of books, piling one on top of the other in every corner of the room. The bookshelves seemed like they would collapse any moment under the pressure of the numerous books and files stuffed into them. All four walls of the room were covered with shelves, leaving only a small gap in the middle for the beautiful oak door. The huge piles of books on the side of the table cast a heavy shadow on her. Her fingertips reached out to one of the books, brushing the gold lettering of the leather which felt soft and delicate over the faded blue bindings. She thumbed through the book making the paper rustle, opening it up and watching the words appear and disappear as her eyes fitted across the pages, quickly picking out anything of importance from the jumble of sentences that littered the world she had become immersed in.
“It’s okay Lord Ilya, don’t worry about it,” she said softly, smiling up at him while trying to keep her image respectful. “I do quite enjoy reading books, if I may say so myself. I get very easily intrigued and fascinated by the way in which the words are put together to create beautiful stories or retell history.” She continued, closing the old book she had picked up earlier and placing it back on the side where she had taken it in the first place. “I find it funny, how easily words can be re-ordered and manipulated to give someone the upper hand in the situation. It’s quite impressive really, what some people do with the power of writing,”
The spark of interest within her seemed constant throughout her speech, not something that was very common for her. The lady smiles as she watched Lord Ilya multitasking in the kitchen; going back and forth trying to prepare everything on time to the perfect detail. He seemed like quite the perfectionist, but maybe she was mistaken.
“You seem to know your way around the kitchen, Lord Ilya,” she commented, smiling at the sight of his efforts to satisfy his guest. She could tell that he didn’t like to disappoint.
The rich aroma of the dish wafted down and beckoned her. She started to be unable to resist the delightful sensations that whipped up inside the oven. She hadn’t been here for too long but she’d already felt more welcome here than any other place. “I don’t mind the wait, I must say, it smells amazing. I’m not much of a picky eater though, as long as there is food on the table that is eatable, it is good enough for me. She observed him as he placed down the knives and the forks which reflected the light from the candles around them on their glistening silver edge. Speaking of candles, her eyes began to shift to the side to watch the burning flame. It was odd; Rebecca had always felt as though fire had so much more meaning to it than it let on. The dancing flame was like a glimpse of hope for some, while for others it could be the start to chaos and misery. She continued to listen, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere completely as he spoke.
“You’re only at competitor if you are enemies with the wolves, Lord,” she said calmly, giving her sentence a moment before looking at him again with her dark red eyes which only appeared to have more fire in them due to the setting of the dining room. “At the end of the day, each creature does what is best to survive. It is like the battle to see who is the better species; in other words, survival of the fittest.” She added with a small smile. Rebecca waited for a moment before speaking again, wondering if what she had said shook the Lord for some reason. Her speech could often provoke people to feel uneasy and she never quite understood why. It was a matter of opinion after all, but a lot of people in the past had considered Rebecca to be somewhat different – creepier.
She looked down at the place that the Lord had just set before her, smiling down in appreciation of his work. “Thank you, Lord,” she said as she took her first bite of the food. It wasn't must of a surprise when the food tasted delicious considering the smell that had now spread across the whole room. “It’s just right, like I said, I’m not a picky eater. So even if it were too chewy for some, I’d probably be fine with it. And to answer your question---” she muttered before taking another bite, swallowing it down before carrying on with the sentence, “Indeed, I believe I have arrived at the right place. Everything seems to be as described, and the trouble of getting here was definitely as bad as people have said it is. Only, I am not too certain about this place. I am a traveller who is very interested and intrigued by your history. I came here to make discoveries of my own and learn something about this place. I must say, it is very beautiful, regardless of weather.”
Ever since she had started to gain an increasing amount of power, she had become far more confident with herself. She would smile a lot more and take on new interests such as reading and travelling. She loved to discover new places and learn their history a lot more that she did initially. She felt as though she had improved as a person over the last few years, trying to gain more contacts which could be beneficial for the future. However, even that didn’t excuse her regular practices. The dark art of blood magic was still close to her heart, something she would never let go of, especially when Ulric was still around. There was something about the art and the darkness that came with it that really appealed to her. It made her feel safe – protected even.
Looking around the dining room, she had noticed the stacks of books, piling one on top of the other in every corner of the room. The bookshelves seemed like they would collapse any moment under the pressure of the numerous books and files stuffed into them. All four walls of the room were covered with shelves, leaving only a small gap in the middle for the beautiful oak door. The huge piles of books on the side of the table cast a heavy shadow on her. Her fingertips reached out to one of the books, brushing the gold lettering of the leather which felt soft and delicate over the faded blue bindings. She thumbed through the book making the paper rustle, opening it up and watching the words appear and disappear as her eyes fitted across the pages, quickly picking out anything of importance from the jumble of sentences that littered the world she had become immersed in.
“It’s okay Lord Ilya, don’t worry about it,” she said softly, smiling up at him while trying to keep her image respectful. “I do quite enjoy reading books, if I may say so myself. I get very easily intrigued and fascinated by the way in which the words are put together to create beautiful stories or retell history.” She continued, closing the old book she had picked up earlier and placing it back on the side where she had taken it in the first place. “I find it funny, how easily words can be re-ordered and manipulated to give someone the upper hand in the situation. It’s quite impressive really, what some people do with the power of writing,”
The spark of interest within her seemed constant throughout her speech, not something that was very common for her. The lady smiles as she watched Lord Ilya multitasking in the kitchen; going back and forth trying to prepare everything on time to the perfect detail. He seemed like quite the perfectionist, but maybe she was mistaken.
“You seem to know your way around the kitchen, Lord Ilya,” she commented, smiling at the sight of his efforts to satisfy his guest. She could tell that he didn’t like to disappoint.
The rich aroma of the dish wafted down and beckoned her. She started to be unable to resist the delightful sensations that whipped up inside the oven. She hadn’t been here for too long but she’d already felt more welcome here than any other place. “I don’t mind the wait, I must say, it smells amazing. I’m not much of a picky eater though, as long as there is food on the table that is eatable, it is good enough for me. She observed him as he placed down the knives and the forks which reflected the light from the candles around them on their glistening silver edge. Speaking of candles, her eyes began to shift to the side to watch the burning flame. It was odd; Rebecca had always felt as though fire had so much more meaning to it than it let on. The dancing flame was like a glimpse of hope for some, while for others it could be the start to chaos and misery. She continued to listen, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere completely as he spoke.
“You’re only at competitor if you are enemies with the wolves, Lord,” she said calmly, giving her sentence a moment before looking at him again with her dark red eyes which only appeared to have more fire in them due to the setting of the dining room. “At the end of the day, each creature does what is best to survive. It is like the battle to see who is the better species; in other words, survival of the fittest.” She added with a small smile. Rebecca waited for a moment before speaking again, wondering if what she had said shook the Lord for some reason. Her speech could often provoke people to feel uneasy and she never quite understood why. It was a matter of opinion after all, but a lot of people in the past had considered Rebecca to be somewhat different – creepier.
She looked down at the place that the Lord had just set before her, smiling down in appreciation of his work. “Thank you, Lord,” she said as she took her first bite of the food. It wasn't must of a surprise when the food tasted delicious considering the smell that had now spread across the whole room. “It’s just right, like I said, I’m not a picky eater. So even if it were too chewy for some, I’d probably be fine with it. And to answer your question---” she muttered before taking another bite, swallowing it down before carrying on with the sentence, “Indeed, I believe I have arrived at the right place. Everything seems to be as described, and the trouble of getting here was definitely as bad as people have said it is. Only, I am not too certain about this place. I am a traveller who is very interested and intrigued by your history. I came here to make discoveries of my own and learn something about this place. I must say, it is very beautiful, regardless of weather.”
“Indeed?”
He tried to look into the lady’s eyes, trying to uncover a speck of doubt.
What stared back was an insolvable color of red. He gave up rather quickly.
“I see, so you’re a chronicler.”
He sighed, and started to resume carving the fowl, now shifting his sight to the plates.
“Thank you for your kind words. I’m going to presume that you’ve done your required information-seeking sessions in the taverns… but it’s shameful for those folks in Renellfield for not, at least, offering you warmer clothes. Three days, three days long, trailing through the eastern paths! I’m impressed, and appalled…” He clicked his tongue as he puts a meaty piece of Fowl into Lady Weatherly’s plate, then proceeds to put some meat to his own, “I said this before. But quite a feat you’ve done there, Lady Weatherly… Ah here, some spiced ale. Nothing strong, but it’ll keep you warm.”
A bottle of clear reddish liquid was passed to the lady’s side of table, he remembered that the bottle was new, a gift from the married couple. He thought he can never finish his liquor anyway, so perhaps the lady has a better use for it.
Now it’s clear for him that the lady is a chronicler. Certainly not a new sight for him. She said that she wanted to learn the history of the land, something he can easily attest to. But if she wanted a more credible source, she can go to the university. For a hardened traveler like her, she’d be able to find her way to Nebelkreuz with ease, but just in case, he’d point the way for her.
“Well just in case no one said this to you. Welcome to the Archduchy of Rosenfeld. Land under the wise rule of Her Majesty, Riets the First,” His hand once again extended, then he pulls his right hand to his chest as another a gesture to welcome his guest, “As you’re a chronicler, I have some ideas for you… where’s that map. Excuse me for a moment.”
He rose from the dinner table and started to find his way to a certain corner in the room, but later shook his head. He started to fiddle around piles of books and papers on the other side. He knew he isn’t exactly organized. But if he was sure he had put something in the room, then that thing should be somewhere in the room.
“I believe I do have a map lying here somewhere… I brought it from the study, see…”
There it was, he mumbled, as he spied a parchment lying over a messy stack of books not far from the place he initially went. He picked it up and brought it to the table, unrolling it before the lady and started to put his hand on the map.
“Ah, here you go. The map is marked... No matter. Feel free to continue eating while I speak. They won’t let you discuss these matters during supper in the courts… not while you’re chewing, anyway, but we’re not there. No one will bother to complain.”
He lets out a silent chuckle, as he pointed to a part of the map, "Schneienkreuz", the map indicated.
“You’re here… see. Schneienkreuz. Since you’re a chronicler, and you said you wanted to learn of this land’s history… I advise you to go to, here, Nebelkreuz. Three days by horse, if you gallop once and then... The university there would gladly provide you their support, providing you’ll be able to do them some favors…”
The university would, of course, hassle her to a certain extent. He had experienced how demanding they were when he enrolled there once. But considering that she was a human, and it’s quite rare that a human would enroll there. Perhaps they’d lower their expectation a little. They’re not fools. They won’t waste an opportunity to do some exchanges with a foreign chronicler by pestering her out of the country.
“It’s nothing much really, they’d probably ask you about your travels and such… but just in case, I’ll write you a letter of introduction. I studied there once, anyway. Or… if you’re more into trade…”
Silently wondering if his letters would do any good despite of his current position, he shifted his finger upwards the map. He stopped his finger at a town icon on the right side of the rivers’ intersection, “Free City of Arcran”, so the map said.
“Here, the Twin Cities of Arscfield and Rancmystc… though no one bothers to pronounce their full names anymore. Arcran, so the common-folks name it… It’s a mercantile town, you’d be better off going here as most of the items available in this land are available in that town too. The guilds run that town, they ensure stocks, items, whether it’s rare or common, available in their well-running establishment. Including our own Moonsilver.”
He grabbed his pendant and brought it forward. The pendant, reflecting the silent light of the hearth, speaks wordlessly to the traveler. Almost as if it was introducing itself before the cloaked lady.
“Curious little thing, isn’t it? They’re luminescent, not common amongst the metal family. That’s them being sort of, shining in the dark, if you’ve never heard the term, hence the name ‘, moonsilver’ perhaps, they used to believe that they absorb and reflect the moonlight. They’re… very light. But they’re stronger than steel, evidently they melt at a higher temperature than common silver. They are not quite reactive too, unlike common silver they do not oxidize, and thus do not tarnish. That goes to animal blood too, seemingly. ”
He puts the pendant to its original place, smiling.
“A fine weapon material, if you ask me. The Grand Lunar Regime used to utilize this material to a great deal…” So he said, as he pointed the crossed arms on the other side of the room, “But there’s a reason why the regime were not exactly effective during night raids, their weapons and armors gave out their locations… that’s pretty much the only downside to this material, when used as a weapon.”
The lady must be hunting a great deal once in a while. A reusable set of moonsilver arrow would do her good. But arrows can be easily replaced, and she doesn’t seem to be quite the bow-using one. He figured that her weapon must be something else, some sort of a short saber, perhaps? He could not figure it out. He figured that since she doesn’t have anything protruding from her cloak, it may be a short weapon. If she’s hunting with that, there’s a chance that if she shifts to moonsilver, the animal she’s hunting would detect her presence easily though… unless they see light poorly.
“Needless to say, Nebelkreuz blacksmiths keep their best wares back at their town… but if you only wanted some Moonsilver, you’re better off going to Arcran.” He smiled again, worrying for her wellbeing if she continued to carry on in this unforgiving cold, wondering if she has had enough of the snow for a decade, “If you think this place is cold, wait until you get to Nebelkreuz. Enough said, I suppose.”
He started to fiddle around the map again, now tracing around the river, dragging his finger through the seas, and to Hexagron.
“You’re free to roam the land… once you recover, most certainly. If you wanted to return to Hexagron, Arcran can do you a favor. I will not suggest you to return from this town, Shian. The Oceanidite does not take kind to those who associate with us. Just in case, for your safety.”
He remembered that he had yet to touch his food, but he was about to finish anyways.
“Mark my words though. See this river?” He asked, now instead of staring at the map, he stared at the lady directly “Hagelkreuz is as far as you go. You shall not cross the river. The area beyond the river is heavily forested, people have been getting lost for years and no news comes back from them. For what? For something out a fairy-tale, so I’ve heard. Some tale designed to please children and the likes… nothing worth getting lost for.”
Some stories of witches, legends of monsters and bedtime tales. It was all nonsense to him… or so he wished he can attest to that. The crown had lost any news from Leuchtenkreuz for ages now and not a single soul knows what happened in that place. Granted, people would normally have no business in backwaters so far-placed in the maps like Leuchtenkreuz. But she’s a chronicler. There’s always a chance she’d be tempted to at least visit the place once. It’s better for him to hold the details out and said that the place is terribly forested to discourage her from finding out.
”For years I’ve been tending to fools trying to cross that river for their own good. Once they cross, there's no saving them. Folly is the language they speak, I tell you. I trust that you don’t speak their language, yes?"
He tried to look into the lady’s eyes, trying to uncover a speck of doubt.
What stared back was an insolvable color of red. He gave up rather quickly.
“I see, so you’re a chronicler.”
He sighed, and started to resume carving the fowl, now shifting his sight to the plates.
“Thank you for your kind words. I’m going to presume that you’ve done your required information-seeking sessions in the taverns… but it’s shameful for those folks in Renellfield for not, at least, offering you warmer clothes. Three days, three days long, trailing through the eastern paths! I’m impressed, and appalled…” He clicked his tongue as he puts a meaty piece of Fowl into Lady Weatherly’s plate, then proceeds to put some meat to his own, “I said this before. But quite a feat you’ve done there, Lady Weatherly… Ah here, some spiced ale. Nothing strong, but it’ll keep you warm.”
A bottle of clear reddish liquid was passed to the lady’s side of table, he remembered that the bottle was new, a gift from the married couple. He thought he can never finish his liquor anyway, so perhaps the lady has a better use for it.
Now it’s clear for him that the lady is a chronicler. Certainly not a new sight for him. She said that she wanted to learn the history of the land, something he can easily attest to. But if she wanted a more credible source, she can go to the university. For a hardened traveler like her, she’d be able to find her way to Nebelkreuz with ease, but just in case, he’d point the way for her.
“Well just in case no one said this to you. Welcome to the Archduchy of Rosenfeld. Land under the wise rule of Her Majesty, Riets the First,” His hand once again extended, then he pulls his right hand to his chest as another a gesture to welcome his guest, “As you’re a chronicler, I have some ideas for you… where’s that map. Excuse me for a moment.”
He rose from the dinner table and started to find his way to a certain corner in the room, but later shook his head. He started to fiddle around piles of books and papers on the other side. He knew he isn’t exactly organized. But if he was sure he had put something in the room, then that thing should be somewhere in the room.
“I believe I do have a map lying here somewhere… I brought it from the study, see…”
There it was, he mumbled, as he spied a parchment lying over a messy stack of books not far from the place he initially went. He picked it up and brought it to the table, unrolling it before the lady and started to put his hand on the map.
“Ah, here you go. The map is marked... No matter. Feel free to continue eating while I speak. They won’t let you discuss these matters during supper in the courts… not while you’re chewing, anyway, but we’re not there. No one will bother to complain.”
He lets out a silent chuckle, as he pointed to a part of the map, "Schneienkreuz", the map indicated.
“You’re here… see. Schneienkreuz. Since you’re a chronicler, and you said you wanted to learn of this land’s history… I advise you to go to, here, Nebelkreuz. Three days by horse, if you gallop once and then... The university there would gladly provide you their support, providing you’ll be able to do them some favors…”
The university would, of course, hassle her to a certain extent. He had experienced how demanding they were when he enrolled there once. But considering that she was a human, and it’s quite rare that a human would enroll there. Perhaps they’d lower their expectation a little. They’re not fools. They won’t waste an opportunity to do some exchanges with a foreign chronicler by pestering her out of the country.
“It’s nothing much really, they’d probably ask you about your travels and such… but just in case, I’ll write you a letter of introduction. I studied there once, anyway. Or… if you’re more into trade…”
Silently wondering if his letters would do any good despite of his current position, he shifted his finger upwards the map. He stopped his finger at a town icon on the right side of the rivers’ intersection, “Free City of Arcran”, so the map said.
“Here, the Twin Cities of Arscfield and Rancmystc… though no one bothers to pronounce their full names anymore. Arcran, so the common-folks name it… It’s a mercantile town, you’d be better off going here as most of the items available in this land are available in that town too. The guilds run that town, they ensure stocks, items, whether it’s rare or common, available in their well-running establishment. Including our own Moonsilver.”
He grabbed his pendant and brought it forward. The pendant, reflecting the silent light of the hearth, speaks wordlessly to the traveler. Almost as if it was introducing itself before the cloaked lady.
“Curious little thing, isn’t it? They’re luminescent, not common amongst the metal family. That’s them being sort of, shining in the dark, if you’ve never heard the term, hence the name ‘, moonsilver’ perhaps, they used to believe that they absorb and reflect the moonlight. They’re… very light. But they’re stronger than steel, evidently they melt at a higher temperature than common silver. They are not quite reactive too, unlike common silver they do not oxidize, and thus do not tarnish. That goes to animal blood too, seemingly. ”
He puts the pendant to its original place, smiling.
“A fine weapon material, if you ask me. The Grand Lunar Regime used to utilize this material to a great deal…” So he said, as he pointed the crossed arms on the other side of the room, “But there’s a reason why the regime were not exactly effective during night raids, their weapons and armors gave out their locations… that’s pretty much the only downside to this material, when used as a weapon.”
The lady must be hunting a great deal once in a while. A reusable set of moonsilver arrow would do her good. But arrows can be easily replaced, and she doesn’t seem to be quite the bow-using one. He figured that her weapon must be something else, some sort of a short saber, perhaps? He could not figure it out. He figured that since she doesn’t have anything protruding from her cloak, it may be a short weapon. If she’s hunting with that, there’s a chance that if she shifts to moonsilver, the animal she’s hunting would detect her presence easily though… unless they see light poorly.
“Needless to say, Nebelkreuz blacksmiths keep their best wares back at their town… but if you only wanted some Moonsilver, you’re better off going to Arcran.” He smiled again, worrying for her wellbeing if she continued to carry on in this unforgiving cold, wondering if she has had enough of the snow for a decade, “If you think this place is cold, wait until you get to Nebelkreuz. Enough said, I suppose.”
He started to fiddle around the map again, now tracing around the river, dragging his finger through the seas, and to Hexagron.
“You’re free to roam the land… once you recover, most certainly. If you wanted to return to Hexagron, Arcran can do you a favor. I will not suggest you to return from this town, Shian. The Oceanidite does not take kind to those who associate with us. Just in case, for your safety.”
He remembered that he had yet to touch his food, but he was about to finish anyways.
“Mark my words though. See this river?” He asked, now instead of staring at the map, he stared at the lady directly “Hagelkreuz is as far as you go. You shall not cross the river. The area beyond the river is heavily forested, people have been getting lost for years and no news comes back from them. For what? For something out a fairy-tale, so I’ve heard. Some tale designed to please children and the likes… nothing worth getting lost for.”
Some stories of witches, legends of monsters and bedtime tales. It was all nonsense to him… or so he wished he can attest to that. The crown had lost any news from Leuchtenkreuz for ages now and not a single soul knows what happened in that place. Granted, people would normally have no business in backwaters so far-placed in the maps like Leuchtenkreuz. But she’s a chronicler. There’s always a chance she’d be tempted to at least visit the place once. It’s better for him to hold the details out and said that the place is terribly forested to discourage her from finding out.
”For years I’ve been tending to fools trying to cross that river for their own good. Once they cross, there's no saving them. Folly is the language they speak, I tell you. I trust that you don’t speak their language, yes?"
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