The Places Between
It is not advertised in the Adventurer's Guild, certainly not across the temples, nor even noted by a passing crier. Rather, quite the personal affair, with Aya making mention only to those known to her, and without urging nor expectation of others. She does not wish to involve many, perhaps none would be her preference. Fortunately(?) others have imparted upon her the folly of going alone. Possibly with force.
The meeting point is not far from the city gates; enough to be discreet, not so far as to become lost in the wilds or, worse, trip over wights. Just past the ferry, at tree at a fork in the road, Aya awaits. She currently leans against the trunk in the shadows of its leaves above.
All her sister had to do was say the word, and she'd be there.
And she was. Aryia, her signature green jacket thrown over the shoulder and held by a sleeve, emerges from somewhere behind the tree to stride up beside Aya. Face set in a stoic sort of resolve, she just gives her a dip of the chin, and presses her shades further up on her face.
Second guessing oneself would in end in loss of life. Or worse.
Cor'lana arrives dressed in a fine gown cut from fine silk dyed a deep violet, the deep bell sleeves hanging almost a foot from her wrists and the hem going all the way to her ankles, where her feet are wrapped in black ballet flats. Her hair is let loose and flowing down in gentle waves, and no glasses adorn her face. The dress is low cut enough to expose the entirety of her feather mark on her chest, and her black adventuring cloak is positioned and fastened securely so as to not hide the symbol.
Even Pothy gives Cor'lana a look as he rides on her shoulder. "Nadina," he mutters in a mimic of his mistress's voice, which causes Cor'lana to smile, but only briefly. There is purpose on her face, purpose in her steps. "I'm ready," she says with a nod as she arrives.
And right behind Cor'lana steps Telamon. He's dressed to the nines as well, his white ruffled blouse over black trousers, tucked into his silver-buckled boots, brushed and polished. The linked circlet on his brow, and a light cloak tossed around his shoulders as he steps up next to Lana.
"As am I," he says, affecting a calm, even casual air. His dark eyes twinkle, filled with stars, as he flexes his fingers idly. "Hopefully, this won't be too... traumatic."
Halani is not part of what one might consider Aya's inner circle. If the blue-eyed shadow elf even considers herself to have an inner circle. But the young islander woman shows up, nonetheless. She's had her own run in with Aya's foe more than once, and as with any other challenge Halani has faced, this is a mountain she intends to see climbed. So when the feelers came out... she was quick to respond.
Her arrival to the meeting point is rather mundane. She didn't even try to jump across the river. This time. No, it seems Halani is taking this quest seriously enough to conserve her strength.. so it's simply walking, with her staff slung over her shoulder with a sack tied on to the end that she approaches the gathered figures at Aya's tree.
Alright, mostly seriously. While solemn and purposeful expressions may have been adopted by the others, she offers all a toothy grin, then makes a fist with her one hand and bows her chin over it to the assembled heroes. "Heya! Sorry. Didn't mean to be late, yeah?"
Aya starts at Aryia's sudden appearance, relaxing promptly upon recognition as a smirk curls her lips. That's what it feels like. Her expression softens as she returns the nod and gives her sister a firm clasp on the shoulder. She then turns to the others arriving, with Cor'lana and Telamon's attire prompt her brows to lift; that is not what she would have expected as 'adventuring attire' ... but to each their own. Last, and not least in the slightest, she lifts a hand to Halani. "You are not late, Halani, and I am grateful you have come. All of you."
Her expression now firms. "I have not dealt with fae before, but all accounts from many assure that this is not something to take lightly. Some thought that venturing into the Iron Hells might be more simple..." A pause and exhale of breath. "I merely want all to be aware beforehand, and accompany at their own desire. The Queen of Air and Darkness is, from what I am told, not the most pleasant. While I am the one who seeks her aid against a foe, she may well demand some boon from us all."
Aryia leans into the clasping hand, a ghost of a smile flickers on, followed by a nudge with an elbow before the others show up.
She shifts a bit. "I feel underdressed," she gestures with a hand, tugging at her tank top. "Do I need to change?"
She looks to Aya, then grinds the heel of her boot into the dirt some. "You all already know my opinion of such entities-" She avoids glancing to Cor'lana. "But I am here for you, regardless of the circumstances. I didn't go to death land for you to fall into another fuck up."
At least she's honest. <Handspeech/Tongues>
Cor'lana nods resolutely, her hand finding Telamon's and squeezing it. "I will do my utmost best to make sure we all get out alive and as unharmed as we possibly could be--but I'm going into this expecting to be changed in some way. I may be the descendant of a fey noble, but I don't think that will protect me or grant me any favor more than any of you will have on your own. It may paint me as a target instead--and if that means she asks less of the rest of us for it, that's fine."
She puts her hand to the mark on her chest, the symbol shimmering slightly as she touches it. Her hand rolls up into a fist as she draws a breath. "To reiterate. If a fey asks you to give them your name, say, 'You may call me' followed by your name. This will prevent the fey from taking your name, as you have just given it to them freely. Do not thank the fey, as they will consider it an acknowledgment of an oath, which they consider to be most important. Do not eat their food, do not drink their drink, or you will find everything will dull and flavorless upon your return. And finally--speak carefully. Speak truthfully. Any extraneous words could be used against you like daggers hidden in sleeves."
Pothy just /stares/ at Cor'lana's ridiculously large bell sleeves.
Telamon lets Cor'lana give the briefing this time. Granted, it's about the same as the advice he gave last time he went into Quelynos. "Not much I can add to what Lana said. Keep your wits about you. The logic of the First World is not the logic of Ea, and things can get very weird, very quickly."
He arches a brow at Aya. "Not to step on your toes, but do you have any idea what you might offer the Queen in exchange for this weapon? I grant that she may want something quite meaningful... or nothing at all. But I suspect it'll be the former, not the latter."
"Huh. Mighta been useful to know that last time..." Halani muses, bouncing the staff off of her shoulder to plant it into the ground, leaning on it as Ravenstongue imparts her knowledge and experience with the fey. "Think the one we're gonna see probably already knows my name, yeah? Gave them something a year or so ago.. don't remember what it was, though." Very briefly the islander looks vaguely troubled, but then she shrugs it off. Like any setback, any failed fight, it's behind her.
Aya listens to Cor'lana and Telamon's warnings attentively. "I have some considerations in mind, though the fae seem to be... fickle." Halani's comment draws her attention with a snap, brow lifting in curiosity. It slowly lowers when the woman seems to not recall much and her lips purse. She is uncertain whether the lack of memory is bane, boon, or something between. "It is my hope and intent that nothing too costly will be wagered." Aryia gets a smirk, albeit a comparatively tentative one. "No one shall need to venture to retrieve anyone." She hopes.
Turning back to all, she takes a pause for breath. Inhale. Exhale. "Whenever all are ready, I can take us to the wilds of the fae." It will not be the first time she has ventured there. To bargain. With all good fortune, it will be the last.
Aryia pays careful attention to Cor'lana's instruction, her bobbing her head slowly with each note of advice. It seemed straight forward. Just basically don't tell them anything, and don't touch anything they offer.
She chews on her inner cheek, lips pursed off to the side. "I'll change when we get closer," she dismisses. Better to look halfway decent for royalty. Who knows, maybe the scars will score brownie points. Or whatever a fey brownie is.
Isn't that a kind of creature?
She shakes her head, focusing on the now. Aya's smirk is met with an impassive expression. "See to it. I'm reserving the right to deck you if you act a fool."
She blinks. "How fuck are you getting us there alrea- ah shit give me a minute. Fuck's sake."
She steps behind the tree to swap attire. <Handspeech>
"I am ready," Cor'lana says, fist still to her chest. There's a strength burning in her violet eyes. "I've been ready to travel to Quelynos for some time now. And while it's not where I hoped I'd go for the first time--I'm ready regardless."
Pothy looks like he objects. There are snacks on this plane of reality. There are so many of them! But... He also nods, keeping quiet. Now is not the time to go demanding foodstuffs.
Telamon opens his mouth to say something, but then stops as Aryia darts behind the tree. Instead, he smiles at Lana, giving her hand a squeeze. "I've done this dance before... hopefully it won't be quite as tense as last time." He shrugs. "Who knows? Maybe Grandfather's name will open a door or two."
"Although to be honest, with our luck, we'll wind up having to treat with the Matron Mantidalia," he adds in a slightly sardonic tone. "Sheesh. Even the dryads are more reasonable..."
Halani just shrugs at Aya's questioning look. "Sorry. Tried asking what it was I offered, yeah? When people tried to tell me... know what a river sounds like when it's nearby? Or a snow storm? Or.. well.. that's all I'd get when they tried." Another shrug. A life's mystery that will never be solved. So she settles back on her heels, giving her staff a little bit of a twirl which sends the small attacked sack spinning a little. "These clothes are the only ones I got... won't be a problem, yeah?"
Aya expected nothing less from Aryia. Perhaps she is counting on it. The assurance and mental-realignment, that is, not her rapidly changing clothes behind a tree. Once she steps out, Aya offers her a hand. The other is offered to the others. "Link hands, and we will travel by way of the Shadow Realm. It will take some time at a walk, so stay close and do not stray. There is no immediate danger, but there -are- things that lurk in the shadows, or you may find yourself alone and where you do not wish to be."
Once all have done so, darkness falls about them as the landscape shifts to a twilighted, filtered, vague version of where they once stood. What can be as they move seems to shift rapidly and unevenly with each step, as if distance and/or time were not constant in regards to what distorted scenery can be discerned. After walking for a time (how much may be difficult to discern given the variable and/or lack of references in the realm about them), Aya notes, "We have arrived."
GAME: Aya rolls 1d4: (2): 2
It takes a couple of hours to traverse the Plane of Shadows. The whole time there's a sense of discomfort in the air. You feel faintly disjointed. Then, your trek comes abruptly and completely to its end. You arrive in darkness. A night alive with eyes watching your every movement. A night _alive_. There's warmth in the air, there's the chitter of insects that you can't see all around you. The soft sigh of an owl somewhere chasing its prey. However the comfort of these familiar things can not stop the discomfort of being observed. A thousand eyes watch from the dark. Waiting.
Aryia blinks as they're whisked away to the Shadow Realm. A place she's never had the pleasure of experiencing before. Her hand stays firmly clasped with Aya's as they stride forth into rapidly passing nothing and everything. Perhaps a calm before-
The mute is jaunted, her frowning slightly as she finds her footing in the darkness. She adjusts the straps on a simple yet elegant verdant green dress with gold trimmings. It flowing downward and ends at her shins, flaring outwards. It is coupled with some long sleeves that end at her wrists, complete with green cloth gloves with her shoulders exposed.
She pops a grey ring off her finger, twists and pulls it about until it unravels into a grey metal tiara, and she plops it on to hold her hair back. She lets out a shuddering breath, that old feeling of something going awry and privacy absent creeping back up from the eerie, all seeing night.
She squeeze's Aya's hand, and looks for Cor'lana for guidance.
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Knowledge/The Planes+2: (5)+6+2: 13 GAME: Aya rolls knowledge/the planes: (6)+5: 11
Cor'lana feels the weight of those eyes that watch her in the dark, the night that writhes and breathes and heaves all around her--and while there's a discomfort in her hands that manifests as a tremble, there's a moment where she seems to realize something, or at least has an idea of where she is, and she smiles, a hand rising to her face to flick away a tear that's suddenly welled up in her eye.
"So far away, but not so far," she murmurs, drying her eye and putting her hand back down to her chest, to the mark of the Feathered One that's on prominent display. She draws in a centering breath, and she looks back into the darkness with all the hidden eyes that may or may not be there.
"Keep close to me. Do not be pulled away by beautiful things, lest you have to find your own way home," Cor'lana says quietly to her comrades.
Her hand drops to her side and she raises her voice, and she speaks calmly into the dark: "We seek an audience with Her Majesty, the Queen of Air and Darkness." And she takes one step forward. <Sylvan>
Telamon is unfazed by the dark, even in Quelynos. It sings to him, the music of the stars, and he takes a deep breath, placing his hands together, fingers steepled. The trek along the shadow path was stranger to his eyes. Deliberately, he checks his garments, inspecting them, before gazing around. "Can everyone see all right? If you need light, speak up."
His shoulder touches Cor'lana's, a brief contact, as he flicks his eyes upwards to inspect the night sky overhead. He doesn't expect to see anything familiar -- just looking for the stars.
This is not the first time Halani's been to the shadow realm, so she has a bit of an idea of what to expect this time. That doesn't make the journey feel any shorter. She heeds Aya's instructions to the letter; one simply does not jump off of the wagon when it is crossing the bridge. Being stranded in this realm is not high on her list of must-tries.
Neither is this Halani's first time to their destination. The memory of the place isn't sharp; the nature of the fey world doesn't lend itself well to an ordered mind. (Okay, mostly ordered. Usually.) But the sense of familiarity cannot be ignored. The watching eyes, in particular, are a familiar presence. "Wonder if it's gonna be Captain Doyle again," she says, already breaking Ravenstongue's warning about idle chatter. "Not sure better seeing will help much, here."
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception+2: (8)+4+2: 14 GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (11)+12: 23 GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (15)+30: 45 GAME: Halani rolls perception: (3)+30: 33 GAME: Aya rolls perception: (14)+30: 44
"If we are being watched," Aya states plainly of the sensation, "we would also be heard." Perhaps a warning to Halani... or to avoid Aya asking of this captain's fate. If it relates to here, it may be best she doesn't know. She looks around them, darkness or no, when her panning abruptly halts. Her sister's hand is squeezed if still held and her heart feels like it pauses a beat in surprise. Or something. "Dae-" No, that can't be possible. Shouldn't be possible. She catches and curtails herself, as it must be a trick. He'd best not be here!
Another few moments are taken to study the man she barely discerns to absorb more detail. No, not him... but still someone. She rotates her body more square to him, though more in indication for others than a threatening posture. Well, there is one way to determine his status, existence, and/or possible utility. "I am called Aya. I seek an audience with the Queen of Air and Darkness." That seems polite enough, no strictures violated. Yes?
Aryia watches Cor'lana do her thing, as well as the others idly observations. She keeps her mouth shut (can't talk), hands still (nothing to punch), and her opinions to herself (nothing good to say).
The hand squeeze gets her gaze to flick over in tandem. Shining eyes pierce the veil of night as best it could, settling on the figure. How did he get here-.
She flicks her gaze down and up. Not him. Well, Cor'lana was right at least. She just nods her head towards her sister, echoing the sentiment of purpose for the visit.
Cor'lana stays in place for the moment, the courage she's managed to well up while in the face of darkness clinging to her--or more accurately, she's clinging to it. "And I am called Cor'lana Lupecyll, child of Alud'rigan, the Feathered One, and I come to your court with Aya and our allies to seek an audience with Her Majesty, the Queen of Air and Darkness," she says again, a mite louder this time. <sylvan>
Pothy looks like he's holding something in, his blue eyes fixed on Cor'lana. His mistress may be comfortable here, but Pothy looks like he is not. After all, in the darkness, it's awfully hard to find snacks--and if you go fumbling for them, you may find that they are not the snacks you coveted.
The wind tugs playfully at Telamon's cloak, as he stands with Lana, with his friends. He doesn't chime in, not yet anyways, though the way Aya and Aryia are staring at one spot is slightly disturbing. Is someone there?
Regardless, he relaxes as Lana's silken words float through the night air, making entreaty. She doesn't need him butting in, and so he contents himself by lightly touching her hand. Offering silent support, the knowledge she's not facing this darkness alone.
Halani is oblivious to the new arrival. Initially at least. Never once has she been asked, 'What do your elf eyes see?' Once Aya takes her turn at addressing the darkness, drawing attention to herself.. and watching Aryia's response.. Halani does turn to look. An idle thought about upgrading her eyes returns a memory, and she grimaces. "Nope, nope," she says to herself. "Like my eyes just fine, yeah?" Aside from her quiet monologuing, she says nothing further. There's some etiquetting going on.. best leave them to it.
There is a man standing there. One with skin like the living darkness betwixt the stars, hair of ebony and eyes equally dark save where they glimmer with a thousand twinkling colored lights. His clothes are pure black on black, which helps him blend in with the night all around. Even his weapons are dark, and he veritably bristles with them. Yet you get the impression that the weapons are secondary. That he has no need for them. "Greetings on behalf of the Queen of Air and Darkness. You may call me Doyle. I am the captain of the Queen's Ravens. The Queen will not come merely because you call. Yet if you have something of interest to offer, you may tell me and be certain that she will hear." <sylvan>
"Heya. Careful," Halani warns, Doyle's appearance causing her eyes to widen as another memory comes to mind. She does a quick fist-in-hand-chin-bow to Doyle.. no need to be rude! Then looks to the others. "This is just the offering to get your request heard, yeah? Still gonna have to be a trade later to get what you want."
Aya may not be experienced with the fae, but she is more than familiar with 'Give it to me and I will pass it on.' Many such instances never make it past the doorman's pockets. That said, they still need to get past said doorman. "Our entreaty and any offerings are for Her Majesty..." she notes, firmly but without any edge. She then glances aside to Cor'lana and Telamon. Diplomatic endeavors, much less with nobility (regardless of her own origins) are not her forte. Doubly so concerning fae.
Aryia glances back to Halani at her warning as she gives a light bow from the hip as well. Her gaze settles on her sister, then flicks back to the two diplomats. The pitch night fey elf unnerved her slightly. Perhaps they were distant ancestors?
Cor'lana curtsies politely before Captain Doyle, the large bell sleeves of her silk dress shifting with the movement like the sweeping of wings. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Doyle," she says, maintaining her careful mien in the game that has begun, now that one piece has come to play on the board. "I offer Her Majesty the Queen of Air and Darkness a selection of poems, one that I wrote in tribute to her, and the rest written at a dark time in my life, as pain and tragedy can give rise to great art."
Pothy looks nervously at the Captain. There's a look in his eyes that suggests he's trying to figure out if he's offering anything. Does... Does he offer snacks? Would it help?
The white raven looks longer at the Captain of the Queen's /Ravens/, and while he might have thoughts regarding that moniker, too, he keeps quiet.
Huh. That's new. If there's one good thing about this trip, it's interesting fodder for the inevitable treatises and papers. Telamon cocks his head, studying the black-on-black figure. Halani's warning doesn't go unheeded, though, and he flicks a glance at Cor'lana. "Let's not make any sudden moves... or any promises that might be unpleasant to keep," he murmurs.
When Cor'lana begins making her move, he smiles at the prospect of poetry. Instead of interfering with Lana's words, he simply moves in time with her curtsey, bowing elegantly as he regards the fey creature with polite interest. Not wanting to jog Lana's elbow, but seeking to give a good impression -- and remembering when it's wise to be silent.
The man stands there silently, not blinking, not seeming to breathe really. He's a statue carved of night, until his head tilts to the side at Cor'lana's offering. Something flickers through his eyes that's almost impossible to read. "Gifts of art are no longer receiving the value that they once held in the Unseelie Court. The Queen of Air and Darkness politely declines. Old pains are of little interest, unless they are unique in some way." He looks at Aya. "You need not make the offering to me, but your voice carries from this place to her ears. If you have something of value then speak of it." <sylvan>
Cor'lana takes in a breath. "I should have offered additional context," she says. "These poems were produced after my mother, a sorceress, unmade herself in a magic ritual in front of my eyes and altered my memories, after I endured a childhood of isolation and rejection by my peers. I chose to lock myself away for an additional two years, unable to cope with my mother's loss."
There's a waver in her voice. She cannot hide away her sorrow forever, even here in a place of darkness that hides things so very well. "They speak of wanting to die by my own hand, of loneliness but being unable to leave a self-made prison out of a fear of pain and rejection, of having endured a deep and yawning trauma that nearly consumed me. If that interests Her Majesty, then I freely offer the poems."
Pothy looks with a concerned eye at Cor'lana as he sees a tear begin to roll down her cheek. But out of instinct--or perhaps fear--he abstains. It is the demonstration of pain.
Mikilos appears in a shimmer of silver sparkles, shifting in late. Looking around, the magus nods to those present, making a politle bow to the Captain of Ravens, unsurprised by his presence. "Apologies for my tardiness, I was unavoidably detained."
GAME: Mikilos casts Plane Shift. Caster Level: 18 DC: 28
Aya does not wish to undermine those fae-familiar (or fae-adjacent?), though the feedback from Doyle offers some useful inform-Taara's Conniving Ass! Brows arch, lifting eyes to widen as she looks to Cor'lana. Eyes that hold surprise, concern, and (perhaps new to her) empathy. They then flick past to Telamon, shifting curious and lastly to the suddenly-arriving Mikilos. No unnecessary words, she recalls. No need to greet Mikilos with more than a nod, then, before glancing to her sister and Halani to eventually make the rounds back to Doyle.
Aryia purses her lips some as the offer is denied, and Cor'lana backs up its contents with further pain and suffering inscribed within its texts. Perhaps she herself would have been privy to read them in the yesteryears, were her raised brows and tilt of the head anything to go by.
An idle thought of just obliterating what poetry the feytouched woman had created crosses her mind. That'd be suffering. Maybe. Or cathartic.
The thought is dashed by the sudden appearance of Mikilos. She blinks, remembering all the time's he'd suddenly pop up. She just gives a little nod as well, and leans on a back foot to hear the heartfelt counter offer.
Doyle, as he calls himself, moves suddenly. Catching the edge of her tear on her cheek and looking down at her. Somehow how tall he is doesn't hit until then. He's easily six feet and a few inches to spare beyond that. Towering over Cor'lana. He holds the tear on his finger. "Do you offer this pain to the Queen?" He asks in sylvan, his voice deep and tolling like a bell. He looks at no other for influence or response, only Cor'lana.
"Ah! Scuddles, wizard!" Halani exclaims. For all her vaunted monk perception and readiness skills, the sudden arrival of Mikilos still startles her. She must be more on edge than she was letting on. "Wear a bell or something, yeah?" She almost goes so far as to jab the tall elf with her staff.. but reminds herself that violence here might provoke unexpected reactions.
It is also quite possible her reaction is to help her avoid reacting to Ravenstongue's offered gift. Soul baring such as that can be awkward at the best of times, especially in front of strangers. So she does her best to act as though she didn't hear the story.
Telamon's eyes flare as Doyle gets a bit -closer- to his lady than he's particularly comfortable with. He murmurs, ever so softly to Lana, "Take care, love..." The fey, after all, can trade in things people are ill-equipped to lose.
His stare never leaves Doyle, watching him with the icy regard of a loyal hound tracking a possible threat. One hand on hers, the other casually flexing, fingers curling in and out as he lets out a breath.
"I do, freely, of my own will," Cor'lana replies, staring at Doyle through violet eyes that are clouded with tears, and that face she has tried so hard to keep silent--to make it so that the fey could glean no emotions from her, could take nothing that she has not explicitly offered--shows the first sign of breaking: the lips twitching, like she is trying to stop herself from wailing, to cry out for her mother again like she did on that day three years ago.
But there is the part of her that stares back into Doyle's eyes, unflinching, and that is enough.
"I offer this pain willingly to Her Majesty, the Queen of Air and Darkness." The child of the Feathered One says it clearly and loudly so that all may understand, all may hear.
Mikilos starts slightly at Doyle's sudden motion, but keeps quiet, not sure what he's missed. And remains silent through Cor'lana's answer. A good answer, if he's one to judge.
Aya does not speak up of caution as Telamon does; instead a hand lifts in silent gesture of warning. Yet the choice is made, and she respects this. Only after does she speak softly, if only the name "Cor'lana...?" Not warning, now, but inquiry. Concern. She has no notion of the cost of such an offering, and would not have pressed another to do so to learn of it... but now that much is done.
Aryia flinches visibly at the sudden blur of movement. Something faster than the body-honed trio? Her attention flicks from Cor'lana to Aya to Telamon, her throat bobbing in a quiet gulp.
"Then she comes." States Doyle, moving back a few steps from Cor'lana. His finger still holds her tear and suddenly there's a woman appearing out of the darkness. Stepping from the shadows as if she'd been waiting there all along and they simply pulled aside to let her be visible. She's in a stunning dress of black raven feathers, her black hair hanging down from her shoulders and a pair of fluffy feathery earrings hanging from her ears. The shadows dance and move around her like part of her costume, but the dress... it's stunning on her moon-pale skin and is far more beautiful than anything worn here and made by a more mortal hand.
She takes the hand of Doyle, and drinks the tear from it wordlessly, licking his finger clean and sucking on the digit for a moment before her eyes roam over the people gathered. "Greetings." Her voice is low and warm.
GAME: Halani rolls will: (12)+20: 32 GAME: Telamon rolls Will: (18)+9: 27 GAME: Aryia rolls will: (16)+17: 33 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Will: (17)+10: 27 GAME: Aya rolls will: (1)+17: 18 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Aya rolls will: (15)+17: 32 GAME: Mikilos rolls will: (16)+18: 34 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Knowledge/Nature: (17)+13: 30
Telamon rocks back on his heels... but in his eyes the stars still glitter, his mind still functions. His lips curl up in a slight smile, and he bows elaborately. "Your reputation does not do you justice, your Majesty," he purrs. But he doesn't leave Cor'lana's side, instead turning his eyes to Aya. As if to say, 'well, you've got her, now what are you going to -do- with her?'.
Halani braced herself. The longer she spends here, the stronger the sense of 'been here, done that' seems to be. The moment Doyle informed of his mistress's pending arrival, Halani began to steel herself.
Turns out her steel was more akin to unfired clay. Despite every attempt to hone her mind against foreign assault, to make the thing such an orderly system disguised as haphazard chaos, the queen's very presence knocks down every wall, obliterates every maze. Her eyes go wide, almost dreamy, and her normally tooth filled grin takes on a rather goofy undertone. "Wow... it really is a pleasure to see you again, Queen Breezie."
And the child of the Feathered One remains, but she puts a hand on Telamon's back--a subtle indication to bow--as she curtsies before the Queen of Air and Darkness, her sleeves sweeping out again like bird wings.
"Your Majesty, I am honored to be in your presence," Cor'lana says, managing to compose her emotions again--but there's a quiet sense of awe in her voice that she can't fully hide, as she is not a creature of the dark and cannot hide herself so easily, especially when she has already bared her heart.
However, she is fey blooded, and so she decides in that moment to remain standing, although she respectfully keeps her gaze low.
Aryia isn't typically one to be entranced with just a passing gaze. But this isn't a mortal thing she's dealing with. And with her isolation and disinterest of the other beings, she has yet to garner resilience against the very nature of what she cloth she was distantly cut from.
Why couldn't she be that good at making clothes? Why couldn't she? Such perfection, such intricacy. Yet the long decades of labor learning the craft meant nothing compared what was before her.
The mute's shining eyes are glued to the dress the Queen wears, her hands rifling through her bag to find something, /anything/, that would even get an /iota/ of a glimpse of recognition. Just a glance would be enough. A piqued interested would fill the rest of her lifetimes. "Wh-r- -r- y- d-m-t..." she hisses to herself.
Mikilos takes a slow breath as the Queen appears... she's as achingly beautiful as he remembers. With reluctance, he breaks his gaze and bows low. "Majesty. A pleasure to gaze upon you again."
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Will: (12)+10: 22
Pothy, however.
Pothy has never known love before now. Has he known the love of food? Yes. Has he known the love of his masters and mistresses? Yes.
But all of those pale now in comparison to the Queen in front of him. His blue eyes wander all over her beautiful feathers, glossy like the rain that clings to his own feathers with a summer storm, and he is laid low.
"Queen of my heart," Pothy says, mimicking Telamon's voice.
SHE IS HERE. Yes, Telamon's glance poses an excellent question. What is Aya to do? As she looks from Telamon to the arriving QUEEN, the intial answer to that is to kneel. She lowers herself in a deep curtsie with poise from nearly-forgotten practice combined with much more recent grace. She does not stop until one knee touches the ground, and her other nearly so, torso then folding to the latter. "Your majesty..." the tone of awe is beyond polite decorum.
Her prior concerns of unpreparedness and inadequacy are pushed to the fore. "I ... would gain your favor... but fear my gifts might not do you justice..."
The Queen of Air and Darkness' eyes fall on Halani briefly and displeasure touches her features. "We are the Queen of Air and Darkness. It is right that you refer to Us as "Majesty"." Then she turns to Mikilos, her displeasure fading to distant pleasure. "You offered a fine gift the last time you were here. What have you come to offer Us this time?" She barely looks at anyone else. Which is a crushing blow.
Mikilos does not preen in glee like a little school boy at the Queen's attention. You are hallucinating. But then the question registers, and the wizard pales. "I am ever at your service, Majesty, but am here as a humble advisor for the one who seeks your favor." He nods towards Aya.
Halani is torn. And not just.. indecisive. Like, it literally feels like her heart is torn in two. On the one hand, the queen's displeasure is the last thing she ever wanted to feel. She quickly bows her head, correcting herself. "Majesty!" So, mark the calendar. This is one of the rare moments when Halani actually calls someone by a name they prefer. But back to being torn...
At least she garnered some of the Queen's attention. At least she was noticed! So, the displeasure is not actually the last thing she'd have wanted to feel. Being ignored... that would have been the worst. So while she might feel an unreasonable anger towards Mikilos at garnering the queen's favor, at least she was acknowledged!
Pothy's eyes are filled with crushing despair. The beautiful and magnificent Queen with glossy feathers has not acknowledged him. Him! He's the only one in this room with feathers! Beautiful and rare white raven feathers! And yet, he was looked over. The poor 'repository of knowledge' for Cor'lana's maternal bloodline whimpers.
Cor'lana does not console Pothy, however. "Your Majesty, I accompanied Aya here so she may borrow a weapon of True Death," she says. "We are in need of it. If she is unable to provide a gift of her own pain... I may provide another in her stead." Her words are resolute.
Aryia shudders slightly as she can't find it. Where's is the damn skirt? Where is it?? The Queen was about to look right at her. And finally-
She just pulls out spools of thread, and a needle. And the gaze misses her. Going for... Mikilos? Halani? What did they have that she didn't?!
The mute drops to her knees and pulls out a small bolt of fabric. Frustration welling in her eyes. She needs validation. She needs it! Why won't the Queen look at her!
Telamon is... actually kind of glad he's not the focus of the Queen's attention. Having been eyeballed once already by a fey king, he's not really in a hurry to repeat the experience. Pothy's bizarre declaration immediately catches his ear, though, and he puts his hand over his face, expressing nothing but weary exasperation.
Aryia's frenzied movements get his attention, and he winces. There's going to be some grumpy folks when this wears off. Hopefully. "Aryia," he murmurs softly, trying to get the mul's attention.
Aya looks up when Her Majesty speaks, only to find her attention elsewhere. Her eyes dart between the others: Mikilos, who has already regaled her with tales of past sacrifice.
Halani, who already sacrificed, so much that cannot even recall what she lost.
Her sister, who already sacrificed a portion of her life for Aya to even be present at all.
Cor'lana, who already bared her soul to gain HER attention.
Telamon, Cor'lana's counterpart, strength... and might be the only one of clear thought at the moment.
Even Pothy, who... will not get all the snacks this time!
This isn't to correct their errors. They shouldn't bear any further burden. They shouldn't be holding HER attention. For their own good. Mostly. Probably. Maybe?
It is all about Aya.
"No!" she takes a shuffling kneel-step towards Her Majesty, hands reaching out towards, though well short, in plea. "It is -my- pain you should take!"
The Queen arches her eyebrow at Mikilos only to turn her gaze to Cor'lana. "Mmmm. A great boon you ask of Us. It must be some gift that you have to offer. Tell me child..." She moves forward, almost touching Cor'lana over her mark. Yet not quite. "We offered many years ago a place amongst Our Ravens for your forebearer. Why would he turn it down? It is considered a high honor." She seems idly curious, but Doyle at her back stiffens subtly.
Aya's sudden outburst draws attention however and the Queen moves toward her, placing a finger under her chin and lifting. "Your pain? Why should it interest Us? What have you to offer child?"
Mikilos deflates, the pressure gone... which is a terrible metaphor. But without the Queen's attention, he wilts, desperate to have it back, but daring not to risk displeasure by drawing that attention.
Aryia looks to to Telamon, her cutting a glare that could punch. "I'm busy, pretty boy," she gestures to him with a needle in hand as she looks down to start making... a corsage! Turn the fabric into a rose, a fold here, a stitch there and-
And now Aya had her attention! The sibling rivalry flares within her, as well as betrayal. After all she's done for her, why couldn't she get an ounce of the Queen's beloved notice!
She doesn't realizes she's already lanced her hands thrice in her fervor, little red speckles of ichor staining the fabric.
She looks down to inspect.
RUINED?!?! "Fffff-!" she hisses, then starts coughing. <Handspeech>
Halani finds herself lamenting that she has nothing to offer the queen besides flippant remarks. And somehow, through all of the haze of her obsession with the fae monarch, she understands any more of that would be a terrible, wonderful, but terrible idea. So she laments. Jealous of Aryia's skill with the needle and shared appreciation for dress. Jealous of Mikilos's height to put him closer to the Queen's eyes. Jealous of Aya's... silly circumstance of NEED giving her an excuse to demand the queen's attention. Jealous of Pothy's feathers. All she has is her training.. and how empty that is in the face of this.
Cor'lana stiffens, as well, as the Queen draws so close to her--and then the revelation that dear Grandfather was offered a position in the Queen's Ravens and declined it comes out. Her violet eyes--the same violet eyes of her fey forebear--widen. Him? Her Grandfather? Offered a place with the /Unseelie?/
"He did not tell me of such, Your Majesty," she says. Her eyes flicker over to Doyle briefly before she returns to looking in the Majesty's direction. "But I know Grandfather, as his blood runs in my veins, his magic intertwined with that of my mother's line. If he turned down that position despite the honor, it was because he has never truly felt at home among his own kind--a sentiment I have often felt myself. An outsider, a loner, isolated from all but longing for a soul to understand him--but he found that relief in love and in lineage."
She pauses for a moment. "I hope that was a satisfactory answer, Your Majesty."
Aya is touched! A shiver runs from the point of contact at her chin to her spine and down to her knees. Awe? Fear? Yes? She looks up at HER due to the lift of chin, but her eyes are conflicted: they shouldn't look up on her... yet she is directing as much ... is she? ... don't want to look at anything but... Moving, they catch sight of Doyle at her side, but again, it isn't Doyle that she sees. It is only a moment, but her eyes flick back to the Queen full of recollections and pain.
"Love. Never sought, never wanted. Revelling in its only to lose it. Discovering another love that was always present, even offered, yet you ignored. Then forsaking that love to regain the first..." Her eyes wet, yet her face contorts in anger below them.
"No, not just forsaking. Murdering. Destroying, with your own hands. Never knowing if it is your will doing so, your own glee you feel in it, or that of another. Witnessing that again, every time you close your eyes. Fearing it will happen again when your eyes are open." Her has become clenched beneath the Queen's finger even as tears begin to slide.
"That is my pain."
Though the queen touches Aya, it's to Ravenstongue that she speaks. "Never felt at home among his kin? What nonsense, but then he had peculiar proclivities did he not? Taking a mortal as a lover." She traces Aya's face with her fingertips, clutching her face with long pale fingernails. "Mortals. Their pain _is_ lovely."
She leans down to Aya. "You offer Us love? Death? We will take it all from you dear..." She offers her lips to Aya. Like a kiss.
-TBC