The Feast of the Phantom Moon [Empire!]

[TheDarkDM]

The approach to the Winter Courtlands was an eerie one, the ships of the visiting delegations slipping into the pale mist that drifted down from the mountains to embrace the rolling sea. In that mist, the peaks above seemed to seethe as though a living thing, the shadows playing tricks in accompaniment to the muted sounds that echoed from the interior. It was a journey few outside the Winter Court had made, a journey that might have cost the life of more than one king had it not been for the periodic signal fires on the heights, towering blue-purple in the gloom and warding captains away from the treacherous shore. Thankfully this blind approach was a temporary thing, for within hours of entering the mist the foreign ships found themselves attended by a sleek longship of Winter, guiding them through the well-traveled routes of the Winter Fleet to reach their home port, Caer Ceisych. The mist faded before a great breakwater, revealing a sprawling seaside settlement of peaked longhouses, dry docks, and warehouses, the shipyards of Winter nestled in the bosom of a protected bay. And above them, the towering lighthouse of Caer Ceisych proper, fortress home to the Orm and headquarters of the fleet. The waters of the bay were mirror still as the foreigners arrived, their escorts slipping back into the mist to resume their patrol, and while there were docks enough for hundreds of ships there were scant dozens of longships drawn up far to the flanks. The central berths lay open and inviting, and beyond them the long road into the mountains.

A small delegation of Winter Aeldir awaited each new arrival, a single tall representative in black flanked by a harpist and a celebrant waiting with wreaths of boreal roses. Such was the welcome of the Winter Court, music and the sweet flowers they loved, while the representative greeted guests in their own tongue and guided them to waiting carriages of lacquered wood. It was only on reaching the island proper that the sound of ravens began to cut through that of waves and working sailors, calling attention to the vast number of birds wheeling in the air and nesting in the high crooks of the houses. Ravens white and black and darkest blue watched the proceedings with uncanny interest, and seemed almost to speak with their quorking calls. But soon enough the carriages were moving, guiding their charges into the heartland of winter and Caer Gheimhridh.

The journey was a long one, perhaps an hour rolling over a smooth road that had been cobbled in the time of the old empires. As they rose higher into the mountains, the forest pressed thick around them, black boughs contorting into clawed hands in the rose-born fog, the fluttering of ravens transfigured into ghostly apparitions. Yet all was not darkness, for periodically a village would appear through a break in the trees, revealing diaphanously clothed Aeldir cavorting in the misty sunlight, the sound of harps and pipes echoing through the air in a melody both inhuman and inviting. The melodies of Aeldir song and Aeldir poetry drifted from a dozen shrouded concerts and innumerable secret rendezvous, and even the creaking of the carriage wheels seemed to join the uncanny harmony. Eventually, they had risen above the forest, above all but a tangled thicket of rose bushes, and as the fog blew past on an arctic wind they saw it. Caer Gheimhridh, high seat of Lord Winter, capital of the Rose Demesne.

The citadel itself was a towering thing, carved into the side of a mountain peak that rose from the secluded valley that held the Aeldir city, its stonework so ancient it was near impossible to tell where wrought stone ended and the mountainside began. The city was a sprawling thing of chaotic order, avenues and walkways tangled into elaborate knotwork that seemed impossible to navigate at first glance but drew the eye until the flow of the city became apparent. Here, longhouses and warehouses were joined by even higher-roofed festhalls, sunken amphitheaters, and the immense Grand Temple to Anghau. And not a one lacked for celebrants, as Winter Aeldir thronged the streets, erecting long trestle tables in shared parks, working beneath tents in huge open-air kitchens, and organizing orchestras and choirs for the night ahead. The highway that had carried the delegates from the sea cut through the tangle, a single straight line that led to the switchback path that rose more than a hundred feet to meet the entrance of the castle itself. It was a path their drivers had taken many times, and with a practiced whip their horses began the ascent at surprising speed, until they at last arrived in the long oval courtyard that overlooked the entirety of their path, through the rough-cut valley of their ascent towards the barely-visible sparkling of the sea.

The entrance to the citadel lay at the top of a wide stair, two double-doors of age-darkened wood, twenty feet tall and wrapped in wrought iron and silver tracery. And above, a rose window of blue-glass staring out in cyclopean wonder. On either side of the doors hung long banners bearing the sigil of the Winter Court, while from a balcony high above, the banner of the Rose Courts united hung down almost to the top of the rose window. Flanking the staircase on either side were grim Raven Knights, fully armored in their ceremonial garb, their coldblood blades held in salute to their honored guests. The doors lay open and inviting, revealing a wide corridor awash in blue light, the music of strings drifting from the interior. That light was revealed to be lamps of boreal nectar hanging from the walls of the corridor, each flanking a long mural commemorating the ages of the Aeldir, add their pale radiance to the shining azure of the rose window above. The corridor was intersected twice by door-filled corridors leading to spiral staircases, but it was clear the final destination lay at the end. For there, in a court that lay open to the air in a circular shaft at the center of the keep, stood the circular dais of the Winter Throne. It was a strange thing, for above it loomed an immense thorn tree encrusted in blue roses. Nestled in the roots was a graven seat of black granite and sapphire quartz, and it was there that Lord Winter awaited his guests. Shrouded in black as was his custom, Balor Morrig stood to welcome those that approached.

<"Enter my home as honored guests, you who would attend this holy celebration. You have traveled far across unknown seas, and for that you have my gratitude. Take your ease, and let us show you the hospitality of the Demesne.">

[PepperP.]

Ambrose of the League of Allied Provinces

The Red Tide sailed the short distance from Havanand to the northern shores of Tir Amser and Lord Winter’s domain. The agile dhow navigated the rough waters easily, her great red shark-fin sails visible from a long ways off as she neared her destination. The Red Tide was accompanied on this voyage by her sister ship, the newly christened Draindu, or Black Thorn. Intended as a gift for the Lord of Winter, her three angular sails rose tall and black above the ocean, she ran a skeleton crew for the brief journey north where they expected to leave her at Balor Morrig’s pleasure.

Derris stood on deck as his ship cut through the chill mists that hung around the northern isle in a thick fog, the port appearing out of the gloom as they neared. The Protos’s mood was pensive as he gazed into the fog that obscured the dark water they sailed through. Though Derris valued his allies above all others, and the Provinces remained eminently unified, his fellows were often quick to scorn and discount those who were not of the Provinces, and Derris more than once felt that he alone saw the wisdom in the tenuous peace they held with their close and powerful neighbors.

Though trade flourished between the two polities in the years since the treaty had been signed with the Aeldir, to the great benefit of both, he had felt the tension growing between the two powerful entities. Never either openly showing signs of hostility, more it was the tension of two alpha predators sizing the other up from a distance, after tacit agreement that conflict would surely be the ruin of both. That the Lord Winter made effort to reach out, spoke to Derris of a willingness and desire to continue the cooperation between them that had been so vital to the early growth and success of both of their realms.

Once moored at the docks, the Protos disembarked with Maldarr and his Polemarchos’s son, Nyle. He was pleased to have his friend by his side once again, his submergence into his Uncle’s Boxing League had given him an outlet for his frustrations and grief, and he was much returned to the man he had known before the doomed love with his Avonlean Queen had taken hold, if older and less taken to carousing. They were both older, Derris reflected, his own hair had made the slow but steady march to salt and pepper, and smile lines that framed his mouth and eyes had become more noticeable as age’s glacial pace wore crevasses into his face. Maldarr was weathering middle age well, his shoulder length hair still thick and dark, though his forehead showed horizontal lines as though he frowned more oft than not.

Manhood had taken hold of Nyle, a handsome but serious lad of seventeen, he gazed out at the world through his mother’s bright blue eyes, his hair a shade or so lighter than his father’s though he shared his sire’s tawny tanned complexion. The three men were dressed similarly and warmly, with thick cloaks over fastened tunics of suede and leather. Derris favored the natural browns of the leather that was embroidered in red and gold, his long cloak the deep crimson of his homeland, a garish splash of color against the stark backdrop of this wintry realm. His head was crowned with the gilded laurel crown of Ambrose which he wore with the easy confidence garnered from his lengthy reign. On his hip he wore the Mournblade, a posthumous gift from the former Primal Queen Roethye. Maldarr’s dress echoed his Protos’s, though he was clad solely in black, a walking dirge who’s trials over the years did nothing to temper his swagger.

The three boarded their carriage and gazed upon the foreign and exotic landscape as they were driven to their fortress destination, finding it stark in it’s beauty and welcoming in its own alien way. As their delegation entered and was welcomed by Lord Winter, the men stepped forward to greet their host. Nyle, lacking the cynicism of his elders, gazed at the splendor of Winter’s citadel with awe and admiration.

“Greetings Lord Morrig, we are pleased to join you for your celebratory festival.” Derris inclined his head and gave a short bow in acknowledgement and respect to his host’s dominion over the land to which he was invited.

[HalfTangible]

"'Courage' is what happens when you wage a war against your own fear and win." -Primal proverb

---

[A Land of Mist and Ravens]

The Primus Imperium's delegation was relatively modest, consisting of a few servants, a small guard of the Custodia Alta, and five people of import, : Lady Rikadime Navus, High Princess Phelnia Primus, Aomgone Primus, Crudice Primus, and Symrera Navus.

As their carriage made its way to Caer Gheimhridh, Rikadime looked over the people around her. Phelnia wore a mask of indifference that didn't manage to hide her hand grasping her daughter's like a vice. The scars on her face were one of several reasons the woman was difficult even for Rikadime to read.

Aomgone had been excited about seeing a foreign land, as she'd missed out on Avonlea' unification, but had grown more somber and quiet the closer they got. Now, mere minutes from the winter palace, she looked like she'd been haunted.

Symrera... she looked as controlled and confident as ever. Of course she did. Rikadime found her cousin utterly insufferable.

Rikadime looked to Crudice. It had taken a herculean effort to get Phelnia to even allow her to come. The Lord Winter had been the reason that the Spring ACourt had sought out the child in the first place, and Phelnia was paranoid that Lord Winter would try and take her like the Pavos had.

Not for the first time, Rikadime wondered if adopting the child into Phelnia's line had been a mistake. The girl was old enough to take up her first weapon, but she still wore a dagger. Her mother's influence, no doubt.

Rikadime steepled her fingers, and steeled her mind. It was going to be a long feast.

---

As the Primus delegation met Lord Winter, their guards kneeled, and Rikadime bowed. "Hail, Lord Winter - I am Lady Rikadime, of House Navus. This is Symrera Navus, my cousin and our proposed ambassatrix. I am also honored to present High Princess Phelnia, Princess Aomgone, and Princess Crudice."

Symrera bowed as well. She was a youthful woman with bright silver hair that hung down to the small of her back. She wore the crude armor that the Primus were infamous for polished to a mirror-shine. She had a large sword strapped to her back.

Aomgone's head was bowed, but only her head, and she didn't seem to hear anything. Behind her slightly curled red hair, her breathing was ragged, and though her eyes were hidden and she was dressed for the climate (as much as you can in armor, anyway) she was shaking.

Phelnia's bow was a terse one, born out of courtesy as much as actual respect. She was the only one in the delegation not visibly wearing some form of armor - she wore a black cloak that concealed her form, one of Satsujin origin.

"We have also brought gifts for your Court - first, all information we could find on Aeldir activity within Imperial territories before we made contact with the demense." She paused. "The list is admittedly very, very short, but I thought it only appropriate in any case. Second, a shipment of raw moonsilver. While I doubt you have need of the weapons or armor we usually make with the stuff, it's a fairly interesting material in its own right - the people of Sextus believe it to be crafted by the gods. Both gifts have been unloaded from our ship and should be here momentarily."

She frowned a bit. "Just... don't touch the moonsilver with your bare skin. It's safe once it's forged, but painful to handle when it's raw."

Quinton has said he wants to roleplay Crudice to the nature of her character.

[Mary_Sue]

Aris in the Winterlands

Eirwen had been her constant companion upon their journey north-west to the northern borders of the mysterious isle Tir Amser. Aris often spent her little free time at Keya's Rest conducting her child's lessons herself, preferring to have Eirwen at her side rather than leave her to a Governess. Though she kept a retinue of maids and as bid by the Council, harem men, Aris was not given to gossip or debauchery and much preferred the company of her daughter to her cackling hens and often left her harem to them. Aris enjoyed the company of Mariya Stoutheart alone amongst her maids, and even she was more prone to lascivious behaviour than Aris was wont. Her maid was mad in love with the pink-haired Nanda ambassador, Kamran, though as yet he had not lain with any of her maids, as far as any of them would admit. He was said to pine for the Queen and the Queen alone, and eschewed the favour of a woman lesser in his eyes. Aris coloured at the thought. To be true, she was well-intrigued by the man, and flattered to be sure, though she felt in her heart that she belonged to the Dullahan of Winter and could not bide the thought of being taken by another man, intriguing or no. A wry smile flit across her lips, how pleased the Council would be if she were to bear another child, pink-haired or half Aeldir or otherwise. Upon their last meeting, Aris had queried her lover whether there might be another child between them.

She had awoken, the morning after the Cacique's election ceremony, still cradled in Lugh Annan's arms. Eirwen had arisen in the night whilst they slept and wedged her small form between them atop the covers. Aris had smiled to see them both next to her and slid her arm around her two loves. She had watched as the Dullahan's eyes slid open and she asked softly,

"Might there be another child?" His response had left her with more questions and small knot of unease within her breast,

"I know not. To sire a child of two worlds is to tempt fate, and to do so without my Lord's blessing again would likely spell my doom. If you would have another child of me, my sweet Queen, seek out the Balor Morrig and ask it of him." She understood not his talk of doom and permission, though she would not seek to press him lest she be the cause of further hardships in the eyes of his Lord. The notion that he had suffered because of herself and their child, made her humble and grateful to him, though she would not have reverted her child's existence even to spare him his suffering.

As their carriage passed them through the mists to the mountain fortress of Balor Morrig, Aris remembered the Dullahan's words and they were much on her mind. Might she tempt the Lord's wrath and ask his blessings upon another child? She shivered, though not due to the brisk air. Eirwen had spent the carriage ride staring rapt at the passing sights and the peoples who looked much like herself. Eirwen exclaimed at how lovely the pale maids were in their ephemerous gowns, and Aris agreed, though they put her in mind of spirits, immortal spectres bid to live eternally in their small portion of the world, spending ages unknown within and seemingly rarely experiencing anything new. Eirwen waved at the locals as they passed by, many wore masks of surprise to see an Aeldir child smiling back at them. Aris smiled to see her daughter's delight, the child was dressed in white, a pretty gown that had specially been embroidered in dainty black roses, with black ribbon laced up her bodice and sleeves. She had also been made to wear a long white rabbit fur cloak, though ever weary of being overly warm, had eschewed it as soon as they had ascended their carriage. Her long hair, straight and fine, was paler than her mother's own platinum tresses, and a small hammered silver circlet that had been wrought from three thin bands adorned her white brow.

The Queen herself was dressed in a long gown of mist-grey velvet, with sparkling silver embroidery that banded her arms, sleeves and hem and framed her decolletage. Her grand raven feather cloak that had been a gift of the gallant Noorden King graced her slim shoulders and fell down her back to brush the ground. As her daughter, she too wore a circlet of silver, though hers shone and glittered with sparkling clear gems throughout. As they approached the Lord of Winter's imposing form, an urge grew within her to beg his forgiveness on her own behalf and for the Dullahan. That she had known not what they do, and she had not sought to displease him so. She would throw herself at his feet and beg him to allow her another child of the Dullahan, to bid her daughter with his own eyes, so like her child's and see her whole and perfect, as her mother and his own goddess did. But she was a Queen, and so she did none of these things. She glided unto the Lord, holding her child's hand proudly, her lovely countenance calm and serene. Her retinue of pretty maids stood well behind her, though she was joined on her right by the Swanmay Princess Celeste. A petite creature, she was an ebon swan, with skin dark and gleaming, her red eyes piercing as they darted skittishly over the staring folks and the stern Lord.

As if on cue, together Aris and her cohort curtsied deeply to this Lord of Winter,

"Avonlea is grateful for the invitation to attend your celebration, My Lord. I thank you for this honour." Eirwen looked to her mother, unsure if proper for her to address this Lord directly,

"Merry met, Lord of Winter. I am grateful to you also, and well pleased to see my father's homeland." Her natural solicitousness took ahold, and she addressed the Lord politely, her mother satisfied with her child's confidence and manners.

[moossabi]

Traveled far across unknown seas was an exact description of the voyage to the Winter Courtlands. Before they could even make it to the coastal village, Cassandra and her group were ambushed by a group of Daenic zealots who violated the border regulations trying to force their views upon the group of 'heathens.' An arm now rested in the stomach of one of the more aggressive Gnolls and the rest went missing. From there they politely requested transport to the Winter courtlands from a small coastal town in Bereholst, and he rest of the journey is self-explanatory and rocked with seasickness.

As was the norm, the new Uca Jajaka was accompanied by High Chieftain Gorubalsh and a company of more protective Gnolls. The only others within the group were about ten Dhuda Loka recordkeepers ready to record any goings-on. Cassandra herself was fairly average compared to her compatriots. While the traditional Uca Jajaka garb (pink leaf tunic with dead branches protruding to the sides of the back and a semi-crown of branches upon the head) was present as ever, she only came to about 5'6". Her skin was pale from spending so much time within the Union's basin-capital and her nose was a very bright red due to the awful sulfur stench that dominated her childhood within Tumbledown Marsh. Her hair was fairly long and unkempt in a shade of red almost as vibrant as her nose.

Upon the long awaited arrival in the throne room of Lord Winter, the party was incredibly impressed with the architecture of the hall, especially the throne. The recordkeepers can be seen scribbling things down quickly while the others enter. After the others have made their introductions, Cassandra steps forward (the Gnolls mirror the movement in order to maintain formation. "Greetings, Lord Winter. It is a great honor to finally meet an Aeldir Lord for myself. I look forward to being able to get to properly know eachother better." The Gnolls nod in agreement. "Oh, and please don't mind my associates. They've been following me everywhere to ensure that nothing like the... events... that lead to my appointment. The Iron Gauntlet has proven itself to be worse than Daen followers when it comes to hostile action."

[Zayuz]

It had been a few years since Queen Lilia had been to a major foreign event. The last one had left a lasting impression on her; surely if all parties were as great as the Unification Celebration of Avonlea, it would be a terrible shame to miss out on it. Though the initial fear of an event akin to the last foreign meeting that was held in the Autumn courts did cross her mind, she noticed that it was made explicitly clear in the note that she, and by extension her people, would be under Lord Winter's protection. ..This was the most 'direct' contact she had actually experienced with the Aeldir, all of the other notes having gone through Lignummus instead of her realm. Now that they were joined as a federation - This was no longer the case. She would meet them in person. ..Sure, they may have been at the Avonlea event, though she had hardy even a glimpse of them, let alone a greeting. They seemed like busy people; perhaps even acting one entity rather than four who joined as one. They were a curiosity to the Queen, perhaps even role models. ..She only hoped they might live up to her expectations.

Each leader of the Union would travel separately, each using different small fleet of ships to get to their destination. Lilia was (of course) the first to depart from the shore, bringing with her a variety of southern gemstones in a small, handheld box. The box was comparable to the size of a large brick, though it weighed nowhere near as much. It was instead wooden, with a soft fabric lining the outside. It was hollow inside, the walls of the box being thin, but made up for it with a reinforced steel sheet along the inside. Between this sheet and the refined gemstones was a layer of cotton fluff, preventing the precious stones from scraping against the steel. The box bore no patterns on it, though the contents of it were surely worth a great deal; even in union lands where the resources were produced. The ships on their way to the feast were of completely new design to the Queen. She had heard that the clinker style was actually of Aeldir make, and the sails were inventions of the League of Allied provinces. Such foreign technologies astounded her, and she personally hoped that her people would invent something of equal greatness in the coming years. The Lignumese and the Tribesmen already had, though the Zaj never actually had any inventions they could truly call 'theirs.' She was aiming to change this of course, a new style of fighting on water and large-scale industry were on the way..

After a few days of sailing, Queen Lilia and her assortment of ships arrived in the dense mists around their destination. They might have gotten lost if not for their tight formation, some towers, and the miracle of a white boat that came and lead them through the area. A total of five ships sailed alongside their guide, making their way through the dense mists around the island. The ships docked, allowing their passengers to move onto the next phase of their travels; the caravan. Lilia sat alongside her Embassatrix. In truth, she wasn't sure how it would work just yet, but Kiltia was ideal for the task. A Zaj born into one of the highest houses in the city, gifted with the talents and passion for logic and management. In fact, she was the one who had prompted the restaurant movement that had just started. Government-run facilities that provide food, make money, and calm people down? That sounded good to her at least. Kiltia was only nineteen, but her skills had made her the ideal replacement for the aging blue member of the council. She was surprisingly insightful, but skeptical about most things she came across. Fortunately, she was fascinated by foreign technologies. This made is very easy to convince her to fulfill the role of embassatrix, as she was already very eager to leave the city she had grown up within her whole life.

As the caravan climbed the misty mountain, the citadel came into view; earning a long stare from the passengers within. They were guided to the impressive steps, where the two women ascended the stairs up to Lord Winter. Garelis accompanied them, as he had in the previous event. Lilia wore a simpler dress of red, which descended down to her black sandals that fit cleanly over her feet. ..It was quite cold for such attire, though she had been using a blanket in the caravan for their journey. The lady had pale skin, and golden hair that seemed to reflect the light off of it. She wore it down freely across her shoulders, the end of her hair coming down over her back. A circlet of emeralds rested upon her head, shining in the dim light as she carried the box within her hands. She had a graceful aura about her, taking time with each movement and then flowing right into the next. The light green patches of scales along her neck and the back of her hands seemed to be made of emeralds and were accompanied by a smooth, decorated set of horns on her head which separated her from any humans that might have been present at the occasion. Kiltia was not quite as composed. The younger girl radiated excitement, approaching at a brisk pace and looking up at their host in awe. Everything about the area was so different.. So.. Magical. She loved it. Her hair was worn to the back; coming in a hue of silver that contrasted her dark purple dress. It was placed in a ponytail, the ends of her hair carefully curled before her arrival. Her horns slanted upwards slightly, curving back over the sides of her head before smoothing out once again just behind her head. It made wearing headgear difficult, but she never really liked that stuff anyways. A smile was stuck on her face, waiting for Lilia to catch up and gazing at the handsome figure with excited blue eyes. Her scales also happened to be this color; and of which she did not have many of. From afar, one might even think she was human if not for the horns.

Meanwhile, their stoic guard stood just behind them wearing a set of chainmail and a heavy sword by his side. He was primarily adorned with standard pants and a thin forest colored robe that went from his waist to his ankles. It only occupied the left half of his left leg, which drew the attention up to the badges along his chest. He had a considerably high amount; obviously a seasoned and well respected soldier. Him and Lilia had been friends since they were young, resulting in a mutual trust between the two. The man waited behind them, offering Lord Winter a deep bow alongside Lilia. It took Kiltia a moment to catch on.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Morrig." Lilia extends her arms forwards, offering him the box. "It does us great joy to be invited to this event; I hope our token of appreciation may represent our profound gratitude." A small green dragon curled around Lilia's shoulders, it's forked tongue sticking out as it looked upon the lord. It appeared to be an aspis, and it was quite healthy at that. A glimmer of intelligence shone in it's eyes, as if it understood more than what was being let on. It had grown much since she had received it, and it was a treasured pet to the queen. Since the time she had been taught to take care of it the two became almost inseparable.

[Aedilred]

Isfandir followed quietly behind Derris, happy to leave the business of diplomacy to his alliance partner, who he had come to think of as something like an uncle. He would rather not have come himself, knowing he had little talent or patience for such matters, but, common to his dynasty, it seemed, there were too few he could trust in competence and in loyalty. Not for the first time, he half-cursed his father for his recalcitrance: he would much rather have sent Kusal on this mission but would not recall his father to court until he promised not to pursue legal action against the queen, and that Isfandir would not allow. So the impasse between them remained, and had only grown with the passing years. Then again, he was glad of the opportunity to get away from Sheydah, though he would probably rather not have come so far. His list of grievances against his wife spun round in his mind in their familiar pattern, occasionally interrupting his thoughts but failing to advance in any way. It was the same litany as ever, and while sick of it he could do nothing to rid himself of it. Meanwhile he sought to distract himself by focussing on military minutiae, analysing attack vectors, lines of sight, estimating distances and measuring them against crossbow range - it was a habit as much as anything, but his parents had shaped his mind for war and now war was everywhere he looked.

He did not like this place. A creature of the plains and deserts, he felt the cold of this region in his bones. The further from shore they had ventured, the more he had swaddled himself in furs, trying to shut out the chill, and by the time they reached Caer Gheimhrid, almost all that was visible of him were his dark eyes, framed in a deep blue-purple, peering from between thick scarf and cloak and a furred hat. He yearned to feel the sun on his skin again, and to restore some greater awareness of his surroundings in doing so. Despite wearing more clothes than probably ever before, he had never felt so naked in his life.

He echoed Derris's bow, saying nothing.

[woolli264]

Queen Eleanor and the rest of the Ruby Legions representatives had set out from Lignummus by ship and warily followed the coast for the majority of the trip. Despite the new ship building technologies they had acquired, the Furfolk were accustomed to small, sturdy canoes that could not go far out to sea without disaster. They also preferred to use oars over the lanteen sails the boat was equipped with since oars were far more similar to the paddles that the experienced Furfolk sailors had used all their lives.

Eventually though, as they passed the Frescodonian coast they worked up the courage to set sail across the Crystal Sea.

By the time the ship reached the misty Aeldir waters the group was thoroughly tired. The fairly long journey had been taxing on all with little to shade them from the pouring rain that had plagued their journey and the rowing was a difficult task. The northern fog droplets clung to their fur and their clothes and they could be seen shaking water off of themselves as often as anything else. The party longed for their rain forest home and were overjoyed when land came into view.

The sailors would stay in the port and maintain the ship but had all been given a small sum to entertain themselves while they awaited their departure. All those who did not wish to drink the entire time would come with Queen Eleanor and the Sasu Masters to the party.

Each master wore a red, knee length skirt that was held tight by a belt. On their chest they wore only two long strips of similarly coloured fabric. Each was draped over a shoulder and crossed the chest and back before being tied tightly in their belts. They all donned warmer cloaks, however, for the journey up the mountain. Queen Eleanor wore similar clothes only in green while the few sailors who came wore blue.

When the party arrived at the palace they were in awe of its impressive size always forgetting that they were wee folk in comparison with most other races. They ascended the steps and arrived at the throne.

Queen Eleanor stepped forwards proclaiming:
"It is a pleasure to meet you Lord Morrig. We are honoured to have been invited to walk the grounds of this mighty palace on this legendary island. I can speak for us all when I say that the beauty of what we have seen so far has surpassed our expectations ten times over."

[Gengy]

While there were now a great deal of many things to do, after assuming control of the Spring Court, Lady Spring Aleuta Kellianth knew that missing this party would be an insult to Lord Balor; something that she could not afford. Though matters of trade fell into her own purview, Lord Winter was well acquainted with trade routes and it was with his aid that the Spring Court had managed to stay on top of the expanding Demesne. To offer even an unintended implication of an insult would be poor form, and potentially place strain upon the relationship that she was working hard to develop and maintain.

The fact that he has known every Lady Spring, including the originator, and permanently dealt with more than one of them in his own fashion is also quite compelling. Aleuta thought many such thoughts to herself, as she and her honor guard - led by the Spring Boy Eoghan - made their way through the purple forests of Spring and into the colder hills and mountains of Winter. Aleuta had been here before, under less... favorable circumstances. She was so glad that the Age of Conflict was over; and she dearly hoped she didn't run into any of her old... acquaintances within the Winter Court. The last time she had been here, the conversations involved daggers and wounds and, eventually, much to do with running away.

She was... mostly confident that the tidbits of information that she had obtained during that time were no longer of any importance, but Aeldir - especially ones that lived as long as Lord Winter - had lengthy memories. And Aleuta could no longer say things like 'Lady Spring ordered me to do so', as she was constrained by the needs of tradition to maintain the Line of One. Silly though she thought of it at some times, it was important to the Courts and to Glaw Novo especially that she was Lady Spring, and that any other Lady Springs were simply earlier versions of herself, no found in the past and memories only. It made her life more difficult in some ways, but it was ultimately freeing in others. Being Lady Spring meant ultimate power within Glaw Novo, and a significant voice of power within the entire Rose Demesne.

Aleuta had learned much about the other Seasons from Kellianth Beagen, and though the two of them privately held a fear of the Dullahan, and - in part because of that - a healthy respect for Lord Winter himself, Kellianth had helped Aleuta to school her expressions and make herself believe - strongly - that she was Balor Morrig's equal. It was... not easy, for Aleuta. From her perspective, it had been so simple for Kellianth Beagen, who had been the embodiment of charm and cuteness, and had also been known to throw massive tantrums when privately within the confines of Caer Bolbereta demonstrating her anger when something went wrong; the day she had found out that Cynfonni had been 'protected' by the Summer Court without her knowledge was still fresh in Aleuta's mind.

Kellianth had offered more than one piece of advice when facing the other Seasons, but the one that lasted with Aleuta was this: "Accept the truths: Lord Summer is strong, Lady Autumn is magisterial, and Lord Winter is wise. But Lady Sping is the clever one, by far. Lady Spring must match wits with each of them, and where before they would have struck down someone whom they found lacking, now they must show solidarity. When I am gone, you will be the fourth Season, Aleuta. A fourth pillar to hold up all of the Rose Demesne. And though you may rage and shake with some of the things they do, know that they will never let go their grips, for that would show weakness; not just to those inside the Courts, but now, to outside them. So you must be the clever one. And sometimes... sometimes the clever thing is to show just a hint or two of weakness."

"It makes your moments of strength look all the more significant."

Aleuta had reflected on this and other such tidbits of information given to her, and was slowly beginning to realize not the things that Kellianth Beagen had done... but the things that Aleuta Kellianth had managed to do, to further the goals of the Demesne and the Courts. She must not let go her own grip, either. She was not as strong as Lord Summer, but that did not mean she was feeble. She did not know every law like Lady Autumn, but that did not mean she was incapable of diplomacy. She was not as wise as Lord Winter, but that did not make her a fool. She was Lady Spring, and her dark blond hair hung down to her shoulders, to meet her lovely little white dress, augmented with gold stems from violet roses. Her smile was not infectious like her predecessor's, but it was blushing and bewitching in it's own way. She had her finger upon the pulse of every merchant, every deal, every inquiry, every bit of research in all the known Expanses, and there was no one else who could handle it like she was.

She was Lady Spring. And this Feast would be her place to show the rest of Arandi that the Cutest of the Cute was still a title deserved by the Eastern Season of the Aeldir. Such was her thoughts when her and her small group of Spring Court Aeldir arrived and were presented to Lord Balor. She looked him straight in the eye, and did not flinch.

...though she did bob her head perhaps just a little lower than she would have liked. But then... it was his party, even if Aleuta had helped to arrange it for the rest of Arandi. She gave him a brief, if beaming smile, and said quite clearly, "Grandfather Balor. A pleasure to see you. Thank you for hosting. Do you have anything that you require of me at this time, or shall I see to my own concerns?"

[TheDarkDM]

Entered fully into the Fane of Winter, attention eventually turned away from the towering magnificence of the lord's throne and about the room itself. The throne's dais sat atop six wide steps, each wide enough to comfortably support a wagon and encircling all but the rearmost quarter of the room. Each was adorned with a mosaic depicting a great hunt of spirits, ghostly horses and riders streaming across a sky that transitioned from night to day and back to night, driving a horde of vicious specters before them. At the head of the procession rode a singular spirit, black armored and crowned with terrible and glorious antlers upon his brow. So too was the floor surrounding the dais adorned, but that mosaic was one of sky and snow and fluttering ravens with ruby eyes. Balconies ringed the hall at even intervals along the rising shaft, the nearest one bulging into a stage above the boughs of Winter's throne. It was there that the orchestra was assembled that serenaded the gathering host of powers and princes.

On the lowest step of the dais waited two figures in somber yet revealing gowns, one with hair of gold, the other auburn. Here were the two mortal women longest serving in the Winter Court, Talisha Collins and Helia Whitstone, soon to be joined by further representatives of the wider world. A distance from them on the third tier stood figures well recognized by the assemblage, the Dullahan in his white and the Orm in her deep blue. Yet they were joined by a third, a Winter lady whose long hair was drawn into an intricate coif around a winged silver tiara and eventually fell in a long braid to the small of her back. Her lithe hands and frequent attention towards the musicians above betrayed her rank, Ionath Orda, Lord Winter's chief bard and author of the invitations the Spring Court had distributed to the four corners of Arandi.

The Allied Provinces

If Lord Winter found amusement in the Nanda King's discomfort he gave no sign, instead returning the greetings of King and Protos with a respectful bow of his own.

<"And my greetings to you, Lords of Ambrose and Nand. Greatly have our realms prospered in the long years of our treaty, partners in taming this forgotten world. May we see yet more of each other, for many decades to come.">

Primus

Lord Winter's bow was similarly respectful, though his gaze lingered on Symrera before answering.

<"Welcome, Ladies of Primus. Your gifts are generous, and will be much treasured by Court. Know, Symrera Navus, that while this land is unknown to you you will find it an amicable home.">

Avonlea

Lord Winter smiled at the approach of Eirwen and her mother, the child now proven free of a ruinous fate.

<"And we are grateful for your presence. Too long have our peoples worked together to deny you the embrace of Tir Amser. Please, take your ease, and explore my realm to your heart's content.">

Union of Besina

The gnolls accompanying the Uca Jajakan Council earned a raised eyebrow from Lord Winter, but he made no further comment as Cassandra stepped forward. Her talk of Daenite fanatics, however, evoked a frown. This celebration was of the Demesne, and disharmony would not be tolerated. Still, Lord Winter bowed in response.

<"A prudent precaution, cousin. I welcome you to my Court, and so
too do I hope to know you better.">

Lady Spring

The arrival of the new Lady Spring was expected, but still Lord Winter watched her closely as she approached. Her predecessor's mastery of the ways of Tir Amser had proved an impediment in their foreign endeavors, yet the Kellianth past had been an able ruler nonetheless. He had great hopes that her successor would continue to build upon the achievements of the Spring Court.

<"It is my pleasure to host you in my Court, Lady Spring. Please, take your ease.">

Crystal Union

To come with the completion of the Ruby Legion's entrance!

[moossabi]

Union of Besina

The gnolls accompanying the Uca Jajakan Council earned a raised eyebrow from Lord Winter, but he made no further comment as Cassandra stepped forward. Her talk of Daenite fanatics, however, evoked a frown. This celebration was of the Demesne, and disharmony would not be tolerated. Still, Lord Winter bowed in response.

<"A prudent precaution, cousin. I welcome you to my Court, and so
too do I hope to know you better.">

"Agreed. To be honest, the likelihood of hostile action at this time seems highly unlikely, but that's what everyone thought about Pralkemiri..." Cassandra pauses and lets out a sigh. "The funny thing is that I can understand the necessity of killing in war. Death comes to all eventually- well, except for your court of course- and the quickening of it to serve a valid cause is perfectly acceptable. But without reason, the only thing that can be done is asking 'why' while the perpetrators hide away laughing."

[HalfTangible]

Entered fully into the Fane of Winter, attention eventually turned away from the towering magnificence of the lord's throne and about the room itself. The throne's dais sat atop six wide steps, each wide enough to comfortably support a wagon and encircling all but the rearmost quarter of the room. Each was adorned with a mosaic depicting a great hunt of spirits, ghostly horses and riders streaming across a sky that transitioned from night to day and back to night, driving a horde of vicious specters before them. At the head of the procession rode a singular spirit, black armored and crowned with terrible and glorious antlers upon his brow. So too was the floor surrounding the dais adorned, but that mosaic was one of sky and snow and fluttering ravens with ruby eyes. Balconies ringed the hall at even intervals along the rising shaft, the nearest one bulging into a stage above the boughs of Winter's throne. It was there that the orchestra was assembled that serenaded the gathering host of powers and princes.

On the lowest step of the dais waited two figures in somber yet revealing gowns, one with hair of gold, the other auburn. Here were the two mortal women longest serving in the Winter Court, Talisha Collins and Helia Whitstone, soon to be joined by further representatives of the wider world. A distance from them on the third tier stood figures well recognized by the assemblage, the Dullahan in his white and the Orm in her deep blue. Yet they were joined by a third, a Winter lady whose long hair was drawn into an intricate coif around a winged silver tiara and eventually fell in a long braid to the small of her back. Her lithe hands and frequent attention towards the musicians above betrayed her rank, Ionath Orda, Lord Winter's chief bard and author of the invitations the Spring Court had distributed to the four corners of Arandi.

Primus

Lord Winter's bow was similarly respectful, though his gaze lingered on Symrera before answering.

<"Welcome, Ladies of Primus. Your gifts are generous, and will be much treasured by Court. Know, Symrera Navus, that while this land is unknown to you you will find it an amicable home.">

Home.

Symrera doubted this place - with its baleful light, mists, and conspiracies of ravens would ever feel like home. There would be little sex, even less respect from the people and a complete lack of combat for her homeland's glory. The air was so thick this far from the mountains, and there was a humidity that made it hard to breathe. But the sentiment was nice, and she liked that the Lord Winter's gaze lingered while he had a good view.

Rikadime would not have chosen her if she lacked self-control.

Do not lie to the Aeldir, not even to be polite - everything you say must be the truth. Do not even use sarcasm. Rikadime had said. They punish lies with a harshness that borders on absurd. But exercise tact, and be respectful. Symrera had put these instructions to good use during her time among the Spring.

"Of course, my Lord." She said in a voice as soft as rose petals, rising from her bow. "As intimidating and mysterious as this land is, it has a gothic beauty of its own. Your musics tickle my ears and strum my soul. I look forward to learning more and hope we can be friends, or at the very least that there be no hostility."

That much was true.

"If I may begin our... education," Phelnia spoke with a slow, deliberate respect that belied how unsure she was of this question's tactfulness, "Your first bard's letter said that this festival is meant to inaugurate the week of the winter solstice, but also called it a festival. What specifically is it meant to celebrate? The solstice itself? One of the gods? An annual festival seems to me a curious custom for a land that did not mark the years until recently."

[QuintonBeck]

"'Courage' is what happens when you wage a war against your own fear and win." -Primal proverb

---

[A Land of Mist and Ravens]

The Primus Imperium's delegation was relatively modest, consisting of a few servants, a small guard of the Custodia Alta, and five people of import, : Lady Rikadime Navus, High Princess Phelnia Primus, Aomgone Primus, Crudice Primus, and Symrera Navus.

As their carriage made its way to Caer Gheimhridh, Rikadime looked over the people around her. Phelnia wore a mask of indifference that didn't manage to hide her hand grasping her daughter's like a vice. The scars on her face were one of several reasons the woman was difficult even for Rikadime to read.

Aomgone had been excited about seeing a foreign land, as she'd missed out on Avonlea' unification, but had grown more somber and quiet the closer they got. Now, mere minutes from the winter palace, she looked like she'd been haunted.

Symrera... she looked as controlled and confident as ever. Of course she did. Rikadime found her cousin utterly insufferable.

Rikadime looked to Crudice. It had taken a herculean effort to get Phelnia to even allow her to come. The Lord Winter had been the reason that the Spring ACourt had sought out the child in the first place, and Phelnia was paranoid that Lord Winter would try and take her like the Pavos had.

Not for the first time, Rikadime wondered if adopting the child into Phelnia's line had been a mistake. The girl was old enough to take up her first weapon, but she still wore a dagger. Her mother's influence, no doubt.

Rikadime steepled her fingers, and steeled her mind. It was going to be a long feast.

---

As the Primus delegation met Lord Winter, their guards kneeled, and Rikadime bowed. "Hail, Lord Winter - I am Lady Rikadime, of House Navus. This is Symrera Navus, my cousin and our proposed ambassatrix. I am also honored to present High Princess Phelnia, Princess Aomgone, and Princess Crudice."

Symrera bowed as well. She was a youthful woman with bright silver hair that hung down to the small of her back. She wore the crude armor that the Primus were infamous for polished to a mirror-shine. She had a large sword strapped to her back.

Aomgone's head was bowed, but only her head, and she didn't seem to hear anything. Behind her slightly curled red hair, her breathing was ragged, and though her eyes were hidden and she was dressed for the climate (as much as you can in armor, anyway) she was shaking.

Phelnia's bow was a terse one, born out of courtesy as much as actual respect. She was the only one in the delegation not visibly wearing some form of armor - she wore a black cloak that concealed her form, one of Satsujin origin.

"We have also brought gifts for your Court - first, all information we could find on Aeldir activity within Imperial territories before we made contact with the demense." She paused. "The list is admittedly very, very short, but I thought it only appropriate in any case. Second, a shipment of raw moonsilver. While I doubt you have need of the weapons or armor we usually make with the stuff, it's a fairly interesting material in its own right - the people of Sextus believe it to be crafted by the gods. Both gifts have been unloaded from our ship and should be here momentarily."

She frowned a bit. "Just... don't touch the moonsilver with your bare skin. It's safe once it's forged, but painful to handle when it's raw."

Quinton has said he wants to roleplay Crudice to the nature of her character.

The seven year old Crudice walked with a purpose and dignity more reminiscent of a Spring Court Aeldir than an actual child, or at least she did for a little while. As they had disembarked her poise had begun to slack as she stared wild eyed and fascinated at the Winter Aeldir and their magnificent structures. Their pale white skin was so different from her own, even from her Primal family's which bore such little resemblance to her crimson hue and she wondered briefly if they might not be in some way connected. The thought was not spawned merely from their dissimilarities to Primus but related also to her many dreams about an island brimmed with pale skinned people that in her heart she could feel as home. She had woken up in tears many a time from that dream, its strange familiarity discomforting her and implanting some odd yearning to see it which lay at odds with a guilt at the thought of abandoning her family especially her mom, Phelnia.

She'd been told how she wasn't her mom in the same way other mom's were. How her real mom had been a traitor to the Imperium and how she'd been saved from her. She thought she understood but to her it didn't really matter. Phelnia had raised her and she loved her dearly, just as much as any other child loved their mom. To her that was enough and even if her red skin and horns caused a lot of people to point and whisper she knew Phelnia loved her just the same. When they entered the castle of Lord Winter its opulence and oppressive bigness had prompted her to move closer to Phelnia and grab her hand though she made sure to keep looking forward and to be respectful of the host. The host, a black clothed Aeldir who looked in his stance and aura to possess all the power of the winter winds which might put a Roc into the side of a mountain or push a worker from the trusses of a skybridge.

She cast her black eyes to her feet, both out of fear and respect for the specter on the throne and out of guilt over thinking about such things. Her mom didn't like her listening to stories about death but Crudice couldn't help but find them interesting. The violent endings of those tales always seemed so important though she struggled to say why. Her interest was curtailed however by her mom who had explained her fear that if news got out about her interest in death she might be under more danger than she already was. She was always under threat because of her appearance and the idea made her sad. She had been vaguely aware of it before but recently when the Pavosi had been discovered and turned out she knew it was because of her. She hated that she had to be coddled for while every other Primal child her age she knew had at least hunted and many had made their first kills. She frowned at her mom's protectiveness, frustrated despite her love.

As Lady Rikadime spoke and the others began to bow or kneel as appropriate Crudice looked to her mom and mimicked her bow though it was less terse for she had not the intent or desire to offend the specter on the throne. She was quiet during the exchange between Lady Rikadime and Lord Winter fidgeting quietly in the tense coldness of the room. She sucked on her lower lip, a nervous tick, and her eyes darted around the room though their full blackness made it difficult to track their focus.

[PepperP.]

Entered fully into the Fane of Winter, attention eventually turned away from the towering magnificence of the lord's throne and about the room itself. The throne's dais sat atop six wide steps, each wide enough to comfortably support a wagon and encircling all but the rearmost quarter of the room. Each was adorned with a mosaic depicting a great hunt of spirits, ghostly horses and riders streaming across a sky that transitioned from night to day and back to night, driving a horde of vicious specters before them. At the head of the procession rode a singular spirit, black armored and crowned with terrible and glorious antlers upon his brow. So too was the floor surrounding the dais adorned, but that mosaic was one of sky and snow and fluttering ravens with ruby eyes. Balconies ringed the hall at even intervals along the rising shaft, the nearest one bulging into a stage above the boughs of Winter's throne. It was there that the orchestra was assembled that serenaded the gathering host of powers and princes.

On the lowest step of the dais waited two figures in somber yet revealing gowns, one with hair of gold, the other auburn. Here were the two mortal women longest serving in the Winter Court, Talisha Collins and Helia Whitstone, soon to be joined by further representatives of the wider world. A distance from them on the third tier stood figures well recognized by the assemblage, the Dullahan in his white and the Orm in her deep blue. Yet they were joined by a third, a Winter lady whose long hair was drawn into an intricate coif around a winged silver tiara and eventually fell in a long braid to the small of her back. Her lithe hands and frequent attention towards the musicians above betrayed her rank, Ionath Orda, Lord Winter's chief bard and author of the invitations the Spring Court had distributed to the four corners of Arandi.

The Allied Provinces

If Lord Winter found amusement in the Nanda King's discomfort he gave no sign, instead returning the greetings of King and Protos with a respectful bow of his own.

<"And my greetings to you, Lords of Ambrose and Nand. Greatly have our realms prospered in the long years of our treaty, partners in taming this forgotten world. May we see yet more of each other, for many decades to come.">

"May it be just so, Lord Morrig." Derris said in agreement, unperturbed by Isfandir's discomfort. He had long grown used to the Nand's peculiarities, as he was sure they had his own.

"In honor of the festivities and our continued partnership in prosperity, we have brought two gifts to share with the realm of winter." Derris motioned forward his Strategos, Galon Barberis, a large muscular man who's tattoo covered chest was bare even in this climate, though he wore a crimson cloak much like Derris's own, the greatsword Perdition worn across his back. Galon brought forward a heavy barrel and set it wordlessly in front of Lord Winter before resuming his place behind his Protos.

"The first, is the very last barrel of our twelve years aged Ambrosan Brandy. a much headier spirit than our common trade liquor, I am sure you will find it to your liking." Derris's lips quirked briefly as he remembered his Polemarchos Peder Colins's horror at discovering Derris's intention to give away the near extinct spirit. To hear him tell it, he had to wrest it away from no less than a dozen monks at the Sanctuary of Reflection where the Ambrosan distillery was located.

"The second, Draindu, awaits you in your harbor at your leisure." He had turned to include The Orm into their discussion. Upon it's completion he had bid his ship masters to name the intended gift Black Thorn, in the Aeldir tongue.

"You will know her by her black sails which are as pointed as the thorns of her name. She is a fine vessel, we pray she serves you well." Derris only now noticed his niece amidst the Lord of Winter's retinue. He had not known her well throughout her childhood, his strained relations with her father, his former Protos and Rival, Gabor Collins, had not ended until the man's death as a traitor at Derris's own hands. Still, there was blood between them and he bid himself address her.

"It is good to see you, niece. You are looking quite well. I hope you have found satisfaction with your station here." Indeed it seemed that Winter's realm agreed with her, here Talisha had blossomed into a much lovelier woman than her adolescence had promised in Ambrose.

[Rexleox]

As The Glass Sea Strider a ship crafted by an Igara named Onister who is the best shipwright in all of Petravolan entered the thick mist the ships sails were yanked up by strong seamen to slow the advance of the ship. Slowing down so the ship could be controlled steadily as to avoid the dangerous shores that were marked with blazing fires. At the sight of the longship that was to act as there guide Thalgram was relieved after hours of being essentially blind with nobody to give proper direction to his ship. The long trip especially the many misty hours gave Thalgram plenty of time to think about who he was meeting and was curious to meet the person that had such a deadly reputation. He thought on how they would interact with each other, if they even would as Lord Winter seemed to be a quite man who feels himself higher then other men and races. He even second guessed himself on whether or not he should even be going to this gathering as the last one the Court held ended in disaster.

When he was sure that he was going to keep his decision to go and take his chances he decided to look over the gift that he had made for Lord Winter, a white glass blade that was made from the white sands of Caladia and had gold encrusted on the handle and ran in ribbons all the way to the tip of the sword. The sword was purely decoration as the sword would shatter if it hit anything harder than flesh but remained to be just as sharp as a shard of broken glass. He placed the blade back into its long black box and handed it off to is guard to bring back to its storing place.

After the long voyage Thalgram and his guards were glad to touch the ground again. Taking in the dim scenery and the happy greetings, it set Thalgram on edge on how people were acting so happy in such a gloomy place. Throughout the carriage ride Thalgram did not calm down but continued to see gloomy places with happy people, songs and poetry. He and his guards are always happy in their tropical weather and found it very difficult how one could find joy in scenery that just seemed to want to take it from you.

As soon as they broke though the forest Thalgram saw the citadel he was reminded of The Grand Temple that was built into Domi in a similar fashion. He showed an eager face to see if the inside of the citadel looked similar to the temple although he doubted it. After traveling through the magnificent doors and corridors to arrive in the main hall he stopped in front of Lord Morrig.

Thalgram was wearing a white cloak embroidered with gold thread that full hid his large body and he bore a suspicious look but carried on as he would for any other royalty. Giving a bow he said "It is an honor to meet you Lord Winter and Lord Morrig, please accept a symbol of my gratitude." One of the guards flanking Thalgram pulled out a long box from under his cloak and offered it to the lords.

[Mary_Sue]

Entered fully into the Fane of Winter, attention eventually turned away from the towering magnificence of the lord's throne and about the room itself. The throne's dais sat atop six wide steps, each wide enough to comfortably support a wagon and encircling all but the rearmost quarter of the room. Each was adorned with a mosaic depicting a great hunt of spirits, ghostly horses and riders streaming across a sky that transitioned from night to day and back to night, driving a horde of vicious specters before them. At the head of the procession rode a singular spirit, black armored and crowned with terrible and glorious antlers upon his brow. So too was the floor surrounding the dais adorned, but that mosaic was one of sky and snow and fluttering ravens with ruby eyes. Balconies ringed the hall at even intervals along the rising shaft, the nearest one bulging into a stage above the boughs of Winter's throne. It was there that the orchestra was assembled that serenaded the gathering host of powers and princes.

On the lowest step of the dais waited two figures in somber yet revealing gowns, one with hair of gold, the other auburn. Here were the two mortal women longest serving in the Winter Court, Talisha Collins and Helia Whitstone, soon to be joined by further representatives of the wider world. A distance from them on the third tier stood figures well recognized by the assemblage, the Dullahan in his white and the Orm in her deep blue. Yet they were joined by a third, a Winter lady whose long hair was drawn into an intricate coif around a winged silver tiara and eventually fell in a long braid to the small of her back. Her lithe hands and frequent attention towards the musicians above betrayed her rank, Ionath Orda, Lord Winter's chief bard and author of the invitations the Spring Court had distributed to the four corners of Arandi.

Avonlea

Lord Winter smiled at the approach of Eirwen and her mother, the child now proven free of a ruinous fate.

<"And we are grateful for your presence. Too long have our peoples worked together to deny you the embrace of Tir Amser. Please, take your ease, and explore my realm to your heart's content.">

Eirwen smiled to be so welcomed by her father's Lord in his own lands, and felt the warmth of acceptance in these chill halls. Aris too, felt her anxieties much comforted and thought to query the great Lord as the Dullahan had bid her once he had leisure to hold for her a private audience. This greeting hall was too public for so private a matter.

"I have awaited this day for long and long, My Lord of Winter, ever since my mum told me of my Sire and how he dwelt in a land of ever-winter, and I will be five on my next name day and mum tells me that it is nigh at hand. Isn't that right mum?" Eirwen looked askance at her mother who's gaze could not be kept from the Dullahan once it had found him, though too was she aware of Helia's eyes upon her as well.

"Yes, my sweet. Conceived on the Mother's Moon after the spring equinox and born on the Mother's Moon after the winter solstice, a lucky child indeed." She smiled warmly at her child's father and returned her attention to Lord Winter, for she had the happy business of presenting his host gifts yet.

"My Lord, if it please you, I would present your gifts to you in thanks for the honour of your invitation, and for the warm greetings that Eirwen and I have received at your behest. For that you have my gratitude" As High Queen Aris mentioned gifts four maids of gold stepped forward so that they may present their gifts unto the Lord.

"My Lord, the maid Claviana holds in her hands a silver broach from the famed mines of Bellarion." Claviana opened the small cedar box to reveal within a silver cloak pin of a raven in profile, with one wing spread and his eye twinkling with onyx. The fresh scent of cedar wafted from the box which had been carved in a wreath of ravens on the lid. A second comely maid stepped forward holding yet a second cedar box, this one slightly larger and painted with a wintry mountain scene in white and grey.

"My Lord, the maid Fenille holds in her hands the fine cigars of Coventry." Fenille opened the painted box to reveal a dozen thick cigars nestled within, their musky, floral aroma commingling with the scent of cedar. A third and forth maid approached the Lord, carrying a heavy earthen jug between them.

"My Lord, Mariya and Lisare would present to you an amphora of Mistwater Wine, from Evemoor." The maids set the jug down and curtsied prettily as the Lord's eyes came upon them. Aris was about to finish with her presentation when the Swanmay Princess Celeste stepped forward. Diminutive and graceful, Celeste was dark as the ebon wood of her homeland, her long fine hair was as black as her feathers in swan form, and feathery black eyelashes framed her startling red eyes. She had a skittish demeanor about her, as one wont to being taken for prey though she also had an air of determination about her, and she brought forward a small quiver of arrows fletched with black feathers.

"My lands hold little of value, Lord of Winter, but for it's people. We would offer you a small token of ourselves as thanks for your hospitality." Princess Celeste was soft spoken and she trembled slightly, though from cold or fear or otherwise, one could not say.

[RandoMan]

Lord Turien had traveled to the Winter Court at his Lord's request, the Lord Summer consumed as he was with conversions in the Geshem Expanse and his doting on the mortal Lynesse Oakburn, the Avonlean who had replaced Helia Whitstone as mortal parasite upon the Summer Court. The Ranger had not been especially pleased to receive the order for his own desire was to oversee the completion of the Forts in Silverwood and Tillwell which he might then grant to a lesser Aeldir noble who had proven themselves. There were many Thyrngar eager to prove themselves to the preeminent Ranger knowing as they did his influence and power within the Demesne. The thought gave him pause, savoring the prestige he had earned through many a campaign.

Turien might have challenged for Lord Summer when last the title fell to the Court had Drustan not. The two had been old friends and Turien knew his friend was a more capable warrior having once campaigned on foreign soil even before the Rose Contract and garnering much prestige from it. Now however the two held near equal credits to their name and what deficiencies the Ranger might have had to his Lord were balanced by Drustan's mortal perversions. The thought made the Ranger wrinkle his nose in disgust. It was not that he did not see the utility of the mortal races, unlike Drustan he saw the potential for the Salvax in war and the Geshem as administrators, but these were roles in service to the Aeldir. Drustan saw mortals it seemed almost like equals and his proclivity for Avonleans had developed into a perverse set of rumors that were he not Lord Summer might have seen him expelled from Tir Amser.

In Ages past had news of the Dullahan's dalliance with the Avonlean Queen and siring of a halfborn outside the island reached the Summer Court the Lord Summer would surely have seen to the protection of the Aeldir and the elimination of such a dangerous element. Now such news was met with the siring of another carrying the vitality of the southern court's greatest warrior. It was a dangerous and irresponsible handling of the situation and while it was said the halfborn was found to be fullborn by the Dullahan that such a test was even needed was a sign of the degradation within the Courts. To answer such irresponsible perversion not with punishment but with replication spoke of a deeply maligned morality that had sunk into the Summer Court and when Turien had heard no action taken against the Dullahan he knew Lord Winter was once again toying with the power of the halfborn.

Like all Aeldir Turien appreciated and respected the most ancient Aeldir but he had lived long enough to see Lord Winter for what he was, an Aeldir of great knowledge and a curiosity more dangerous and invasive than even the most curious Lady Spring. Locked away in his icy northern bastion Lord Winter might have ruled the four courts and sat upon the Rose Throne before its sundering for all Seasonal Ages past had he so desired but his obsession had never been with power but instead with knowledge. Drustan misperceived knowledge as power and saw Lord Winter almost as a superior but Turien saw it truly, for power required no knowledge but the knowledge of force and how to use it, a lesson easily learned and known by all within the Summer Court. No, Lord Winter was no more powerful than Lord Summer or the Ladies Spring or Autumn. He was, however, far more dangerous for his pursuits of knowledge would allow not only toleration for but proliferation of threats to the Aeldir in the interest of learning more. He would dare not say as much but in his soul he knew it was true that Lord Winter did not become the most ancient by caring and protecting his fellow Aeldir and in that way he was the reflection and opposite of what the Lord Summer was to be.

When the time came Turien would see the balance restored and the elimination of the idolatry of the Winter Court within the Summer. The southern court would again be ruled by a Lord Summer who protected Aeldir lives without creating or tolerating those that falsely claimed such heritage. When Drustan at last went north and joined the Court to which he now all but belonged the flickering heat of Summer would be kindled into the great inferno it ached to be.

These thoughts consumed and distracted the Summer Aeldir from the cold grimness of the northern court as he made his way out of the cold and snowy forests and stepped into Caer Gheimhridh. He traveled lightly and alone, darting and dancing through the streets as if they were trees until he neared the Citadel. He changed from the natural camouflage of a Thyrngar Ranger to the green-brown leather and cotton dress of the Summer Courtlands. He wore a great green cloak to stave off the northern cold which hid his clothing and marked him especially at odds with the dark blues and light white hues of the Winter Aeldir. He entered the Lord Winter's hall with the bearing of a great general casting an appraising eye over the Raven Knights whose purpose was so at odds with the Thyrngar that even sharing their goals and purpose beneath Lord Summer looked near as alien as the Spring Boys who garrisoned the securest forts and castles of the Demesne. He approached the Lord Winter's throne, his eyes passing coldly over the Dullahan as he took in the Aeldir presences and as he reached the Lord Winters throne he knelt before him subserviently.

"I come as representative of my Lord Summer who apologizes to your Lordship for his absence and offers recompense that his time is spent as we speak spreading the respect and worship of the Old Gods among the mortal denizens of the Demesne. It is hoped that I, Lord Turien of the Thyrngar most trusted of my lord's Rangers shall not offend by speaking in his stead."


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[TheDarkDM]

Union of Besina

"Agreed. To be honest, the likelihood of hostile action at this time seems highly unlikely, but that's what everyone thought about Pralkemiri..." Cassandra pauses and lets out a sigh. "The funny thing is that I can understand the necessity of killing in war. Death comes to all eventually- well, except for your court of course- and the quickening of it to serve a valid cause is perfectly acceptable. But without reason, the only thing that can be done is asking 'why' while the perpetrators hide away laughing."

Lord Winter nodded sympathetically as Cassandra mused. True, the Aeldir of Besina were a bastard bloodline but they were Aeldir still. The passing of one of their wisest was a blow to all the world, whether the other races recognized it or not.

<"Take comfort, then, that it appears the Iron Gauntlet's days of secure anonymity seem doomed to disastrous end. I doubt the Pale Empyrium will let the death of one of their favored sons pass without fire and steel. But enough talk of such grim matters. Please, take your ease in my hall and amongst my other guests. It is impossible to foresee when even dire enemies might become fast friends.">

Primus

Home.

Symrera doubted this place - with its baleful light, mists, and conspiracies of ravens would ever feel like home. There would be little sex, even less respect from the people and a complete lack of combat for her homeland's glory. The air was so thick this far from the mountains, and there was a humidity that made it hard to breathe. But the sentiment was nice, and she liked that the Lord Winter's gaze lingered while he had a good view.

Rikadime would not have chosen her if she lacked self-control.

Do not lie to the Aeldir, not even to be polite - everything you say must be the truth. Do not even use sarcasm. Rikadime had said. They punish lies with a harshness that borders on absurd. But exercise tact, and be respectful. Symrera had put these instructions to good use during her time among the Spring.

"Of course, my Lord." She said in a voice as soft as rose petals, rising from her bow. "As intimidating and mysterious as this land is, it has a gothic beauty of its own. Your musics tickle my ears and strum my soul. I look forward to learning more and hope we can be friends, or at the very least that there be no hostility."

That much was true.

"If I may begin our... education," Phelnia spoke with a slow, deliberate respect that belied how unsure she was of this question's tactfulness, "Your first bard's letter said that this festival is meant to inaugurate the week of the winter solstice, but also called it a festival. What specifically is it meant to celebrate? The solstice itself? One of the gods? An annual festival seems to me a curious custom for a land that did not mark the years until recently."

The Aeldir Lord's face was inscrutable as Symrera grappled with her thoughts, but at Phelnia's question a smile appeared on his thin lips.

<"It speaks well of your ambassatrix that she is open to the beauty of the unknown, High Princess. It speaks well of you that you come not simply out of diplomatic nicety, but with a questing heart. It may indeed seem strange to host an annual festival, yet even in my Court the dance of sun and moon across the sky is fixed. It simply served little purpose before re-entering the mortal world to mark the time between our festivals. As to the Phantom Moon itself, though, to understand it you must understand Anghau.">

Lord Winter gestured to the hunting mural that encircled his throne.

<"Anghau is our Lord of the Dead, judge to the souls that fade from this realm and into his twilight hall of Neuaddigion. Those found worthy feast with him and attend him forevermore. But there are many whose worth is unproven before their passing, or whose lives fail to please the Gods. These souls are cast out of Neuaddigion, there to wander the black forest of Ddrystfa until they pass their test of spirit and emerge onto Dagdian's golden plain. But some spirits are so corrupt that they never leave Ddrystfa Wood, instead growing corrupt and wild and sneaking through the Gate of the Dead back to our world. Still more spirits refuse to cross over, and go mad from the truth of their own deaths. These corrupt ghosts prey on the unborn spirits of the Aeldir, and so Anghau and his court set out every night to hunt them, dragging their wretched souls back to Neuaddigion to be imprisoned forevermore. On the coming solstice, the veil between our world and the world of the dead is at its thinnest, and Anghau's Wild Hunt shall ride in fullest force. It will pass unseen, but in its wake it will leave a world free of corruption. Thus we give thanks, both for Anghau's absolution and for the continued opportunity to prove ourselves worthy of riding in his host.">

The Allied Provinces

"May it be just so, Lord Morrig." Derris said in agreement, unperturbed by Isfandir's discomfort. He had long grown used to the Nand's peculiarities, as he was sure they had his own.

"In honor of the festivities and our continued partnership in prosperity, we have brought two gifts to share with the realm of winter." Derris motioned forward his Strategos, Galon Barberis, a large muscular man who's tattoo covered chest was bare even in this climate, though he wore a crimson cloak much like Derris's own, the greatsword Perdition worn across his back. Galon brought forward a heavy barrel and set it wordlessly in front of Lord Winter before resuming his place behind his Protos.

"The first, is the very last barrel of our twelve years aged Ambrosan Brandy. a much headier spirit than our common trade liquor, I am sure you will find it to your liking." Derris's lips quirked briefly as he remembered his Polemarchos Peder Colins's horror at discovering Derris's intention to give away the near extinct spirit. To hear him tell it, he had to wrest it away from no less than a dozen monks at the Sanctuary of Reflection where the Ambrosan distillery was located.

"The second, Draindu, awaits you in your harbor at your leisure." He had turned to include The Orm into their discussion. Upon it's completion he had bid his ship masters to name the intended gift Black Thorn, in the Aeldir tongue.

"You will know her by her black sails which are as pointed as the thorns of her name. She is a fine vessel, we pray she serves you well." Derris only now noticed his niece amidst the Lord of Winter's retinue. He had not known her well throughout her childhood, his strained relations with her father, his former Protos and Rival, Gabor Collins, had not ended until the man's death as a traitor at Derris's own hands. Still, there was blood between them and he bid himself address her.

"It is good to see you, niece. You are looking quite well. I hope you have found satisfaction with your station here." Indeed it seemed that Winter's realm agreed with her, here Talisha had blossomed into a much lovelier woman than her adolescence had promised in Ambrose.

Black eyes across the hall lingered hungrily on the Ambrosian cask. Lord Winter well remembered the taste of the brandy that had first suggested the mortal world had something of worth to offer the Aeldir, and to have the last of that storied vintage reside in Caer Gheimhridh was a great honor. So too the gift of a ship, for word had reached the shipwrights of Winter of the breakthroughs occurring in the south.

<"Kingly gifts both, Protos. I would invite you to toast with me to our continued friendship, for it would be poor custom to drink such a vintage alone.">

As the Protos spoke to his niece and ambassatrix of the league, he seemed almost to take her off guard. Perhaps she had not expected such a public greeting from her ruler and her father's killer both, or perhaps it had simply been an eternity since she had been greeted in her own tongue.

<"It is...">

She paused, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she realized she had begun in the Aeldir tongue.

"It is good to see you as well, Lord Uncle. I have found a place here, yes, and Lord Winter has been an accommodating host. Though it is a joy to be reminded of home after so long away."

The Crystal Union


It had been a few years since Queen Lilia had been to a major foreign event. The last one had left a lasting impression on her; surely if all parties were as great as the Unification Celebration of Avonlea, it would be a terrible shame to miss out on it. Though the initial fear of an event akin to the last foreign meeting that was held in the Autumn courts did cross her mind, she noticed that it was made explicitly clear in the note that she, and by extension her people, would be under Lord Winter's protection. ..This was the most 'direct' contact she had actually experienced with the Aeldir, all of the other notes having gone through Lignummus instead of her realm. Now that they were joined as a federation - This was no longer the case. She would meet them in person. ..Sure, they may have been at the Avonlea event, though she had hardy even a glimpse of them, let alone a greeting. They seemed like busy people; perhaps even acting one entity rather than four who joined as one. They were a curiosity to the Queen, perhaps even role models. ..She only hoped they might live up to her expectations.

Each leader of the Union would travel separately, each using different small fleet of ships to get to their destination. Lilia was (of course) the first to depart from the shore, bringing with her a variety of southern gemstones in a small, handheld box. The box was comparable to the size of a large brick, though it weighed nowhere near as much. It was instead wooden, with a soft fabric lining the outside. It was hollow inside, the walls of the box being thin, but made up for it with a reinforced steel sheet along the inside. Between this sheet and the refined gemstones was a layer of cotton fluff, preventing the precious stones from scraping against the steel. The box bore no patterns on it, though the contents of it were surely worth a great deal; even in union lands where the resources were produced. The ships on their way to the feast were of completely new design to the Queen. She had heard that the clinker style was actually of Aeldir make, and the sails were inventions of the League of Allied provinces. Such foreign technologies astounded her, and she personally hoped that her people would invent something of equal greatness in the coming years. The Lignumese and the Tribesmen already had, though the Zaj never actually had any inventions they could truly call 'theirs.' She was aiming to change this of course, a new style of fighting on water and large-scale industry were on the way..

After a few days of sailing, Queen Lilia and her assortment of ships arrived in the dense mists around their destination. They might have gotten lost if not for their tight formation, some towers, and the miracle of a white boat that came and lead them through the area. A total of five ships sailed alongside their guide, making their way through the dense mists around the island. The ships docked, allowing their passengers to move onto the next phase of their travels; the caravan. Lilia sat alongside her Embassatrix. In truth, she wasn't sure how it would work just yet, but Kiltia was ideal for the task. A Zaj born into one of the highest houses in the city, gifted with the talents and passion for logic and management. In fact, she was the one who had prompted the restaurant movement that had just started. Government-run facilities that provide food, make money, and calm people down? That sounded good to her at least. Kiltia was only nineteen, but her skills had made her the ideal replacement for the aging blue member of the council. She was surprisingly insightful, but skeptical about most things she came across. Fortunately, she was fascinated by foreign technologies. This made is very easy to convince her to fulfill the role of embassatrix, as she was already very eager to leave the city she had grown up within her whole life.

As the caravan climbed the misty mountain, the citadel came into view; earning a long stare from the passengers within. They were guided to the impressive steps, where the two women ascended the stairs up to Lord Winter. Garelis accompanied them, as he had in the previous event. Lilia wore a simpler dress of red, which descended down to her black sandals that fit cleanly over her feet. ..It was quite cold for such attire, though she had been using a blanket in the caravan for their journey. The lady had pale skin, and golden hair that seemed to reflect the light off of it. She wore it down freely across her shoulders, the end of her hair coming down over her back. A circlet of emeralds rested upon her head, shining in the dim light as she carried the box within her hands. She had a graceful aura about her, taking time with each movement and then flowing right into the next. The light green patches of scales along her neck and the back of her hands seemed to be made of emeralds and were accompanied by a smooth, decorated set of horns on her head which separated her from any humans that might have been present at the occasion. Kiltia was not quite as composed. The younger girl radiated excitement, approaching at a brisk pace and looking up at their host in awe. Everything about the area was so different.. So.. Magical. She loved it. Her hair was worn to the back; coming in a hue of silver that contrasted her dark purple dress. It was placed in a ponytail, the ends of her hair carefully curled before her arrival. Her horns slanted upwards slightly, curving back over the sides of her head before smoothing out once again just behind her head. It made wearing headgear difficult, but she never really liked that stuff anyways. A smile was stuck on her face, waiting for Lilia to catch up and gazing at the handsome figure with excited blue eyes. Her scales also happened to be this color; and of which she did not have many of. From afar, one might even think she was human if not for the horns.

Meanwhile, their stoic guard stood just behind them wearing a set of chainmail and a heavy sword by his side. He was primarily adorned with standard pants and a thin forest colored robe that went from his waist to his ankles. It only occupied the left half of his left leg, which drew the attention up to the badges along his chest. He had a considerably high amount; obviously a seasoned and well respected soldier. Him and Lilia had been friends since they were young, resulting in a mutual trust between the two. The man waited behind them, offering Lord Winter a deep bow alongside Lilia. It took Kiltia a moment to catch on.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Morrig." Lilia extends her arms forwards, offering him the box. "It does us great joy to be invited to this event; I hope our token of appreciation may represent our profound gratitude." A small green dragon curled around Lilia's shoulders, it's forked tongue sticking out as it looked upon the lord. It appeared to be an aspis, and it was quite healthy at that. A glimmer of intelligence shone in it's eyes, as if it understood more than what was being let on. It had grown much since she had received it, and it was a treasured pet to the queen. Since the time she had been taught to take care of it the two became almost inseparable.


Queen Eleanor and the rest of the Ruby Legions representatives had set out from Lignummus by ship and warily followed the coast for the majority of the trip. Despite the new ship building technologies they had acquired, the Furfolk were accustomed to small, sturdy canoes that could not go far out to sea without disaster. They also preferred to use oars over the lanteen sails the boat was equipped with since oars were far more similar to the paddles that the experienced Furfolk sailors had used all their lives.

Eventually though, as they passed the Frescodonian coast they worked up the courage to set sail across the Crystal Sea.

By the time the ship reached the misty Aeldir waters the group was thoroughly tired. The fairly long journey had been taxing on all with little to shade them from the pouring rain that had plagued their journey and the rowing was a difficult task. The northern fog droplets clung to their fur and their clothes and they could be seen shaking water off of themselves as often as anything else. The party longed for their rain forest home and were overjoyed when land came into view.

The sailors would stay in the port and maintain the ship but had all been given a small sum to entertain themselves while they awaited their departure. All those who did not wish to drink the entire time would come with Queen Eleanor and the Sasu Masters to the party.

Each master wore a red, knee length skirt that was held tight by a belt. On their chest they wore only two long strips of similarly coloured fabric. Each was draped over a shoulder and crossed the chest and back before being tied tightly in their belts. They all donned warmer cloaks, however, for the journey up the mountain. Queen Eleanor wore similar clothes only in green while the few sailors who came wore blue.

When the party arrived at the palace they were in awe of its impressive size always forgetting that they were wee folk in comparison with most other races. They ascended the steps and arrived at the throne.

Queen Eleanor stepped forwards proclaiming:
"It is a pleasure to meet you Lord Morrig. We are honoured to have been invited to walk the grounds of this mighty palace on this legendary island. I can speak for us all when I say that the beauty of what we have seen so far has surpassed our expectations ten times over."


As The Glass Sea Strider a ship crafted by an Igara named Onister who is the best shipwright in all of Petravolan entered the thick mist the ships sails were yanked up by strong seamen to slow the advance of the ship. Slowing down so the ship could be controlled steadily as to avoid the dangerous shores that were marked with blazing fires. At the sight of the longship that was to act as there guide Thalgram was relieved after hours of being essentially blind with nobody to give proper direction to his ship. The long trip especially the many misty hours gave Thalgram plenty of time to think about who he was meeting and was curious to meet the person that had such a deadly reputation. He thought on how they would interact with each other, if they even would as Lord Winter seemed to be a quite man who feels himself higher then other men and races. He even second guessed himself on whether or not he should even be going to this gathering as the last one the Court held ended in disaster.

When he was sure that he was going to keep his decision to go and take his chances he decided to look over the gift that he had made for Lord Winter, a white glass blade that was made from the white sands of Caladia and had gold encrusted on the handle and ran in ribbons all the way to the tip of the sword. The sword was purely decoration as the sword would shatter if it hit anything harder than flesh but remained to be just as sharp as a shard of broken glass. He placed the blade back into its long black box and handed it off to is guard to bring back to its storing place.

After the long voyage Thalgram and his guards were glad to touch the ground again. Taking in the dim scenery and the happy greetings, it set Thalgram on edge on how people were acting so happy in such a gloomy place. Throughout the carriage ride Thalgram did not calm down but continued to see gloomy places with happy people, songs and poetry. He and his guards are always happy in their tropical weather and found it very difficult how one could find joy in scenery that just seemed to want to take it from you.

As soon as they broke though the forest Thalgram saw the citadel he was reminded of The Grand Temple that was built into Domi in a similar fashion. He showed an eager face to see if the inside of the citadel looked similar to the temple although he doubted it. After traveling through the magnificent doors and corridors to arrive in the main hall he stopped in front of Lord Morrig.

Thalgram was wearing a white cloak embroidered with gold thread that full hid his large body and he bore a suspicious look but carried on as he would for any other royalty. Giving a bow he said "It is an honor to meet you Lord Winter and Lord Morrig, please accept a symbol of my gratitude." One of the guards flanking Thalgram pulled out a long box from under his cloak and offered it to the lords.

Lord Winter descended to examine the gifts of the Aeldir's southern neighbors, his fingers running appreciatively over the glass blade of Petravolan in particular before ephemeral handmaids appeared from shadowed alcoves to take possession of them.

<"Welcome, proud Lords and Ladies of the Crystal Union. Know that your gifts have touched me, for their intent seems clear. No longer should our two might realms be as strangers, but instead as joyous neighbors. Your kind words are but another sign of the wisdom of our friendship. Please, take your ease from your long travels.">

The Summer Court

Lord Turien had traveled to the Winter Court at his Lord's request, the Lord Summer consumed as he was with conversions in the Geshem Expanse and his doting on the mortal Lynesse Oakburn, the Avonlean who had replaced Helia Whitstone as mortal parasite upon the Summer Court. The Ranger had not been especially pleased to receive the order for his own desire was to oversee the completion of the Forts in Silverwood and Tillwell which he might then grant to a lesser Aeldir noble who had proven themselves. There were many Thyrngar eager to prove themselves to the preeminent Ranger knowing as they did his influence and power within the Demesne. The thought gave him pause, savoring the prestige he had earned through many a campaign.

Turien might have challenged for Lord Summer when last the title fell to the Court had Drustan not. The two had been old friends and Turien knew his friend was a more capable warrior having once campaigned on foreign soil even before the Rose Contract and garnering much prestige from it. Now however the two held near equal credits to their name and what deficiencies the Ranger might have had to his Lord were balanced by Drustan's mortal perversions. The thought made the Ranger wrinkle his nose in disgust. It was not that he did not see the utility of the mortal races, unlike Drustan he saw the potential for the Salvax in war and the Geshem as administrators, but these were roles in service to the Aeldir. Drustan saw mortals it seemed almost like equals and his proclivity for Avonleans had developed into a perverse set of rumors that were he not Lord Summer might have seen him expelled from Tir Amser.

In Ages past had news of the Dullahan's dalliance with the Avonlean Queen and siring of a halfborn outside the island reached the Summer Court the Lord Summer would surely have seen to the protection of the Aeldir and the elimination of such a dangerous element. Now such news was met with the siring of another carrying the vitality of the southern court's greatest warrior. It was a dangerous and irresponsible handling of the situation and while it was said the halfborn was found to be fullborn by the Dullahan that such a test was even needed was a sign of the degradation within the Courts. To answer such irresponsible perversion not with punishment but with replication spoke of a deeply maligned morality that had sunk into the Summer Court and when Turien had heard no action taken against the Dullahan he knew Lord Winter was once again toying with the power of the halfborn.

Like all Aeldir Turien appreciated and respected the most ancient Aeldir but he had lived long enough to see Lord Winter for what he was, an Aeldir of great knowledge and a curiosity more dangerous and invasive than even the most curious Lady Spring. Locked away in his icy northern bastion Lord Winter might have ruled the four courts and sat upon the Rose Throne before its sundering for all Seasonal Ages past had he so desired but his obsession had never been with power but instead with knowledge. Drustan misperceived knowledge as power and saw Lord Winter almost as a superior but Turien saw it truly, for power required no knowledge but the knowledge of force and how to use it, a lesson easily learned and known by all within the Summer Court. No, Lord Winter was no more powerful than Lord Summer or the Ladies Spring or Autumn. He was, however, far more dangerous for his pursuits of knowledge would allow not only toleration for but proliferation of threats to the Aeldir in the interest of learning more. He would dare not say as much but in his soul he knew it was true that Lord Winter did not become the most ancient by caring and protecting his fellow Aeldir and in that way he was the reflection and opposite of what the Lord Summer was to be.

When the time came Turien would see the balance restored and the elimination of the idolatry of the Winter Court within the Summer. The southern court would again be ruled by a Lord Summer who protected Aeldir lives without creating or tolerating those that falsely claimed such heritage. When Drustan at last went north and joined the Court to which he now all but belonged the flickering heat of Summer would be kindled into the great inferno it ached to be.

These thoughts consumed and distracted the Summer Aeldir from the cold grimness of the northern court as he made his way out of the cold and snowy forests and stepped into Caer Gheimhridh. He traveled lightly and alone, darting and dancing through the streets as if they were trees until he neared the Citadel. He changed from the natural camouflage of a Thyrngar Ranger to the green-brown leather and cotton dress of the Summer Courtlands. He wore a great green cloak to stave off the northern cold which hid his clothing and marked him especially at odds with the dark blues and light white hues of the Winter Aeldir. He entered the Lord Winter's hall with the bearing of a great general casting an appraising eye over the Raven Knights whose purpose was so at odds with the Thyrngar that even sharing their goals and purpose beneath Lord Summer looked near as alien as the Spring Boys who garrisoned the securest forts and castles of the Demesne. He approached the Lord Winter's throne, his eyes passing coldly over the Dullahan as he took in the Aeldir presences and as he reached the Lord Winters throne he knelt before him subserviently.

"I come as representative of my Lord Summer who apologizes to your Lordship for his absence and offers recompense that his time is spent as we speak spreading the respect and worship of the Old Gods among the mortal denizens of the Demesne. It is hoped that I, Lord Turien of the Thyrngar most trusted of my lord's Rangers shall not offend by speaking in his stead."


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Balor Morrig's eyes were hooded as he looked down at the mighty Ranger Lord, chief among Lord Summer's servants and clear favorite to inherit the position should Drustan pass from his throne. A mighty reputation indeed, but one bereft the deference that Drustan had shown to Lord Winter.

<"Rise, Lord Turien, and know that your presence is no offense. It is an honor to welcome one so trusted by our cousin into our Court. Has Lord Summer a message for me? Or shall you retire amongst the other guests to celebrate this holy time?">

Avonlea

Eirwen smiled to be so welcomed by her father's Lord in his own lands, and felt the warmth of acceptance in these chill halls. Aris too, felt her anxieties much comforted and thought to query the great Lord as the Dullahan had bid her once he had leisure to hold for her a private audience. This greeting hall was too public for so private a matter.

"I have awaited this day for long and long, My Lord of Winter, ever since my mum told me of my Sire and how he dwelt in a land of ever-winter, and I will be five on my next name day and mum tells me that it is nigh at hand. Isn't that right mum?" Eirwen looked askance at her mother who's gaze could not be kept from the Dullahan once it had found him, though too was she aware of Helia's eyes upon her as well.

"Yes, my sweet. Conceived on the Mother's Moon after the spring equinox and born on the Mother's Moon after the winter solstice, a lucky child indeed." She smiled warmly at her child's father and returned her attention to Lord Winter, for she had the happy business of presenting his host gifts yet.

"My Lord, if it please you, I would present your gifts to you in thanks for the honour of your invitation, and for the warm greetings that Eirwen and I have received at your behest. For that you have my gratitude" As High Queen Aris mentioned gifts four maids of gold stepped forward so that they may present their gifts unto the Lord.

"My Lord, the maid Claviana holds in her hands a silver broach from the famed mines of Bellarion." Claviana opened the small cedar box to reveal within a silver cloak pin of a raven in profile, with one wing spread and his eye twinkling with onyx. The fresh scent of cedar wafted from the box which had been carved in a wreath of ravens on the lid. A second comely maid stepped forward holding yet a second cedar box, this one slightly larger and painted with a wintry mountain scene in white and grey.

"My Lord, the maid Fenille holds in her hands the fine cigars of Coventry." Fenille opened the painted box to reveal a dozen thick cigars nestled within, their musky, floral aroma commingling with the scent of cedar. A third and forth maid approached the Lord, carrying a heavy earthen jug between them.

"My Lord, Mariya and Lisare would present to you an amphora of Mistwater Wine, from Evemoor." The maids set the jug down and curtsied prettily as the Lord's eyes came upon them. Aris was about to finish with her presentation when the Swanmay Princess Celeste stepped forward. Diminutive and graceful, Celeste was dark as the ebon wood of her homeland, her long fine hair was as black as her feathers in swan form, and feathery black eyelashes framed her startling red eyes. She had a skittish demeanor about her, as one wont to being taken for prey though she also had an air of determination about her, and she brought forward a small quiver of arrows fletched with black feathers.

"My lands hold little of value, Lord of Winter, but for it's people. We would offer you a small token of ourselves as thanks for your hospitality." Princess Celeste was soft spoken and she trembled slightly, though from cold or fear or otherwise, one could not say.

Lord Winter's smiling eyes twinkled as Eirwen stepped forwards, and at the small girl's performance the Dullahan straightened slightly. Ever more tests for this highest of the Winter Aeldir, as payment for his transgression.

<"And long have I waited to meet you, young Eirwen of two worlds. You have a bright destiny, child. Heed your progenitors and I have little doubt you will prove the pride of both.">

He then turned his attention to the Queen and her gifts, descending his throne to inspect them even as the thinly veiled handmaidens filed in once again to take possession of them.

<"You bring with you the fullest generosity of your realm, High Queen, I am much impressed, and well thankful for your friendship.">

He came last to the princess of the Swanmay, looming over the darkly beautiful girl like a shadow given terrible weight. But his fingers were light as he drew forth an arrow to examine, and his voice was soft and kind.

<"There is no greater value than the hand that crafts, princess. For what are gold or iron but trapped spirits awaiting a skilled hand to give them life? Your gift is well appreciated.">

[RandoMan]

The Summer Court


Balor Morrig's eyes were hooded as he looked down at the mighty Ranger Lord, chief among Lord Summer's servants and clear favorite to inherit the position should Drustan pass from his throne. A mighty reputation indeed, but one bereft the deference that Drustan had shown to Lord Winter.

<"Rise, Lord Turien, and know that your presence is no offense. It is an honor to welcome one so trusted by our cousin into our Court. Has Lord Summer a message for me? Or shall you retire amongst the other guests to celebrate this holy time?">


Turien rose from his kneeling position and stood before Lord Winter with his back straight and his hands clasped behind him. His eyes were cold and calculating like those of a predator beast first judging a new dangerous foe.

"You are as perceptive and as well informed as the stories say, Lord Winter. Yes, my lord does bear a message for your lordship though I regret I know no more than this. He wishes to speak with your lordship privately upon his return from the Geshem Expanse. I bear no more news than this for my lord wishes none to know of the contents of this message but yourself. He requests that when next* the Phantom Moon crests across the night sky you be ready to receive him privately."


If this is happening in 123 since 124 will be when Summer is ready to meet Winter

[Gengy]

Lady Spring again inclined her head in respect to her host, and then Aleuta saw to her own devices. She found a small area in the corridor, where she was near enough to be seen by Lord Winter in case some guest wished to begin anything that fell in Spring's purview.

For her part, Aleuta was hoping to have a lengthy conversation with the growing Crystal Union, newly accepting among their ranks the Thalgram of Petravolan. Aleuta rather liked the Rexline, and the trade that their neighbors to the south provided was welcomed in many of the Twilight and Geshem Expanses. She had not seen them yet, but Lady Spring also hoped that a delegation from the Truserchen, or the newly renamed Clan Holds, might show. With neither of those in sight, she set out to approach Queen Eleanor of the Ruby Legion or Alpha Thalgram Dunadrad, if not both, should she find them together.

[PepperP.]

The Allied Provinces


Black eyes across the hall lingered hungrily on the Ambrosian cask. Lord Winter well remembered the taste of the brandy that had first suggested the mortal world had something of worth to offer the Aeldir, and to have the last of that storied vintage reside in Caer Gheimhridh was a great honor. So too the gift of a ship, for word had reached the shipwrights of Winter of the breakthroughs occurring in the south.

<"Kingly gifts both, Protos. I would invite you to toast with me to our continued friendship, for it would be poor custom to drink such a vintage alone.">

As the Protos spoke to his niece and ambassatrix of the league, he seemed almost to take her off guard. Perhaps she had not expected such a public greeting from her ruler and her father's killer both, or perhaps it had simply been an eternity since she had been greeted in her own tongue.

<"It is...">

She paused, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she realized she had begun in the Aeldir tongue.

"It is good to see you as well, Lord Uncle. I have found a place here, yes, and Lord Winter has been an accommodating host. Though it is a joy to be reminded of home after so long away."

The smile lines around Derris's eyes crinkled with pleasure as Balor Morrig offered to toast the dear brandy with him.

"It would be our pleasure to toast with you, Lord Morrig." Conscious of his fellows in his midst, he was sure to include Isfandir and Maldarr in the prospective toasting. Isfandir at least looking as though he could use the warming spirit.

Derris's gaze upon his niece was gentle as her wistful words reminded him of her state of actuality beyond her traitorous father and estranged mother.

"Our home in Ambrose is much unchanged, even as the realm is itself much changed. You mother fares well, I am told." His sister Gail had not spoken to him since the execution of her husband, but by all reports was hale and living a modest but satisfactory life at the Sanctuary.

"You have done your realm a fine service with your station here, niece. If you want for anything from Ambrose or the Provinces, you have but to ask." With his words he desired to impress upon her that she would not be held accountable for perceived the sins of her father, in his eyes or the eyes of their realm.

[Mary_Sue]

Lord Winter's smiling eyes twinkled as Eirwen stepped forwards, and at the small girl's performance the Dullahan straightened slightly. Ever more tests for this highest of the Winter Aeldir, as payment for his transgression.

<"And long have I waited to meet you, young Eirwen of two worlds. You have a bright destiny, child. Heed your progenitors and I have little doubt you will prove the pride of both.">

He then turned his attention to the Queen and her gifts, descending his throne to inspect them even as the thinly veiled handmaidens filed in once again to take possession of them.

<"You bring with you the fullest generosity of your realm, High Queen, I am much impressed, and well thankful for your friendship.">

He came last to the princess of the Swanmay, looming over the darkly beautiful girl like a shadow given terrible weight. But his fingers were light as he drew forth an arrow to examine, and his voice was soft and kind.

<"There is no greater value than the hand that crafts, princess. For what are gold or iron but trapped spirits awaiting a skilled hand to give them life? Your gift is well appreciated.">

"I heed my mum well indeed Lord of Winter, for she is wise and kind to me and also my queen. I wish to bid my Sire to tell me of this festival, for we only have the Mother to worship, and your gods are many and more. I already know of Babhdi, and indeed am her favourite that's why my Sire gave me her charm." Eirwen spoke of queens and gods with innocence, whilst Aris was alarmed that she might laugh at her child's boldness, and fought to stifle her delight, showing that her child had already earned her pride.

As Lord Morrig thanked Aris for her Queendom's gifts so graciously, she smiled modestly,

"Your Winter Court has given me that which can not be repaid." She put her hand on her daughter's shoulders,

"this is but a trifle in gratitude." And yet she wished to ask yet for more, she thought to herself, momentarily second guessing the request she must press the Lord with, but pressed on despite these reservations,

"Lord Morrig, if it please you, I would speak with you privily upon your leisure." Careful not to make eye contact with the Dullahan lest his Lord guess her intentions too soon.

The Swanmay's red eyes were cast down as the great towering Lord examined her modest gift, her thin frame shivering almost imperceptibly with tension as if exhausted by the new sights and sounds of her first foray into the realms beyond Somerset and Avonlea. At the Lord's display of acceptance and appreciation for her gift, the swan maid's face rose to meet the pale Aeldir's briefly before her eyes darted skittishly away, as if unable to bear the full force of the Lord's gaze for long.

"You are most welcomed, My Lord." Princess Celeste spoke faintly as though lacking the strength for a more robust reply.

[HalfTangible]

Primus

The Aeldir Lord's face was inscrutable as Symrera grappled with her thoughts, but at Phelnia's question a smile appeared on his thin lips.

<"It speaks well of your ambassatrix that she is open to the beauty of the unknown, High Princess. It speaks well of you that you come not simply out of diplomatic nicety, but with a questing heart. It may indeed seem strange to host an annual festival, yet even in my Court the dance of sun and moon across the sky is fixed. It simply served little purpose before re-entering the mortal world to mark the time between our festivals. As to the Phantom Moon itself, though, to understand it you must understand Anghau.">

Lord Winter gestured to the hunting mural that encircled his throne.

<"Anghau is our Lord of the Dead, judge to the souls that fade from this realm and into his twilight hall of Neuaddigion. Those found worthy feast with him and attend him forevermore. But there are many whose worth is unproven before their passing, or whose lives fail to please the Gods. These souls are cast out of Neuaddigion, there to wander the black forest of Ddrystfa until they pass their test of spirit and emerge onto Dagdian's golden plain. But some spirits are so corrupt that they never leave Ddrystfa Wood, instead growing corrupt and wild and sneaking through the Gate of the Dead back to our world. Still more spirits refuse to cross over, and go mad from the truth of their own deaths. These corrupt ghosts prey on the unborn spirits of the Aeldir, and so Anghau and his court set out every night to hunt them, dragging their wretched souls back to Neuaddigion to be imprisoned forevermore. On the coming solstice, the veil between our world and the world of the dead is at its thinnest, and Anghau's Wild Hunt shall ride in fullest force. It will pass unseen, but in its wake it will leave a world free of corruption. Thus we give thanks, both for Anghau's absolution and for the continued opportunity to prove ourselves worthy of riding in his host.">Symrera smiled at the (mild) praise, her eyes sparkling like stars.

"Thank you for the compliments, Lord Winter. Symrera has done well in her dealings with the Spring, and I hope she is to your satisfaction. I am here primarily for my daughter, but that does not mean I cannot learn." Phelnia nodded, her hand squeezing Crudice's. "I consider the day a waste if I haven't hypothesized something new by dinner, and I thank you for indulging me. From the murals and the manner in which he carries out his duties, I would presume Anghau is a god of hunting as well as lord of the dead?"

Whatever Lord Winter's answer was, Rikadime stepped forward. "My lord, since my letter to you some new... issues have come up, and I had a request to make in regards to Crudice's stay here."

Phelnia's face twitched towards a frown, and she turned to look Rikadime in the eye. "... Do you? That's news to me."

Rikadime ignored her. "I would humbly request Crudice stay with Symrera, and her stay be extended until the Pavos are no longer hunting for her."

="WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?!"= Phelnia whirled on her head diplomat, so enraged she'd switched to Primal.

"In the wake of the Pavos' declaration of war, I thought it best to move Crudice somewhere safer." Rikadime's eyes narrowed. "This is a part of my job."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

Rikadime's eyes narrowed further. "Lady Phelnia, the Aeldir are far better equipped to deal with potential assassins than the Primal. You yourself have s-"

="Let me repeat myself, Lady Navus."= Phelnia pressed her forehead against the other woman's, giving her a full view of her scarred visage. "Ab. So. Lute. Ly. NOT. You convinced me to let her stay for a week. That was already a stretch, but I agreed with it because you were right, it's important to mend this relationship. But-"

"Look. Do you want her safe, or not?" Rikadime growled.

="I..."= Phelnia faltered. ="I can keep her safe. I have been!"=

="No, you haven't!"= Navus' voice was rising now, even as she switched to Primal. ="You've kept her coddled. The girl still hasn't made her first kill, for ****'s sake! What's she going to do when she wants a boytoy, or enters a legion?!"=

="I'm pretty sure that putting her in the Winter Courtlands would delay all three of those things."= Phelnia said dryly.

Rikadime's eyes flashed. ="YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN! If-"=

"SHUT UP!!!"

Phelnia and Rikadime both jumped, and their eyes found the source of the yell, Aomgone. The trembling in her limbs was still there, but it now seemed... subdued.

"I-is this really the place for arguing like t-this? This is the Lord Winter's court, and you're being very rude." Aomgone pointed to Balor Morrig. "Pretty sure he's the one who decides whether Crudice stays at all, let alone for how long, and we're supposed to be diplomatic here. For ****'s sake, you're bickering like CHILDREN! Show some respect!"

The two fell silent.

Symrera bowed. "My apologies for this disrespect to your hospitality. It will not happen again." She glared at the apparent head diplomat and her High Princess. "WILL IT?!"

"... No."
"It will not."

Judging from the lack of an emotional reaction on Crudice or Galorius' part, this was not an unusual argument.

[woolli264]

Lady Spring again inclined her head in respect to her host, and then Aleuta saw to her own devices. She found a small area in the corridor, where she was near enough to be seen by Lord Winter in case some guest wished to begin anything that fell in Spring's purview.

For her part, Aleuta was hoping to have a lengthy conversation with the growing Crystal Union, newly accepting among their ranks the Thalgram of Petravolan. Aleuta rather liked the Rexline, and the trade that their neighbors to the south provided was welcomed in many of the Twilight and Geshem Expanses. She had not seen them yet, but Lady Spring also hoped that a delegation from the Truserchen, or the newly renamed Clan Holds, might show. With neither of those in sight, she set out to approach Queen Eleanor of the Ruby Legion or Alpha Thalgram Dunadrad, if not both, should she find them together.

After the talk with Lord Winter Queen Eleanor had been heading over to speak with Thalgram and the Rexline when she saw Lady Spring approaching. "Greetings Lady Spring! You look different from the last time I saw you. I was actually just about to head over to visit the Rexline and see if they would help me organize some trading between the Union and the Aeldir."

[Geckus]

Disembarking from the carriage that had carried his party through the dark forested mountains, Kuldir Ironsong, Master Architect of the drimma Clans, shivered briefly before willing his aging, ailing flesh to stillness. Though he still wore no more than his customary breech clout and iron-shod boots, the drimma's once powerful frame had vanished; he stood with a slight stoop, arms thick as hams reduced to mere twigs, and thick black hair turned a fading silver.

Only last year, I'd not have even noticed such a light chill as this...now, my very bones ache with it.

Dismissing the stray thought as he had it's cause, Kuldir paused while his small retinue unloaded his gift for the Aeldir lord to take in the full splendor of the citadel at the heart of Caer Gheimhridh - its ancient stone seemingly grown straight from the mountainside, the grand gates and of course it's guardians, the Raven Knights themselves. Nearly an hour had passed before a quiet cough called his attention back.

"Master Architect, are you ready to proceed?"

With a sad shake of his head, Kuldir drew his gaze away from the marvelous workmanship before him to smile fondly at the drimma woman standing to his right, and to the three bearing a very large and carefully wrapped burden.

"Ah, my apologies Nera. I should not have let myself get distracted so. Let us go pay our respects to the host, shall we?"

Passing through the citadel to it's center, Kuldir approached the great tree and the figure rising from the throne settled among it's roots.

<"Enter my home as honored guests, you who would attend this holy celebration. You have traveled far across unknown seas, and for that you have my gratitude. Take your ease, and let us show you the hospitality of the Demesne.">

Bowing to the black-clad Aeldir lord, Kuldir was pleased that his voice at least had not fallen prey to the Greying and still carried the same depth and strength it always had.

"We of the Clans thank you for your invitation and your hospitality. Might I present Senior Architect Nera Truenote? It is my hope that she will serve as ambassatrix for my people to the Court of Winter."

Steeping forward to a place a foot behind and to the right of the Master Architect, Nera offered her own bow, to exactly the same depth as Kuldir had, paying her respects without showing any trace of subservience or fear towards the imposing Aeldir lord.

"And my gift to you, Lord of Winter, as our honored host. The last work that shall ever be made by these hands."

The trio of drimma bearers slowly and carefully lower their burden, peeling away it's wrappings to unveil a great black-iron harp strung with the finest strands of silver, unadorned and unembellished beyond the patterning created by the folding and forging of the metal; a masterpiece of elegant simplicity.

[TheDarkDM]

The Summer Court

Turien rose from his kneeling position and stood before Lord Winter with his back straight and his hands clasped behind him. His eyes were cold and calculating like those of a predator beast first judging a new dangerous foe.

"You are as perceptive and as well informed as the stories say, Lord Winter. Yes, my lord does bear a message for your lordship though I regret I know no more than this. He wishes to speak with your lordship privately upon his return from the Geshem Expanse. I bear no more news than this for my lord wishes none to know of the contents of this message but yourself. He requests that when next* the Phantom Moon crests across the night sky you be ready to receive him privately."


If this is happening in 123 since 124 will be when Summer is ready to meet Winter

Lord Winter nodded in response to the Summer Aeldir's message, seemingly taking no notice of the ranger's hungry eyes.

<"Then convey to your Lord that I eagerly await his presence, and hold your duty done. Please, take your ease and enjoy the festival.">

The Allied Provinces

The smile lines around Derris's eyes crinkled with pleasure as Balor Morrig offered to toast the dear brandy with him.

"It would be our pleasure to toast with you, Lord Morrig." Conscious of his fellows in his midst, he was sure to include Isfandir and Maldarr in the prospective toasting. Isfandir at least looking as though he could use the warming spirit.

Derris's gaze upon his niece was gentle as her wistful words reminded him of her state of actuality beyond her traitorous father and estranged mother.

"Our home in Ambrose is much unchanged, even as the realm is itself much changed. You mother fares well, I am told." His sister Gail had not spoken to him since the execution of her husband, but by all reports was hale and living a modest but satisfactory life at the Sanctuary.

"You have done your realm a fine service with your station here, niece. If you want for anything from Ambrose or the Provinces, you have but to ask." With his words he desired to impress upon her that she would not be held accountable for perceived the sins of her father, in his eyes or the eyes of their realm.
Talisha seemed set to shiver in response to the Protos' kindness, a gift she'd thought lost to her after the schism of their family. For a moment it looked as though she might collapse entirely into tears, before a steely glint appeared behind her violet eyes. She straightened, the specter of weakness forgotten as she felt the pride of her office as never before.

"I am well, Lord Uncle, and it does my heart good to hear that mother remains...healthy."

She could not say hale or whole - whatever her uncle's reasons, the death of her father had shattered her mother.

"So too does it warm my heart to hear your praise, and to converse in the language of home. It has been...some time."

Her wistful smile was heartbreaking, striking home the reality of Tir Amser - thought it might be made welcome, it remained a place disconnected from the outside world. To linger there too long was to risk alienation. One had but to look at the changes wrought on her and her Avonlean counterpart to see that.

"I have few desires that are not seen to, though I thank you for your kind offer. Though, perhaps you might send me some poems and songs from home? I am sure the bards have not lacked for inspiration at your mighty court."

Avonlea


"I heed my mum well indeed Lord of Winter, for she is wise and kind to me and also my queen. I wish to bid my Sire to tell me of this festival, for we only have the Mother to worship, and your gods are many and more. I already know of Babhdi, and indeed am her favourite that's why my Sire gave me her charm." Eirwen spoke of queens and gods with innocence, whilst Aris was alarmed that she might laugh at her child's boldness, and fought to stifle her delight, showing that her child had already earned her pride.

As Lord Morrig thanked Aris for her Queendom's gifts so graciously, she smiled modestly,

"Your Winter Court has given me that which can not be repaid." She put her hand on her daughter's shoulders,

"this is but a trifle in gratitude." And yet she wished to ask yet for more, she thought to herself, momentarily second guessing the request she must press the Lord with, but pressed on despite these reservations,

"Lord Morrig, if it please you, I would speak with you privily upon your leisure." Careful not to make eye contact with the Dullahan lest his Lord guess her intentions too soon.

The Swanmay's red eyes were cast down as the great towering Lord examined her modest gift, her thin frame shivering almost imperceptibly with tension as if exhausted by the new sights and sounds of her first foray into the realms beyond Somerset and Avonlea. At the Lord's display of acceptance and appreciation for her gift, the swan maid's face rose to meet the pale Aeldir's briefly before her eyes darted skittishly away, as if unable to bear the full force of the Lord's gaze for long.

"You are most welcomed, My Lord." Princess Celeste spoke faintly as though lacking the strength for a more robust reply.
Lord Winter's lips quirked into a smile as Eirwen revealed her notions of the Old Gods. Flighty, childish notions to be sure, but they spoke of a willingness to embrace the gods of her father that Balor Morrig had thought unlikely given her homeland's unwavering devotion to Daen.

<"I am sure your sire can tell you of the others, should you wish to learn. I would have you etch my Court in your heart little one, that you might always carry the memory of your second home.">

He then turned his attentions to the High Queen and her royal attendant, the delicate Swanmay's trembling putting him in mind of a skittish doe in need of soothing attentions. Attentions he had long thought himself past administering.

<"Perhaps not, High Queen, but there is a responsibility that walks linked alongside destiny. To mine eye your daughter's path is a bright one, but never forget the burden she must be prepared to carry.">

His eyes roved back to Celeste.

<"Though it seems she will not lack for tutors. I well recognize the courage in your heart, Celeste of Somerset. Yet there need be no fear here - not all shadows hide monsters.">

A moment passed as he waited for the fullness of his words to sink in. Then he turned, his eyes somehow lighter.

<"I would gladly speak to you privately, High Queen, once this greeting ceremony is concluded and my guests have settled into their chambers. Feel free to seek out my study - any here can point the way.">

Primus

Symrera smiled at the (mild) praise, her eyes sparkling like stars.

"Thank you for the compliments, Lord Winter. Symrera has done well in her dealings with the Spring, and I hope she is to your satisfaction. I am here primarily for my daughter, but that does not mean I cannot learn." Phelnia nodded, her hand squeezing Crudice's. "I consider the day a waste if I haven't hypothesized something new by dinner, and I thank you for indulging me. From the murals and the manner in which he carries out his duties, I would presume Anghau is a god of hunting as well as lord of the dead?"

Whatever Lord Winter's answer was, Rikadime stepped forward. "My lord, since my letter to you some new... issues have come up, and I had a request to make in regards to Crudice's stay here."

Phelnia's face twitched towards a frown, and she turned to look Rikadime in the eye. "... Do you? That's news to me."

Rikadime ignored her. "I would humbly request Crudice stay with Symrera, and her stay be extended until the Pavos are no longer hunting for her."

="WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?!"= Phelnia whirled on her head diplomat, so enraged she'd switched to Primal.

"In the wake of the Pavos' declaration of war, I thought it best to move Crudice somewhere safer." Rikadime's eyes narrowed. "This is a part of my job."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

Rikadime's eyes narrowed further. "Lady Phelnia, the Aeldir are far better equipped to deal with potential assassins than the Primal. You yourself have s-"

="Let me repeat myself, Lady Navus."= Phelnia pressed her forehead against the other woman's, giving her a full view of her scarred visage. "Ab. So. Lute. Ly. NOT. You convinced me to let her stay for a week. That was already a stretch, but I agreed with it because you were right, it's important to mend this relationship. But-"

"Look. Do you want her safe, or not?" Rikadime growled.

="I..."= Phelnia faltered. ="I can keep her safe. I have been!"=

="No, you haven't!"= Navus' voice was rising now, even as she switched to Primal. ="You've kept her coddled. The girl still hasn't made her first kill, for ****'s sake! What's she going to do when she wants a boytoy, or enters a legion?!"=

="I'm pretty sure that putting her in the Winter Courtlands would delay all three of those things."= Phelnia said dryly.

Rikadime's eyes flashed. ="YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN! If-"=

"SHUT UP!!!"

Phelnia and Rikadime both jumped, and their eyes found the source of the yell, Aomgone. The trembling in her limbs was still there, but it now seemed... subdued.

"I-is this really the place for arguing like t-this? This is the Lord Winter's court, and you're being very rude." Aomgone pointed to Balor Morrig. "Pretty sure he's the one who decides whether Crudice stays at all, let alone for how long, and we're supposed to be diplomatic here. For ****'s sake, you're bickering like CHILDREN! Show some respect!"

The two fell silent.

Symrera bowed. "My apologies for this disrespect to your hospitality. It will not happen again." She glared at the apparent head diplomat and her High Princess. "WILL IT?!"

"... No."
"It will not."

Judging from the lack of an emotional reaction on Crudice or Galorius' part, this was not an unusual argument.
Lord Winter nodded, motioning to the antlered brow of his sworn master.

<"Indeed. No beast born of this world can elude him, and in his unwavering devotion we see the standard to which we must strive.">

He paused, perhaps expecting further questions, only for Rikadime to step forward and unleash the buried anxieties of the Primal court. Balor Morrig's face grew icy and impassive as the family drama played out before his court and his guests, but he made no move to intervene. Finally, as the flared tempers faded to embers once again, he let loose a thoughtful sigh.

<"Your apology is accepted. I can well understand the storm surrounding this child. Two nations on the brink of war half a world away, one thrusting the mantle of a saint long-dead onto shoulders not yet fully grown. I would be willing to foster her at Caer Gheimhridh, to have her schooled in sword and axe by my Dullahan, in spear and seamanship by my Orm. The writings of the world entire would be made available to her, here in the center of the Demesne, and she would take letters from bards and ambassatrixes both.">

He paused to allow the fullness of his offer, the wealth of opportunity available to the young princess, settle in the minds of the Primal nobility.

<"But I will not be nursemaid, nor turnkey for an unwilling guest. If you wish my protection for the child I offer it, but she must be the one to accept.">

The Clan Holds

Disembarking from the carriage that had carried his party through the dark forested mountains, Kuldir Ironsong, Master Architect of the drimma Clans, shivered briefly before willing his aging, ailing flesh to stillness. Though he still wore no more than his customary breech clout and iron-shod boots, the drimma's once powerful frame had vanished; he stood with a slight stoop, arms thick as hams reduced to mere twigs, and thick black hair turned a fading silver.

Only last year, I'd not have even noticed such a light chill as this...now, my very bones ache with it.

Dismissing the stray thought as he had it's cause, Kuldir paused while his small retinue unloaded his gift for the Aeldir lord to take in the full splendor of the citadel at the heart of Caer Gheimhridh - its ancient stone seemingly grown straight from the mountainside, the grand gates and of course it's guardians, the Raven Knights themselves. Nearly an hour had passed before a quiet cough called his attention back.

"Master Architect, are you ready to proceed?"

With a sad shake of his head, Kuldir drew his gaze away from the marvelous workmanship before him to smile fondly at the drimma woman standing to his right, and to the three bearing a very large and carefully wrapped burden.

"Ah, my apologies Nera. I should not have let myself get distracted so. Let us go pay our respects to the host, shall we?"

Passing through the citadel to it's center, Kuldir approached the great tree and the figure rising from the throne settled among it's roots.

<"Enter my home as honored guests, you who would attend this holy celebration. You have traveled far across unknown seas, and for that you have my gratitude. Take your ease, and let us show you the hospitality of the Demesne.">

Bowing to the black-clad Aeldir lord, Kuldir was pleased that his voice at least had not fallen prey to the Greying and still carried the same depth and strength it always had.

"We of the Clans thank you for your invitation and your hospitality. Might I present Senior Architect Nera Truenote? It is my hope that she will serve as ambassatrix for my people to the Court of Winter."

Steeping forward to a place a foot behind and to the right of the Master Architect, Nera offered her own bow, to exactly the same depth as Kuldir had, paying her respects without showing any trace of subservience or fear towards the imposing Aeldir lord.

"And my gift to you, Lord of Winter, as our honored host. The last work that shall ever be made by these hands."

The trio of drimma bearers slowly and carefully lower their burden, peeling away it's wrappings to unveil a great black-iron harp strung with the finest strands of silver, unadorned and unembellished beyond the patterning created by the folding and forging of the metal; a masterpiece of elegant simplicity.
The Aeldir Lord was silent as he walked a circuit around the elegant harp, his fingers reaching out to gently brush the strings with the practiced hand of a master. Eventually coming to a stop before the Master Architect, he looked down at the strange man so unlike the Aeldir, on the verge of death in the realms of the deathless, a creature of restless wandering in a land long accustomed to hearth and home.

<"It is a magnificent work, High Architect, and its presence in my halls shall enrich them beyond measure. It is with joy that I greet you, our eastern neighbors, and invite you to partake in this festival. When I heard of the Dei Empyrius' all-consuming duties I feared none of the Empyrium would be able to attend.">

His attention turned to Nera.

<"I would find your presence in Caer Gheimhridh most appealing, Senior Architect. I would know more of your people, and have them learn more of us than rumor.">

[HalfTangible]

Primus
Lord Winter nodded, motioning to the antlered brow of his sworn master.

<"Indeed. No beast born of this world can elude him, and in his unwavering devotion we see the standard to which we must strive.">

He paused, perhaps expecting further questions, only for Rikadime to step forward and unleash the buried anxieties of the Primal court. Balor Morrig's face grew icy and impassive as the family drama played out before his court and his guests, but he made no move to intervene. Finally, as the flared tempers faded to embers once again, he let loose a thoughtful sigh.

<"Your apology is accepted. I can well understand the storm surrounding this child. Two nations on the brink of war half a world away, one thrusting the mantle of a saint long-dead onto shoulders not yet fully grown. I would be willing to foster her at Caer Gheimhridh, to have her schooled in sword and axe by my Dullahan, in spear and seamanship by my Orm. The writings of the world entire would be made available to her, here in the center of the Demesne, and she would take letters from bards and ambassatrixes both.">

He paused to allow the fullness of his offer, the wealth of opportunity available to the young princess, settle in the minds of the Primal nobility.

<"But I will not be nursemaid, nor turnkey for an unwilling guest. If you wish my protection for the child I offer it, but she must be the one to accept.">

"<Turnkey>?"
"It means =Jailer=."
"Oh."

Rikadime shook her head. "No longer the brink, I'm afraid. We received a declaration of war from Pavos shortly before coming." She turned to Crudice. "Well? Do you desire to learn here, Princess?"

Phelnia looked between Navus and Morrig, then down to her daughter. Rikadime had taken this decision out of her hands practically without even trying. But... Crudice was so young, so wonderful... Phelnia didn't want to leave her in this place. Crudice couldn't want to stay either, could she? She was happy, and loved, and...

... and Phelnia was a good mom, right?

[Mary_Sue]

Avonlea
Lord Winter's lips quirked into a smile as Eirwen revealed her notions of the Old Gods. Flighty, childish notions to be sure, but they spoke of a willingness to embrace the gods of her father that Balor Morrig had thought unlikely given her homeland's unwavering devotion to Daen.

<"I am sure your sire can tell you of the others, should you wish to learn. I would have you etch my Court in your heart little one, that you might always carry the memory of your second home.">

He then turned his attentions to the High Queen and her royal attendant, the delicate Swanmay's trembling putting him in mind of a skittish doe in need of soothing attentions. Attentions he had long thought himself past administering.

<"Perhaps not, High Queen, but there is a responsibility that walks linked alongside destiny. To mine eye your daughter's path is a bright one, but never forget the burden she must be prepared to carry.">

His eyes roved back to Celeste.

<"Though it seems she will not lack for tutors. I well recognize the courage in your heart, Celeste of Somerset. Yet there need be no fear here - not all shadows hide monsters.">

A moment passed as he waited for the fullness of his words to sink in. Then he turned, his eyes somehow lighter.

<"I would gladly speak to you privately, High Queen, once this greeting ceremony is concluded and my guests have settled into their chambers. Feel free to seek out my study - any here can point the way.">

Eirwen pressed her small hands over her heart, as though seeking to retain her love of her father's court by physical means.

"I will do as you bid, My Lord and love my father's lands in true, for they are my own, though I love Avonlea well." Eirwen cocked her head to one side as if pondering something deeply,

"When might my Sire have leave to converse with me of his gods?" The young child left her mother's side to stand next to her father, scarcely measuring the height of his waist and oblivious to his imposing reputation and demeanor, she reached to take his cold hand in her own cool one and looked up at her father, eyes shining with pride and adoration. Aris wore a look of contrition upon her lovely face that she must apologize for her child's uncharacteristic lack of manners,

"Forgive her My Lords," She spoke to the Lord of Winter and to the Dullahan both,

"Within her burns an unending desire of learning, that of her father's lands ever more so." She considered the Lord's words carefully,

"I know you speak true, Lord Morrig, for both the weight of our realms sit atop her small shoulders and she must represent dual worlds to those not of ours. I pray she will do so with honour." Perhaps her burden will be less if shared by another, she again thought to herself, still weighing her request in her mind.

Princess Celeste's eyes met the great Lord's once more, well grateful for his soothing tone though her pulse throbbed in her temple. As he spoke of monsters the Swanmay's eyes flicked to the imposing forms of the Orm and the Dullahan, her natural instincts alerting her to their predatory nature, though her fears somewhat eased by the Master of this realm's assurances that they held no danger to her here. She said nothing in reply, but inclined her dark to head to him deferentially to show her understanding of both his esteem and concern for her fears.

"Thank you My Lord, I will be most grateful for your time." Aris curtsied in thanks for his acquiescence to her request for a private audience and turned to Eirwen who still held the hand of her father, awaiting what his response might be to their child.

[PepperP.]

The Allied Provinces

Talisha seemed set to shiver in response to the Protos' kindness, a gift she'd thought lost to her after the schism of their family. For a moment it looked as though she might collapse entirely into tears, before a steely glint appeared behind her violet eyes. She straightened, the specter of weakness forgotten as she felt the pride of her office as never before.

"I am well, Lord Uncle, and it does my heart good to hear that mother remains...healthy."

She could not say hale or whole - whatever her uncle's reasons, the death of her father had shattered her mother.

"So too does it warm my heart to hear your praise, and to converse in the language of home. It has been...some time."

Her wistful smile was heartbreaking, striking home the reality of Tir Amser - thought it might be made welcome, it remained a place disconnected from the outside world. To linger there too long was to risk alienation. One had but to look at the changes wrought on her and her Avonlean counterpart to see that.

"I have few desires that are not seen to, though I thank you for your kind offer. Though, perhaps you might send me some poems and songs from home? I am sure the bards have not lacked for inspiration at your mighty court."

Derris nodded sympathetically as his niece spoke, understanding her reservations regarding her mother's well being. He saw that Talisha had claimed much of her mother's inner strength as her own, for what is harder than to continue to love a man that is reviled by the entirety of his countrymen? The Protos grinned at his niece's simple yet meaningful request,

"Of course, I will see to it you have a visit from the Grandmaster Vardos herself, Padma Stathos of Trifylli." He paused to look again at Lord Winter,

"With your leave of course, Lord Morrig." He made a mental note to instruct Vardos Padma to not speak of the poem, We Met at Mystiko Valley, or the other myriad songs retelling the circumstances of her father's death.

[Aedilred]

Isfandir drifted towards the edge of the room, inwardly cursing himself for not putting his best diplomatic foot forward, but unable to find the energy or drive to speak to any of the strangers here. We'd need horses, or similar, to get up here. The archosaurs wouldn't stand the cold. His turning over military matters in his head had begun as a way to avoid dwelling on personal matters, but he was no longer sure if that was still the case, or if it was just what his mind did while idle. He watched Turien conversing with the Dullahan, observing the summer ranger's deliberate movements, confident posture and piercing gaze. This one is dangerous. He heard the Primal queen shouting at her handmaiden, and his eyes narrowed slightly. A queen should not shout, and certainly not in public. He had never heard his mother raise her voice, and he himself only did when necessary to make himself heard on the field, though he preferred to communicate with gestures where possible. Bellowing at underlings indicated a loss of self-control. The Primals considered themselves a mighty people, but from what he had seen of them - and what Morvarid had told him - they were a people of warriors rather than soldiers. Formidable fighters, no doubt, but all froth and rage and not enough cool-headedness.

He turned to move away and walked straight into a young woman, startling himself at least as much as her.

"Apologies, my lady, I did not see you." As he disentangled himself, he noted that she was by all appearances one of the Avonleans.

I'll let you decide which of your girls this is!

[Geckus]

The Aeldir Lord was silent as he walked a circuit around the elegant harp, his fingers reaching out to gently brush the strings with the practiced hand of a master. Eventually coming to a stop before the Master Architect, he looked down at the strange man so unlike the Aeldir, on the verge of death in the realms of the deathless, a creature of restless wandering in a land long accustomed to hearth and home.

<"It is a magnificent work, High Architect, and its presence in my halls shall enrich them beyond measure. It is with joy that I greet you, our eastern neighbors, and invite you to partake in this festival. When I heard of the Dei Empyrius' all-consuming duties I feared none of the Empyrium would be able to attend.">

His attention turned to Nera.

<"I would find your presence in Caer Gheimhridh most appealing, Senior Architect. I would know more of your people, and have them learn more of us than rumor.">


He hides it well, but Kuldir is deeply pleased by the Winter Lord's compliment - no higher praise could a craftsman seek than that of a master in the use of the tools he designs. Though all the evidence of his eyes and ears and hands had told him that this was one of his finest works, still he had worried that his skills may have failed him.

I may go to the First knowing that much.

"Master Architect, please, Lord Winter. Or simply Kuldir, if you would. There has been no High Architect among my people since the Sundering, when first we left our ancestral home." His smile makes it clear that no insult was taken from the mistaken title. "Duties or no, it would have been tactless of us to pass on so gracious an invitation; as one accustomed to long journeys, I felt it my obligation to be the one to make this one. I am only sorry that more of my fellows could not."

"It would be my pleasure to remain, o Lord of Winter, and trade song and story with you and your people, that both of ours might be made richer by the experience." Nera's gaze shifts briefly past the Aeldir lord to the great tree behind him before returning to Balor, her mind's eye picturing the wooded mountain path with it's mist shrouded villages. "Your island is most beautiful; such natural splendor, made more and not less by the crafting of skilled hands. Not many possess the patience for such artistry. I look forward to knowing more of those who do."

"And I would be remiss if I did not also offer a place for an ambassador of your own in the Clan Holds, Lord Winter. Your....hmmm, counterpart?...within the Court of Spring has had one of her Girls visiting us with us since shortly after the Masquerade; I've no doubt she would speak well of our hospitality."


Sorry, no pic! Tough to find anything that really portrays what I see when I think of the drimma - somewhere between dwarf and sasquatch.

Possessing the boxy stature typical of the drimma race, four feet tall and nearly that wide and thick, Nera is a motherly woman with an ample figure. Like all drimma, she has a thick coat of body hair (auburn in color in her case), and has grown out the hair on her head to waist length, which she keeps tied in a simple braid interwoven with red silk ribbon. As a concession to human sensibilities, she wears a white robe and sandles in the style of the Aladarian nobility, accented with the red bordered golden sash of her station.

[Mary_Sue]

Isfandir drifted towards the edge of the room, inwardly cursing himself for not putting his best diplomatic foot forward, but unable to find the energy or drive to speak to any of the strangers here. We'd need horses, or similar, to get up here. The archosaurs wouldn't stand the cold. His turning over military matters in his head had begun as a way to avoid dwelling on personal matters, but he was no longer sure if that was still the case, or if it was just what his mind did while idle. He watched Turien conversing with the Dullahan, observing the summer ranger's deliberate movements, confident posture and piercing gaze. This one is dangerous. He heard the Primal queen shouting at her handmaiden, and his eyes narrowed slightly. A queen should not shout, and certainly not in public. He had never heard his mother raise her voice, and he himself only did when necessary to make himself heard on the field, though he preferred to communicate with gestures where possible. Bellowing at underlings indicated a loss of self-control. The Primals considered themselves a mighty people, but from what he had seen of them - and what Morvarid had told him - they were a people of warriors rather than soldiers. Formidable fighters, no doubt, but all froth and rage and not enough cool-headedness.

He turned to move away and walked straight into a young woman, startling himself at least as much as her.

"Apologies, my lady, I did not see you." As he disentangled himself, he noted that she was by all appearances one of the Avonleans.

I'll let you decide which of your girls this is!

Fenille staggered as the bulk of the bundled stranger nearly bowled her over, and she clutched him in an effort not to fall over her long pink gown. Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth as she giggled and disentangled herself from the man, who was entirely covered but for a peek of lovely indigo skin around his eyes.

"No apologies are necessary, My Lord, for I do believe we are guilty in equal measure of negligence." Indeed she had been well distracted by the arrival of the Drimma and had been looking for her Queen to bring her the news of the Master Architect's arrival.

"I am Fenille Briargrace, of Avonlea. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." She blushed prettily as she realized she was still holding on to the front of his thick cloak. She released him and straightened her pale blonde hair which had become mussed with their tussle. Covered as the man was, she could not know to whom she spoke, but that he was most likely a Nend with his fanciful skin showing through his bundling.

[Aedilred]

Fenille staggered as the bulk of the bundled stranger nearly bowled her over, and she clutched him in an effort not to fall over her long pink gown. Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth as she giggled and disentangled herself from the man, who was entirely covered but for a peek of lovely indigo skin around his eyes.

"No apologies are necessary, My Lord, for I do believe we are guilty in equal measure of negligence." Indeed she had been well distracted by the arrival of the Drimma and had been looking for her Queen to bring her the news of the Master Architect's arrival.

"I am Fenille Briargrace, of Avonlea. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." She blushed prettily as she realized she was still holding on to the front of his thick cloak. She released him and straightened her pale blonde hair which had become mussed with their tussle. Covered as the man was, she could not know to whom she spoke, but that he was most likely a Nend with his fanciful skin showing through his bundling.

"Isfandir of Nand, likewise." He adjusted his scarf to reveal more of his face, and proffered a hand.

"I must insist it really was my fault. I would not have been so clumsy," he said with an awkward smile, "but these accursed clothes are clouding my senses, and it is too cold here to remove them. I suppose you don't suffer from the same problem." He then realised how that might sound to someone unfamiliar with the skin-sight of the Nanda, and paused. "That is to say, erm-" he wasn't sure how to continue, and he blushed, a more reddish tinge coming to the purple in his face.

[Gengy]

After the talk with Lord Winter Queen Eleanor had been heading over to speak with Thalgram and the Rexline when she saw Lady Spring approaching. "Greetings Lady Spring! You look different from the last time I saw you. I was actually just about to head over to visit the Rexline and see if they would help me organize some trading between the Union and the Aeldir."

"I appreciate you noticing. I have decided that I like my hair blonde, and that the Spring Court will be adopting white silk dresses in the coming years. They are more practical then clothing made from our national treasures, the Violet Roses." Aleuta made her hair flounce, and ran a hand through it. She was perfectly content with the Queen of the Ruby Legion's assessment of the 'looking different', as that was, as far as the Spring Court was concerned, the appropriate reaction. Whether Queen Eleanor had learned of Glaw Novo's private customs or simply couldn't tell the difference between Kellianth Beagen and Aleuta Kellianth didn't matter. Much. If it was the former, someone had been... talking out of turn. Aleuta decided to have someone look into the matter, if additional information showed that private information was leaking to the Union. For now, it was harmless; and perhaps even useful.

"I would be honored to see the Thalgram, and open additional trade between us and the Crystal Union. I understand that there have been some recent advancements that the Union is utilizing, and the Courts are quite pleased with the Long Haul Caravan methods that we have learned from your people. Further such exchanges would be mutually beneficial. However, I must discuss things with Alpha Thalgram Dunadrad first, as there is a matter of a missive that was sent to him some years back concerning such things. I would think, with his decision for the Rexline to join with the Crystal Union, that the deal will extend to all of you, but it is a matter of principle that he be given the opportunity to conclude any such exchanges with us as a sole principality first."

I'm pretty IRL busy this week. It might be quicker - if less flowery - to send me a PM with what it is that you are hoping for. We can work in the flowery bits as we go along, but if you want to have the proper exchange by the end of the round, please send me a PM. Or hit me up on Skype.

[Mary_Sue]

"Isfandir of Nand, likewise." He adjusted his scarf to reveal more of his face, and proffered a hand.

"I must insist it really was my fault. I would not have been so clumsy," he said with an awkward smile, "but these accursed clothes are clouding my senses, and it is too cold here to remove them. I suppose you don't suffer from the same problem." He then realised how that might sound to someone unfamiliar with the skin-sight of the Nanda, and paused. "That is to say, erm-" he wasn't sure how to continue, and he blushed, a more reddish tinge coming to the purple in his face.

The Nend who only identified himself as Isfandir was unknown to her and she took his proffered hand into her own which was warm despite the chill clime. He had an honest, handsome face and an inherent awkwardness about his demeanor that put her much at ease. She smiled with much glee and merriment at his discomfiture as he blundered and blushed over his unintentionally risque turn of conversation. She cast her eyes down to seem coy, though the glint in her blue eyes was mischievous and betrayed her intrigue,

"I can not recall ever suffering from the inability to remove my clothes, when I have wished it." Fenille batted her eyelashes at the Nend, her lips quirking into a delighted grin that belied her false innocence. She realized she held still Isfandir's hand and instead of releasing it, she endeavored to keep contact and rubbed it between her two hands to warm his own.

[Aedilred]

The Nend who only identified himself as Isfandir was unknown to her and she took his proffered hand into her own which was warm despite the chill clime. He had an honest, handsome face and an inherent awkwardness about his demeanor that put her much at ease. She smiled with much glee and merriment at his discomfiture as he blundered and blushed over his unintentionally risque turn of conversation. She cast her eyes down to seem coy, though the glint in her blue eyes was mischievous and betrayed her intrigue,

"I can not recall ever suffering from the inability to remove my clothes, when I have wished it." Fenille batted her eyelashes at the Nend, her lips quirking into a delighted grin that belied her false innocence. She realized she held still Isfandir's hand and instead of releasing it, she endeavored to keep contact and rubbed it between her two hands to warm his own.

"I had heard that Avonlea was more permissive in some matters than my own land," he said. "It caused some problems when our ambassador Reza was over there, or more specifically after he was recalled, as you probably heard." He was about to go into more detail, about what had happened with Reza and the cultural standards of modesty in Nand, but then realised he was on the verge of delivering a history lecture and, more remarkably, that this young woman didn't know who he was, and was talking to him simply as a person, not as a king. Not for years had anyone treated him quite that way. He also realised that he had not withdrawn his hand.

"What brings you to the Winter Court, Lady Fenille?" he asked, instead. "Are you here on your own account, or accompanying the queen? I understand she and the Dullahan are somewhat fond of one another."

[Mary_Sue]

"I had heard that Avonlea was more permissive in some matters than my own land," he said. "It caused some problems when our ambassador Reza was over there, or more specifically after he was recalled, as you probably heard." He was about to go into more detail, about what had happened with Reza and the cultural standards of modesty in Nand, but then realised he was on the verge of delivering a history lecture and, more remarkably, that this young woman didn't know who he was, and was talking to him simply as a person, not as a king. Not for years had anyone treated him quite that way. He also realised that he had not withdrawn his hand.

"What brings you to the Winter Court, Lady Fenille?" he asked, instead. "Are you here on your own account, or accompanying the queen? I understand she and the Dullahan are somewhat fond of one another."

Fenille's bright grin widened at the mention of the notorious blue-haired ambassador, though before replying she held up his hand and pressed her cheek against it,

"There you are, it's quite warm now." And she released it and claimed his other hand, still keeping up the pretense in order to maintain contact, warming it between her own.

"Reza was before my time as a woman of the court, though whether that is fortunate or no, I could not be sure." The debauchery of Thalia's court was legend among them, perhaps grown out of proportion by the stark contrast of Aris's perceived chastity.

"He is sorely missed by his daughters and conquests, though his legacy will remain for some time." She switched to the Nand tongue to drive home her point.

"I am here with my Queen, yes. She often travels with a retinue of maids though this is my first time attending her abroad. I quite like seeing a bit of the outside world." Her eyes drifted over the grand, imposing room, so unlike Avonlea's light and delicate architecture.

"I would say the Queen is quite fond of the Dullahan, though whether he is of her, nobody but him could say, the man is quite inscrutable." Her eyes found the tall Aeldir dressed in white who stood silent and implacable next to his Lord. Twas true that her Queen's esteem for the Dullahan rose above mere fondness and she spoke of him often, though Fenille found it curious that the Queen never spoke of the Dullahan's feelings for her, as though the Queen herself did not know for certain where they lie.

"Avonlea is a dichotomous land in some ways, though there is a great beauty found within and we delight in sharing that beauty with each other and the larger world. Quite generous of us, would you not say so?" Fenille's smile was playful as she looked from the Dullahan and into Isfandir's eyes.

[Aedilred]

Fenille's bright grin widened at the mention of the notorious blue-haired ambassador, though before replying she held up his hand and pressed her cheek against it,

"There you are, it's quite warm now." And she released it and claimed his other hand, still keeping up the pretense in order to maintain contact, warming it between her own.

"Reza was before my time as a woman of the court, though whether that is fortunate or no, I could not be sure." The debauchery of Thalia's court was legend among them, perhaps grown out of proportion by the stark contrast of Aris's perceived chastity.

"He is sorely missed by his daughters and conquests, though his legacy will remain for some time." She switched to the Nand tongue to drive home her point.

"I am here with my Queen, yes. She often travels with a retinue of maids though this is my first time attending her abroad. I quite like seeing a bit of the outside world." Her eyes drifted over the grand, imposing room, so unlike Avonlea's light and delicate architecture.

"I would say the Queen is quite fond of the Dullahan, though whether he is of her, nobody but him could say, the man is quite inscrutable." Her eyes found the tall Aeldir dressed in white who stood silent and implacable next to his Lord. Twas true that her Queen's esteem for the Dullahan rose above mere fondness and she spoke of him often, though Fenille found it curious that the Queen never spoke of the Dullahan's feelings for her, as though the Queen herself did not know for certain where they lie.

"Avonlea is a dichotomous land in some ways, though there is a great beauty found within and we delight in sharing that beauty with each other and the larger world. Quite generous of us, would you not say so?" Fenille's smile was playful as she looked from the Dullahan and into Isfandir's eyes.
"Very generous, indeed. Though there are some who would call it improper, of course." He thought back to Reza for a second as he wondered anew what had become of the former ambassador, for clearly he had not travelled back to Avonlea as they had suspected, unless there was some great conspiracy into which all Avonleans had been inducted - he thought that unlikely. But then the presence of Fenille brought his mind back to the present again.

"Do you not find it causes problems for you, though? Jealousy, perhaps? Not everyone is born to share."

[Mary_Sue]

"Very generous, indeed. Though there are some who would call it improper, of course." He thought back to Reza for a second as he wondered anew what had become of the former ambassador, for clearly he had not travelled back to Avonlea as they had suspected, unless there was some great conspiracy into which all Avonleans had been inducted - he thought that unlikely. But then the presence of Fenille brought his mind back to the present again.

"Do you not find it causes problems for you, though? Jealousy, perhaps? Not everyone is born to share."

Fenille tilted her head at the Nend and pondered his words as he spoke, continuing her administrations on his hand, silently noting that he had yet to pull away from her.

"Proper is such a subjective term, do you not find it so? People are creatures of nuture and will bend to the path that is familiar to them. There are those amongst us who are not wont to share, our good Queen is one of them. She has lain with only the Dullahan and says it would remain so, even though the new pink haired ambassador is sick in love with her and has not touched another since his arrival, your King would be well pleased by that I think." Fenille shook her head and grinned at the folly of love and monogamy,

"To belong solely to another and be joined by men and gods in marriage sounds romantic, and many an Avonlean maid sighs over the prospect wistfully with stars in their eyes and aches in their hearts, but tell me true, how sounds it to be wed to a stranger? To invite them into every intimate aspect of your life and being out of a sense of duty, that seems the improper thing to me. To be sure, I may lie with who I wish and bear the children that I wish, though as soon as marriage comes to Avonlea so too would I be wed to a stranger. I would not be asked to choose my husband, as I may my lovers. My Queen has shown me that love may exist outside of the marriage union, and so too did the Queen before her, and so I must see that it is but a mortal trapping that has naught to do with gods or true happiness." Se had taken to tracing small circles on his palm with her finger as she spoke thoughtfully and from her heart, she looked up at him suddenly, searching his earnest face,

"Are you happy, My Lord?" She gazed up at him guilelessly and entwined his fingers within her own.

[Aedilred]

Fenille tilted her head at the Nend and pondered his words as he spoke, continuing her administrations on his hand, silently noting that he had yet to pull away from her.

"Proper is such a subjective term, do you not find it so? People are creatures of nuture and will bend to the path that is familiar to them. There are those amongst us who are not wont to share, our good Queen is one of them. She has lain with only the Dullahan and says it would remain so, even though the new pink haired ambassador is sick in love with her and has not touched another since his arrival, your King would be well pleased by that I think." Fenille shook her head and grinned at the folly of love and monogamy,

"To belong solely to another and be joined by men and gods in marriage sounds romantic, and many an Avonlean maid sighs over the prospect wistfully with stars in their eyes and aches in their hearts, but tell me true, how sounds it to be wed to a stranger? To invite them into every intimate aspect of your life and being out of a sense of duty, that seems the improper thing to me. To be sure, I may lie with who I wish and bear the children that I wish, though as soon as marriage comes to Avonlea so too would I be wed to a stranger. I would not be asked to choose my husband, as I may my lovers. My Queen has shown me that love may exist outside of the marriage union, and so too did the Queen before her, and so I must see that it is but a mortal trapping that has naught to do with gods or true happiness." Se had taken to tracing small circles on his palm with her finger as she spoke thoughtfully and from her heart, she looked up at him suddenly, searching his earnest face,

"Are you happy, My Lord?" She gazed up at him guilelessly and entwined his fingers within her own.

He thought on it for a moment. "Honestly, it is not something to which I have given much thought. Happiness has always seemed inconsequential and unimportant, and nobody has ever asked me that before." In truth he was not sure if he knew what happiness looked like. He was aware his parents had been 'happily married' but happy? His mother had been driven half-mad by the pressures of her position and by grief, and in her absence his father had become short and irascible. His whole life had been consumed by duty.

Back in those first few months around the wedding, he had believed himself in love, but that had brought him more misery than happiness. The emotional energy he had poured into the marriage had exhausted him before he even took the throne, and there had been all but nothing in return. At best he had only ever been trying to convince himself, he now saw, wanting to believe that things could be as good as he had hoped in spite of everything his senses should have been telling him. On some level he had known, but had made the mistake of committing himself further rather than trying to disengage. Had he responded to Sheydah's distance with detachment, perhaps she would have grown to despise him less, would make the effort to hide her contempt for him now.

Attempting to stand on his dignity as regards the marriage, as regards his father, was pointless, for she had left him with nothing to stand on. How many at court whispered behind his back about her brazen cuckolding of him? She had penetrated his defences and hollowed him out, and now there was precious little of him left, just a crown and a sword and a device to use them. What remained of Isfandir howled in the emptiness of his self and now clung desperately to this lady's hand as if it were all that tethered him to existence.

He looked up at her again through misted eyes and spoke in a low voice. "No, I am not," he said thickly. He glanced down suddenly, becoming aware of how tightly he was gripping her hand. "I am sorry, my lady," he said, hurriedly, slackening his grip.

[TheDarkDM]

Avonlea

Eirwen pressed her small hands over her heart, as though seeking to retain her love of her father's court by physical means.

"I will do as you bid, My Lord and love my father's lands in true, for they are my own, though I love Avonlea well." Eirwen cocked her head to one side as if pondering something deeply,

"When might my Sire have leave to converse with me of his gods?" The young child left her mother's side to stand next to her father, scarcely measuring the height of his waist and oblivious to his imposing reputation and demeanor, she reached to take his cold hand in her own cool one and looked up at her father, eyes shining with pride and adoration. Aris wore a look of contrition upon her lovely face that she must apologize for her child's uncharacteristic lack of manners,

"Forgive her My Lords," She spoke to the Lord of Winter and to the Dullahan both,

"Within her burns an unending desire of learning, that of her father's lands ever more so." She considered the Lord's words carefully,

"I know you speak true, Lord Morrig, for both the weight of our realms sit atop her small shoulders and she must represent dual worlds to those not of ours. I pray she will do so with honour." Perhaps her burden will be less if shared by another, she again thought to herself, still weighing her request in her mind.

Princess Celeste's eyes met the great Lord's once more, well grateful for his soothing tone though her pulse throbbed in her temple. As he spoke of monsters the Swanmay's eyes flicked to the imposing forms of the Orm and the Dullahan, her natural instincts alerting her to their predatory nature, though her fears somewhat eased by the Master of this realm's assurances that they held no danger to her here. She said nothing in reply, but inclined her dark to head to him deferentially to show her understanding of both his esteem and concern for her fears.

"Thank you My Lord, I will be most grateful for your time." Aris curtsied in thanks for his acquiescence to her request for a private audience and turned to Eirwen who still held the hand of her father, awaiting what his response might be to their child.
The Dullahan looked down on Eirwen and smiled, reaching out to take her small hand in his own. Smiling, he mouthed the word "soon" before nodding back towards Aris and Lord Winter, raising a finger to his lips as signal to allow the High Queen to complete her formal greeting.

For his part, Lord Winter seemed unperturbed by the child's precocious nature.

<"The pursuit of knowledge should not be apologized for, High Queen. It is among the highest pursuits valued in my court. Now, ladies of Avonlea, please retire yourself amongst my guests and take your ease.">

The Allied Provinces

Derris nodded sympathetically as his niece spoke, understanding her reservations regarding her mother's well being. He saw that Talisha had claimed much of her mother's inner strength as her own, for what is harder than to continue to love a man that is reviled by the entirety of his countrymen? The Protos grinned at his niece's simple yet meaningful request,

"Of course, I will see to it you have a visit from the Grandmaster Vardos herself, Padma Stathos of Trifylli." He paused to look again at Lord Winter,

"With your leave of course, Lord Morrig." He made a mental note to instruct Vardos Padma to not speak of the poem, We Met at Mystiko Valley, or the other myriad songs retelling the circumstances of her father's death.
Talisha grinned in response, and for a moment her face become like unto the one he had known when she was a child.


"That would be a wonderful gift, Lord Uncle. So long as Lord Winter allows it?"

Her attention turned alongside the Protos' to Lord Winter, who spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance and welcome.

<"I have heard a great deal of this Grandmaster Vardos from Ambassatrix Collins. It would be my pleasure to welcome her to my Court.">

The Clan Holds

He hides it well, but Kuldir is deeply pleased by the Winter Lord's compliment - no higher praise could a craftsman seek than that of a master in the use of the tools he designs. Though all the evidence of his eyes and ears and hands had told him that this was one of his finest works, still he had worried that his skills may have failed him.

I may go to the First knowing that much.

"Master Architect, please, Lord Winter. Or simply Kuldir, if you would. There has been no High Architect among my people since the Sundering, when first we left our ancestral home." His smile makes it clear that no insult was taken from the mistaken title. "Duties or no, it would have been tactless of us to pass on so gracious an invitation; as one accustomed to long journeys, I felt it my obligation to be the one to make this one. I am only sorry that more of my fellows could not."

"It would be my pleasure to remain, o Lord of Winter, and trade song and story with you and your people, that both of ours might be made richer by the experience." Nera's gaze shifts briefly past the Aeldir lord to the great tree behind him before returning to Balor, her mind's eye picturing the wooded mountain path with it's mist shrouded villages. "Your island is most beautiful; such natural splendor, made more and not less by the crafting of skilled hands. Not many possess the patience for such artistry. I look forward to knowing more of those who do."

"And I would be remiss if I did not also offer a place for an ambassador of your own in the Clan Holds, Lord Winter. Your....hmmm, counterpart?...within the Court of Spring has had one of her Girls visiting us with us since shortly after the Masquerade; I've no doubt she would speak well of our hospitality."


Sorry, no pic! Tough to find anything that really portrays what I see when I think of the drimma - somewhere between dwarf and sasquatch.

Possessing the boxy stature typical of the drimma race, four feet tall and nearly that wide and thick, Nera is a motherly woman with an ample figure. Like all drimma, she has a thick coat of body hair (auburn in color in her case), and has grown out the hair on her head to waist length, which she keeps tied in a simple braid interwoven with red silk ribbon. As a concession to human sensibilities, she wears a white robe and sandles in the style of the Aladarian nobility, accented with the red bordered golden sash of her station.
Balor Morrig's eyebrow arched slightly at the realization he had misused the Master Architect's title.

<"My apologies for waking such a memory, Master Architect. It was not my intention to offend. As to an ambassador of the Courts, it would well please me to send a representative to your lands. However, it is the Autumn Court that oversees our official dealings with other kingdoms - if you are not opposed, I would write Lady Autumn and have her send a worthy representative.">

[Mary_Sue]

He thought on it for a moment. "Honestly, it is not something to which I have given much thought. Happiness has always seemed inconsequential and unimportant, and nobody has ever asked me that before." In truth he was not sure if he knew what happiness looked like. He was aware his parents had been 'happily married' but happy? His mother had been driven half-mad by the pressures of her position and by grief, and in her absence his father had become short and irascible. His whole life had been consumed by duty.

Back in those first few months around the wedding, he had believed himself in love, but that had brought him more misery than happiness. The emotional energy he had poured into the marriage had exhausted him before he even took the throne, and there had been all but nothing in return. At best he had only ever been trying to convince himself, he now saw, wanting to believe that things could be as good as he had hoped in spite of everything his senses should have been telling him. On some level he had known, but had made the mistake of committing himself further rather than trying to disengage. Had he responded to Sheydah's distance with detachment, perhaps she would have grown to despise him less, would make the effort to hide her contempt for him now.

Attempting to stand on his dignity as regards the marriage, as regards his father, was pointless, for she had left him with nothing to stand on. How many at court whispered behind his back about her brazen cuckolding of him? She had penetrated his defences and hollowed him out, and now there was precious little of him left, just a crown and a sword and a device to use them. What remained of Isfandir howled in the emptiness of his self and now clung desperately to this lady's hand as if it were all that tethered him to existence.

He looked up at her again through misted eyes and spoke in a low voice. "No, I am not," he said thickly. He glanced down suddenly, becoming aware of how tightly he was gripping her hand. "I am sorry, my lady," he said, hurriedly, slackening his grip.

The unhappiness that was evident in this stranger's face moved her and suddenly this game of flirtation she had been playing at evolved into a genuine desire to bring him what small measure of happiness she could, and chase away the pain that had come unbidden into his eyes. She brought the hand up that had gripped hers so tightly with the strength of his suffering and kissed it with her lips.

"You do not need to apologize to me, My Lord. It is plain you have suffered much and more, doubtless of circumstances imposed upon you by the onus of duty." She reached up with the hand that he did not clasp and caressed his face gently,

"You have bared to me your very soul, and I am honoured to see it even as it grieves me so, the depth of your hurt. I would seek to honour you with a gift of my own, and ease your pain for a small while." She paused, uncertain of how the Nend would take to being propositioned,

"If you would would but let me." For she did not know him as King and husband, but only as the desperately unhappy man named Isfandir.


Avonlea

The Dullahan looked down on Eirwen and smiled, reaching out to take her small hand in his own. Smiling, he mouthed the word "soon" before nodding back towards Aris and Lord Winter, raising a finger to his lips as signal to allow the High Queen to complete her formal greeting.

For his part, Lord Winter seemed unperturbed by the child's precocious nature.

<"The pursuit of knowledge should not be apologized for, High Queen. It is among the highest pursuits valued in my court. Now, ladies of Avonlea, please retire yourself amongst my guests and take your ease.">

Eirwen smiled happily at her father and mimicked him with a finger on her own lips, giggling quietly at her father's game as they awaited Aris and the Lord of Winter to finish their greetings.

"I am grateful for your understanding, My Lord and look forward to our private meeting." Aris said, smiling as she and her maids curtsied once again and took their leave of the Lord.

Later

Aris had found Lord Winter's study without trial or incident and awaited within, sitting atop a comfortable chair with her legs curled beneath her. She unwittingly wrung her hands together in nervous agitation as she thought of what she must ask of the Lord, indeed, there was more than the matter of another babe to discuss though she had dared mention it not in front of her maids lest one of them had been charged to report upon her doings to the Council. She stared off into the distance, silently pondering her future as well as her child's, wishing for a bracing quaff of wine to settle her nerves as she anticipated her audience with Lord Morrig.

[HalfTangible]

((This is after whatever happens with Crudice))

Phelnia moved away from Rikadime as soon as propriety would allow. The dipomat's proposal had enraged her more than she cared to admit, even more than the Aeldir had seen from her. She needed to leave, calm down, clear her head. Crudice's fate was decided, she didn't need to be there anymore.

She smacked into someone, and cursed low in Primal. Primus already looked rude, this wasn't going to help matters.

"Sorry." She muttered, pulling her hood up just a bit. "I should've-"

A man like the stars: immortal and far beyond her reach, but only made more beautiful because of it... Strong, chiseled jaw, long brown hair her hands could get lost in for hours, eyes like emerald stars, a physique straight out of legend, confident stance, gaze with the heat of the summer sun...

Phelnia felt her face flush as whatever she was about to say died in her throat, and she realized her jaw was hanging open. She quickly shut it and pulled her hood down a bit over her eyes. "Uh... L-Lord Turien, h- <hello. I... how... um... h-hello.">

Think of something to say!

<"You uh... look... nice."> She gulped. <"It is... good to see you again.">

Okay. Now something that isn't stupid.

Let him react however you will. I do not expect it to end happily for the princess.

[PepperP.]

The Allied Provinces

Talisha grinned in response, and for a moment her face become like unto the one he had known when she was a child.

"That would be a wonderful gift, Lord Uncle. So long as Lord Winter allows it?"

Her attention turned alongside the Protos' to Lord Winter, who spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance and welcome.

<"I have heard a great deal of this Grandmaster Vardos from Ambassatrix Collins. It would be my pleasure to welcome her to my Court.">

"Very well then, you shall expect a dhow carrying the Grandmaster Vardos to arrive soon after my return to the Provinces." Derris spoke with a look of satisfaction on his face, well pleased to begin the repair of his relationship with his niece who was also their land's representative in the Winter Court, a relationship too long neglected though perhaps not beyond amends. Derris glanced at his Nand counterpart but the Nend was quite consumed by his misery and did not appear to be attending the conversation. Derris was gratified, however, by Nyle's attention to the proceedings as he would one day be Baram's second, as Maldarr had been his these long years.

[Geckus]

"No apology necessary, nor offense taken, Lord Winter; as you said earlier, there is still much for us to learn of each other. If diplomacy is the role of the Autumn Court, then I would be most grateful to you for relaying the invitation to the Lady Autumn as well."

Bowing again his Aeldir host, Kuldir supresses a wince as a spasm passes through his aching bones, clasping his hands behind his back to conceal their faint trembling.

"I look forward to the festival, Lord Winter, and to seeing more of your city."

-------------
Later...

Though his spare frame ached from the long wagon ride to the citadel, Kuldir demanded one last task of himself before he would rest for the coming celebration - greeting Aris Morningswon, the High Queen of Avonlea. He had thought to pay her a visit earlier, as his trip to the Aeldir lands had brought him past her Queendom, but his brief stop-over there had found her already gone on the festival.

I'm sure that was one of her Maids I saw not long ago...

Dispatching his retinue to unload Nera's belonging from their vessel, he lay a bony hand on the drimma lady's arm.

"Nera, did you see where...."

"The Avaloneans, Master Architect? To your right, just past the Primal delegation."

"Ah, yes. Thank you Nera. The rest of the evening is yours to enjoy."

"But Master Architect, you are not well, I should not..."

"I will be fine Nera; the Greying will not claim me this night."

"But..."

"Go. Learn a new song, sing the Aeldir one of our own; I know you've been wanting to since we heard them on the way up here. Don't force me to make it an order."

Though Kuldir's tone was light, Nera knew well enough not to argue any further; the Master Architect never bluffed. Bowing to his wishes, she went to enjoy the hospitality of the Aeldir. Setting his sight on the Avalonean party, Kuldir made his way towards the High Queen, his steps slow and measured.

"Za fstryetchoo, Aris Morningsworn."

[Aedilred]

The unhappiness that was evident in this stranger's face moved her and suddenly this game of flirtation she had been playing at evolved into a genuine desire to bring him what small measure of happiness she could, and chase away the pain that had come unbidden into his eyes. She brought the hand up that had gripped hers so tightly with the strength of his suffering and kissed it with her lips.

"You do not need to apologize to me, My Lord. It is plain you have suffered much and more, doubtless of circumstances imposed upon you by the onus of duty." She reached up with the hand that he did not clasp and caressed his face gently,

"You have bared to me your very soul, and I am honoured to see it even as it grieves me so, the depth of your hurt. I would seek to honour you with a gift of my own, and ease your pain for a small while." She paused, uncertain of how the Nend would take to being propositioned,

"If you would would but let me." For she did not know him as King and husband, but only as the desperately unhappy man named Isfandir.
He wasn't sure if he fully understood her, or whether that was just the pretence he had to maintain, even to himself.

"I... I think I should like that, my lady," he said, quietly.

[Mary_Sue]

-------------
Later...

Though his spare frame ached from the long wagon ride to the citadel, Kuldir demanded one last task of himself before he would rest for the coming celebration - greeting Aris Morningswon, the High Queen of Avonlea. He had thought to pay her a visit earlier, as his trip to the Aeldir lands had brought him past her Queendom, but his brief stop-over there had found her already gone on the festival.

I'm sure that was one of her Maids I saw not long ago...

Dispatching his retinue to unload Nera's belonging from their vessel, he lay a bony hand on the drimma lady's arm.

"Nera, did you see where...."

"The Avaloneans, Master Architect? To your right, just past the Primal delegation."

"Ah, yes. Thank you Nera. The rest of the evening is yours to enjoy."

"But Master Architect, you are not well, I should not..."

"I will be fine Nera; the Greying will not claim me this night."

"But..."

"Go. Learn a new song, sing the Aeldir one of our own; I know you've been wanting to since we heard them on the way up here. Don't force me to make it an order."

Though Kuldir's tone was light, Nera knew well enough not to argue any further; the Master Architect never bluffed. Bowing to his wishes, she went to enjoy the hospitality of the Aeldir. Setting his sight on the Avalonean party, Kuldir made his way towards the High Queen, his steps slow and measured.

"Za fstryetchoo, Aris Morningsworn."

Aris smiled warmly at the Master Architect, though she was aggrieved to see the Drimma King whom she loved so dearly be ailing so,

"Za fstryetchoo, Master Ironsong!" She exclaimed before leaning over the stout man's shorter form and kissing both of his cheeks.

"It has been too long since we last met, it is wonderful that we should meet here. I can not tell you how grateful I am for my dear guardsmen, every day your name is a benediction on my lips in gratitude for them. But please, tell me how fares you and your great realm." Aris signaled to her maids who came over with two low benches they had acquired from the room perimeter, she hoped Lord Winter would not mind if they were borrowed for a few moments. She herself put an arm around him and helped to lower him onto the bench gently. Another maid came by with glasses of wine. She sat across from the Master Architect, who had been so kind to her and her small child upon her realm's time of uncertainty after Thalia's disappearance and held his hand with her free one.


He wasn't sure if he fully understood her, or whether that was just the pretence he had to maintain, even to himself.

"I... I think I should like that, my lady," he said, quietly.

A soft smile graced Fenille's lips as she led Isfandir away by the hand she had clasped to the quarters of the Avonlea delegation whilst here in the Winter Court. They could have been any couple, walking hand in hand. With Isfandir covered as he was, Fenille was not the only one who did not recognize the Nand King and they drew little attention upon their departure from Lord Winter's large throne room. Fenille's chambers were cozily warmed and lit by a fire. As spoken, she did not have any hardships removing her clothes, nor in the end did Isfandir despite his perceived anxiety upon the matter. They were not seen again until the next day and Fenille hoped that she had lessened the man's burdens, if but for a night.

[Aedilred]

A soft smile graced Fenille's lips as she led Isfandir away by the hand she had clasped to the quarters of the Avonlea delegation whilst here in the Winter Court. They could have been any couple, walking hand in hand. With Isfandir covered as he was, Fenille was not the only one who did not recognize the Nand King and they drew little attention upon their departure from Lord Winter's large throne room. Fenille's chambers were cozily warmed and lit by a fire. As spoken, she did not have any hardships removing her clothes, nor in the end did Isfandir despite his perceived anxiety upon the matter. They were not seen again until the next day and Fenille hoped that she had lessened the man's burdens, if but for a night.

The next morning

Isfandir shivered in the crisp air, which seemed to penetrate him to the bone even indoors and no matter how many clothes he wore, though he had had cause to remove a number since the evening before.

He was consumed with self-loathing. For a few hours he had felt free, a man rather than a king, and he was sorely tempted to return to the warmth of Fenille's embrace and lose himself once more in mutual desire and intimacy. But that was weakness speaking, the same weakness he had displayed last night. He had broken his own laws, and for all that he himself, in the solitary darkness of night, sometimes questioned their necessity, that did not change their legality. A king who broke his own laws was no better than a tyrant, even if the crime had no victim. If there was a victim it was Sheydah, but he had no sympathy for her. He felt rather that he had betrayed himself; that for all that his marriage had for years been no more than a husk, he had allowed himself to become no better than her.

He needed time and space to clear his head, he thought, as he began to find the environs of the League's quarters crowded and claustrophobic, following his return there that morning. After donning his coat and hat, he made his way towards the gates.

A young Ambrosan clansman recognised the king as he passed, and offered a respectful bow.

"You go unescorted, my lord?" Isfandir drew to a stop.

"I just need some air, and some light", he replied with a light smile. "I don't need an escort." The last thing he wanted was a coterie of hangers-on. Perhaps even Derris would come along and attempt to offer some avuncular advice. No, better he be alone.

"With all respect, my lord, our orders are not to let senior delegation members travel alone-"

"I'm not travelling, I'm just walking. I shan't leave the sight of the palace and I don't need anyone to hold my hand," he snapped, more angrily than the young man deserved. "That is my word as king," he said, before walking on without a backward glance.

The Ambrosan stood there until the king had passed by, then ran, seeking an officer, or anyone who could spread the word to those who needed to be notified. Within minutes, an escort party stood ready. Yet, though they searched all the day, they never did find the king.

[RandoMan]

((This is after whatever happens with Crudice))

Phelnia moved away from Rikadime as soon as propriety would allow. The dipomat's proposal had enraged her more than she cared to admit, even more than the Aeldir had seen from her. She needed to leave, calm down, clear her head. Crudice's fate was decided, she didn't need to be there anymore.

She smacked into someone, and cursed low in Primal. Primus already looked rude, this wasn't going to help matters.

"Sorry." She muttered, pulling her hood up just a bit. "I should've-"

A man like the stars: immortal and far beyond her reach, but only made more beautiful because of it... Strong, chiseled jaw, long brown hair her hands could get lost in for hours, eyes like emerald stars, a physique straight out of legend, confident stance, gaze with the heat of the summer sun...

Phelnia felt her face flush as whatever she was about to say died in her throat, and she realized her jaw was hanging open. She quickly shut it and pulled her hood down a bit over her eyes. "Uh... L-Lord Turien, h- <hello. I... how... um... h-hello.">

Think of something to say!

<"You uh... look... nice."> She gulped. <"It is... good to see you again.">

Okay. Now something that isn't stupid.

Let him react however you will. I do not expect it to end happily for the princess.

Lord Turien had spent the time following his introduction drinking Mistwater Wine and glowering from the most hidden corner of the room at the various mortals traipsing through Lord Winter's halls. Bad enough they must suffer such creatures outside Tir Amser and now to have them returned upon their shores... Quietly he cursed their short memories and silently pledged to himself to restore the respect owed the island of the Aeldir even if Lord Winter and Ladies Spring and Autumn were content to invite every ragged mortal into their homees.

He had noted the arrival of the delegation from Dhuda Besina, led by some halfbreed mutt though not near as offensive as a true halfborn still no sight to see, and had been working up his niceties to go and greet them. When he had departed his corner to go and give his regards to the dilute blooded delegate however he had found himself interrupted by some hooded cur. He had merely scowled and been prepared to push by when the figure dared to address him, first in Luskan and then in the First Tongue.

He glowered at the figure who revealed herself a human woman, his glare only growing more condemning as she stumbled over the Aeldir tongue. He did not recognize her though she spoke with familiarity. Was this some Avonlean strumpet hosted in the North or was there yet another in his own lord's court? If she were Avonlean she had been ill treated by the fates compared to her countrymen for her face bespoke a hard and brutal life non-conducive to even the simple beauty achievable by mortals. No, she was not Avonlean she was Primal. Slowly it dawned on him she was the upstart Primal royal who he'd defeated in Avonlea.

<"Unless you desire a more permanent lesson in blades I have other matters to attend.">

He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her to the side that he might pass her. Remembering his obligations to Lord Winter's sad agreement to respect the mortal races he added.

<"Excuse me.">

He pushed on past her seeking to greet the Dhuda Loka for even if they were a mockery of the Aeldir at least they were not Primal.

[Geckus]

Aris smiled warmly at the Master Architect, though she was aggrieved to see the Drimma King whom she loved so dearly be ailing so,

"Za fstryetchoo, Master Ironsong!" She exclaimed before leaning over the stout man's shorter form and kissing both of his cheeks.

"It has been too long since we last met, it is wonderful that we should meet here. I can not tell you how grateful I am for my dear guardsmen, every day your name is a benediction on my lips in gratitude for them. But please, tell me how fares you and your great realm." Aris signaled to her maids who came over with two low benches they had acquired from the room perimeter, she hoped Lord Winter would not mind if they were borrowed for a few moments. She herself put an arm around him and helped to lower him onto the bench gently. Another maid came by with glasses of wine. She sat across from the Master Architect, who had been so kind to her and her small child upon her realm's time of uncertainty after Thalia's disappearance and held his hand with her free one.

"Too long indeed, my dear. Too long by far."

Lowering himself carefully to one of the benches brought over by Aris maids, Kuldir is glad for the assistance of the young Queen's steadying arm, and touched by the warmth of her hand in his.

"The Clans grow and prosper, hand in hand with the humans of the lands that have chosen to accept our friendship. It is my belief that the Imperium shall prove to be a stabilizing influence in the north and tie our diverse peoples together, though the loss of King Adriendal was a blow; he was a good-hearted man, loyal to his people and to his allies." A touch of sadness enters his eyes and voice as he speaks of the Hortissian King; besides having fought alongside each other on the battlefield against the Ravager, they had shared many an evening in conversation, thanks to the nearness of their capitals. "As for myself...well, soon I shall stand before the First Architect, to see the measure of my life and prepare my soul for it's next turn upon the Wheel."

"And what of you and yours? Is young Eirwen here with you?"

[QuintonBeck]

"<Turnkey>?"
"It means =Jailer=."
"Oh."

Rikadime shook her head. "No longer the brink, I'm afraid. We received a declaration of war from Pavos shortly before coming." She turned to Crudice. "Well? Do you desire to learn here, Princess?"

Phelnia looked between Navus and Morrig, then down to her daughter. Rikadime had taken this decision out of her hands practically without even trying. But... Crudice was so young, so wonderful... Phelnia didn't want to leave her in this place. Crudice couldn't want to stay either, could she? She was happy, and loved, and...

... and Phelnia was a good mom, right?

Crudice bit her lower lip, nervous under the sudden pressure and eyes upon her. The ghostly figure upon the throne appeared to have a strange curiosity floating in his otherworldly features but his eyes were as cold as his realm. She looked towards her mom, Phelnia, whose eyes pleaded with her to stay. She wanted to stay, to cry out that she'd never leave her mom but she could feel a lump in her throat blocking any words from coming forth. She squeaked a soft high pitched sound. Again she was assaulted by the memory of her dream upon an island filled with those lighter in skin than Phelnia and her Primus family. She did not think it was here that she had dreamed of for never had she dreamt it to be so cold but she found herself wondering if perhaps this was a step closer to that dream.

"Can my mom stay here too?" she finally managed to ask, looking towards Rikadime though she knew the decision lay with Lord Winter.

[Mary_Sue]

"Too long indeed, my dear. Too long by far."

Lowering himself carefully to one of the benches brought over by Aris maids, Kuldir is glad for the assistance of the young Queen's steadying arm, and touched by the warmth of her hand in his.

"The Clans grow and prosper, hand in hand with the humans of the lands that have chosen to accept our friendship. It is my belief that the Imperium shall prove to be a stabilizing influence in the north and tie our diverse peoples together, though the loss of King Adriendal was a blow; he was a good-hearted man, loyal to his people and to his allies." A touch of sadness enters his eyes and voice as he speaks of the Hortissian King; besides having fought alongside each other on the battlefield against the Ravager, they had shared many an evening in conversation, thanks to the nearness of their capitals. "As for myself...well, soon I shall stand before the First Architect, to see the measure of my life and prepare my soul for it's next turn upon the Wheel."

"And what of you and yours? Is young Eirwen here with you?"

Aris's lovely face was overcome with sadness as her friend spoke of his impending departure from the mortal plane. The Drimma had charged himself with the role of overseeing her protection, and that of her child's and he had become a fatherish figure in her mind, at least he was as close as Aris was like to know a father. She patted his hand soothingly as he spoke of his lost friend, knowing that she too would soon be grieving such a loss and her heart ached with woe.

"Yes, My Lord, here she is now." Aris beckoned Eirwen forward who had run by at play with her odd friend Cristabel who hung back at watched with her big solemn eyes,

"Eirwen my sweet, do remember the Master Architect?" Eirwen tilted her head and put her small hand up to her chin as if thinking very hard.

"No I do not, but I am well pleased to know you now, good Sir. I pray we will be good friends from this day hence." Eirwen spoke truthfully and politely, favouring the Master Architect with a deep curtsy to show her manners.

[TheDarkDM]

Avonlea

Eirwen smiled happily at her father and mimicked him with a finger on her own lips, giggling quietly at her father's game as they awaited Aris and the Lord of Winter to finish their greetings.

"I am grateful for your understanding, My Lord and look forward to our private meeting." Aris said, smiling as she and her maids curtsied once again and took their leave of the Lord.

Later

Aris had found Lord Winter's study without trial or incident and awaited within, sitting atop a comfortable chair with her legs curled beneath her. She unwittingly wrung her hands together in nervous agitation as she thought of what she must ask of the Lord, indeed, there was more than the matter of another babe to discuss though she had dared mention it not in front of her maids lest one of them had been charged to report upon her doings to the Council. She stared off into the distance, silently pondering her future as well as her child's, wishing for a bracing quaff of wine to settle her nerves as she anticipated her audience with Lord Morrig.
The chamber where the High Queen waited was not large, but it was comfortable. A dozen plush chairs were pushed against the walls, six facing six, flanking the path to the ornate wooden door that led to the winter lord's sanctum. Sadly, there seemed little thought given t refreshment, and the great lady waited in parched silence until the soft click of a latch. The doors swung open to reveal Lord Winter, imperious and overwhelming even removed from his throne, standing at the threshold of a yawning chamber. A blast of cold air rushed past him to wash over Aris, which he seemed not at all to feel as he nodded at her.

<"High Queen. Please, enter.">

Past the threshold awaited an awesome sight, for the northern wall of the chamber laid open to the air, and beyond it was clearly the great balcony that supported the banner of the Rose Courts on the face of the citadel. Beyond was a tangled gallery of wonders, sculptures in marble and crystal in various stages of completion, shelves and scroll racks filled to bursting with tomes more ancient than Aris herself. At the center of it all sat a wide desk of solid oak, its table black marble, above which hung the bones of some awesome serpentine sea creature. The study radiated knowledge, old knowledge, and as Lord Winter moved back to his high-backed chair he seemed intimately a part of it.

<"Might I offer you some refreshment?">

He reached across a stack of sea charts and what appeared to be maps of the heavens themselves to a tall crystal decanter filled with a sparkling blue decoction.

[HalfTangible]

[Rejected]

<"Of-"> Phelnia began as she was pushed aside. Turien walked right past her, his gaze bearing only contempt.

<"... course.">

... She continued on her way, not looking back.

... What Turien had done should not have hurt as much as it did. What had she been expecting, that his attitude would improve after defeating her? That the Aeldir would suddenly find the scarred visage she bore as appealing as she found his? And they said Phelnia was the smart one in the family.

[Lord Winter, Crudice, and the Primal]

Lady Navus frowned at Crudice's pause. Leaving the decision in the hands of a child. These Aeldir were truly alien beings. She wondered if Lord Winter understood, or if he was treating Crudice as he would a Spring Girl.

"Can my mom stay here too?" Crudice eventually asked, anxious and trembling.

Phelnia blinked with surprise before smiling at her daughter. Is this why mother had children to no end?

Rikadime raised an eyebrow at the request. That... might actually be even better, though she dare not to voice this opinion aloud. Phelnia would not be able to coddle Crudice during her lessons, but keeping the two together would keep their loyalty strong.

"On the Imperium's side... so long as she is able to attend to her duties from afar - which I do not doubt she can - Phelnia may stay until Breydice abdicates or dies. However, in housing you and Symrera we have asked much of Lord Winter already." She turned to look to Balor Morrig. "If you will allow it, my Lord?"

[Mary_Sue]

Avonlea

The chamber where the High Queen waited was not large, but it was comfortable. A dozen plush chairs were pushed against the walls, six facing six, flanking the path to the ornate wooden door that led to the winter lord's sanctum. Sadly, there seemed little thought given t refreshment, and the great lady waited in parched silence until the soft click of a latch. The doors swung open to reveal Lord Winter, imperious and overwhelming even removed from his throne, standing at the threshold of a yawning chamber. A blast of cold air rushed past him to wash over Aris, which he seemed not at all to feel as he nodded at her.

<"High Queen. Please, enter.">

Past the threshold awaited an awesome sight, for the northern wall of the chamber laid open to the air, and beyond it was clearly the great balcony that supported the banner of the Rose Courts on the face of the citadel. Beyond was a tangled gallery of wonders, sculptures in marble and crystal in various stages of completion, shelves and scroll racks filled to bursting with tomes more ancient than Aris herself. At the center of it all sat a wide desk of solid oak, its table black marble, above which hung the bones of some awesome serpentine sea creature. The study radiated knowledge, old knowledge, and as Lord Winter moved back to his high-backed chair he seemed intimately a part of it.

<"Might I offer you some refreshment?">

He reached across a stack of sea charts and what appeared to be maps of the heavens themselves to a tall crystal decanter filled with a sparkling blue decoction.

Aris looked up at the pale, imposing figure on the threshold, the cold gust of air ruffling her hair away from her face where it had fallen whilst she sat in her silent repose. The chill blast did little to counsel the Queen, though perhaps she found a small measure of comfort in it, reminding her a bit of her cold lover's embrace. She arose gracefully from her cushioned chair and smoothed her silver gown and better arranged her raven cloak as she followed the Lord into his study. She stood impassive for a moment, as she took in it's grandeur, feeling ever smaller and more insignificant unto this Lord as she stood within the presence of untold decades of gathered knowledge and study, and perhaps it was right that she felt so. Her gaze turned from the skeleton serpent hanging testament to ages long past and into the black, endless depths of Lord Winter's inscrutable eyes.

"Yes, thank you My Lord, I find myself quite parched." She seated herself opposite from Lord Morrig, feeling quite distanced from him across his great imposing desk.

"Firstly, I would apologize to you, as I may have deceived you into believing there was but one matter on which I wished to speak, though I assure you that such covert measures were necessary to ensure our utmost confidence." She paused, not implicitly stating that she suspected one or more of her maids to be in the Council's employ, though assured in the Lord's perception that he would be astute enough to ascertain as much.

"There are in fact, three points of topic that I feel must needs to be spoken between us, I pray that I not usurp your time away from your other guests too jealously." Her stomach fluttered as she decided upon her first speaking point,

"It was called to my attention after the fact, that the creation of a child between myself and your Dullahan was displeasing to you. I would beg your forgiveness for my transgressions against you, as I knew not what I had done at the time. Nor, in fact even now am I fully cognizant of the ramifications of bearing a child of two worlds, other than a keen knowledge of the burden that has been placed upon Eirwen's shoulders as the sole representative of our two realms so intimately entwined. As Eirwen's mother, I would seek to lessen her burden, that she might share it with another to who she may commiserate with long after I am gone." The Queen shivered then, as though a malignant hand reached out for her even here in the sanctum of winter. She was but one and twenty but she felt not long for this world, and briefly she grieved for her life lost and her child's singular isolation. Collecting her morbid thoughts, she came back to her first point,

"Even knowing my transgressions and your displeasure, still I would seek your permission to bear yet a second child of the Dullahan. A true sibling so that Eirwen might not live bereft the comfort of one who understands her mien." She placed her hands flat on the black desk as to settle their nervous disposition, she rose her pale blue eyes unto the Lord's and awaited his verdict, or his wrath.

[Geckus]

Aris's lovely face was overcome with sadness as her friend spoke of his impending departure from the mortal plane. The Drimma had charged himself with the role of overseeing her protection, and that of her child's and he had become a fatherish figure in her mind, at least he was as close as Aris was like to know a father. She patted his hand soothingly as he spoke of his lost friend, knowing that she too would soon be grieving such a loss and her heart ached with woe.

"Yes, My Lord, here she is now." Aris beckoned Eirwen forward who had run by at play with her odd friend Cristabel who hung back at watched with her big solemn eyes,

"Eirwen my sweet, do remember the Master Architect?" Eirwen tilted her head and put her small hand up to her chin as if thinking very hard.

"No I do not, but I am well pleased to know you now, good Sir. I pray we will be good friends from this day hence." Eirwen spoke truthfully and politely, favouring the Master Architect with a deep curtsy to show her manners.



"My but how you have grown! And such fine manners...though I suppose I should expect no less, given your parentage." Carefully placing his wineglass beside him on the bench, Kuldir raised that hand to his heart and bowed his shaggy head to the young girl. "I am not surprised you remember me not, little one; you were barely a toddler when last I saw you. I would be glad for your friendship, young miss, as I have been glad for that of your mother."

Gazing at the child's face, he can see the features of her mother there, and her father, and how she is made all the more special by the mingled of the two. This one shall leave a mark upon the world; an Architect in spirit if not in body, or I am no son of the First.

"I have a present for you, if your mother does not object?" Giving the young Queen's hand a gentle squeeze, Kuldir reaches behind his head to unclasp a thin chain, hidden from sight in the thick silver hair covering his head; attached to the chain is a tiny iron wheel with eight spokes and an elaborate rune etched into the hub. Motioning Eirwen closer, he slips the chain into her hand. "A reminder, and a thanks, for friendship freely given." Leaning back with a sigh, Kuldir waved towards the silent Cristabel, "This old man will keep you from your playmate no longer, go and enjoy yourself, Eirwen. I will see you again before parting this land, I hope."

After Eirwen has returned to her play, Kuldir smiles at Aris, the white of his teeth nearly lost in the silver of his beard.

"When she is old enough to understand, let her know that if ever she is in need, that token will grant her assistance from of any drimma of my Clans, to the full extent that they are able. I left word with the Council of Elders before coming here, so all will know who it was given to and why."

Raising a gentle hand to lightly brush Aris' chin, he says in a low voice, almost a whisper, "Now be not so sad, my dear Queen; a hundred years and fourty more I have seen, and I go not mournfully to my Maker, for I have been granted the full of the time allotted to me, and it was well spent in service to my people and to my craft. I have had the fortune of few foes and many friends. It has been a good life, but all things must end."

[Mary_Sue]

"My but how you have grown! And such fine manners...though I suppose I should expect no less, given your parentage." Carefully placing his wineglass beside him on the bench, Kuldir raised that hand to his heart and bowed his shaggy head to the young girl. "I am not surprised you remember me not, little one; you were barely a toddler when last I saw you. I would be glad for your friendship, young miss, as I have been glad for that of your mother."

Gazing at the child's face, he can see the features of her mother there, and her father, and how she is made all the more special by the mingled of the two. This one shall leave a mark upon the world; an Architect in spirit if not in body, or I am no son of the First.

"I have a present for you, if your mother does not object?" Giving the young Queen's hand a gentle squeeze, Kuldir reaches behind his head to unclasp a thin chain, hidden from sight in the thick silver hair covering his head; attached to the chain is a tiny iron wheel with eight spokes and an elaborate rune etched into the hub. Motioning Eirwen closer, he slips the chain into her hand. "A reminder, and a thanks, for friendship freely given." Leaning back with a sigh, Kuldir waved towards the silent Cristabel, "This old man will keep you from your playmate no longer, go and enjoy yourself, Eirwen. I will see you again before parting this land, I hope."

After Eirwen has returned to her play, Kuldir smiles at Aris, the white of his teeth nearly lost in the silver of his beard.

"When she is old enough to understand, let her know that if ever she is in need, that token will grant her assistance from of any drimma of my Clans, to the full extent that they are able. I left word with the Council of Elders before coming here, so all will know who it was given to and why."

Raising a gentle hand to lightly brush Aris' chin, he says in a low voice, almost a whisper, "Now be not so sad, my dear Queen; a hundred years and fourty more I have seen, and I go not mournfully to my Maker, for I have been granted the full of the time allotted to me, and it was well spent in service to my people and to my craft. I have had the fortune of few foes and many friends. It has been a good life, but all things must end."

A happy grin spread Eirwen's lips at the Master Architect's praise and acceptance of her proferred friendship. Well pleased to hear how grown she had become, she stood tall and proud at her full small height.

"And I am well pleased to have made a friend of you, Lord Master." She chirped happily, turning to speak to her small blue-haired friend,

"Did you hear that Cristabel? We have made a new friend!" She turned back to the Architect curiously as he spoke of a gift, and Cristabel turned her head ever so slightly to the rear, as though somebody whispered into her ear.

"Of course I do not object, My Lord" Aris too was curious as to her child's gift, her eyes widening in surprise as he gifted his charm to Eirwen. Her daughter took the small wheel delicately and cradled it in her hand.

"It's cold" she said, and laughed as though surprised,

"I thank you for this gift, Master Architect. I am well pleased by your charm." She held the wheel up for her mother to see and Aris beckoned her closer so that she may clasp the chain around her child, twisting it so it wrapped twice around her small neck and dangled prettily at her throat. Eirwen graced the Architect with a bright smile before wrapping her small arms around him for a hug. Releasing him, she curtsied as though just remembering her manners, and skipped off to show Cristabel and the others of her mother's court her prize.

"Would that I could repay your kindness. How do I repay you who would protect my daughter from beyond your grave?" At the mention of the culmination of his long mortality, tears welled in her pale blue eyes and fell down her cheek, her woe traced in white as she tried to blink them away.

"I would not begrudge you your rest, My Lord, though it seems that oft our loved ones peace is bought with the grief of those left behind." She sniffled and took his hand from her chin and brought it to her lips for a chaste kiss and held his hand in hers as they sat together while longer.

[TheDarkDM]

Primus

[Lord Winter, Crudice, and the Primal]

Lady Navus frowned at Crudice's pause. Leaving the decision in the hands of a child. These Aeldir were truly alien beings. She wondered if Lord Winter understood, or if he was treating Crudice as he would a Spring Girl.

"Can my mom stay here too?" Crudice eventually asked, anxious and trembling.

Phelnia blinked with surprise before smiling at her daughter. Is this why mother had children to no end?

Rikadime raised an eyebrow at the request. That... might actually be even better, though she dare not to voice this opinion aloud. Phelnia would not be able to coddle Crudice during her lessons, but keeping the two together would keep their loyalty strong.

"On the Imperium's side... so long as she is able to attend to her duties from afar - which I do not doubt she can - Phelnia may stay until Breydice abdicates or dies. However, in housing you and Symrera we have asked much of Lord Winter already." She turned to look to Balor Morrig. "If you will allow it, my Lord?"
Lord Winter's gaze passed between Crudice and her retreating mother, black eyes inscrutable in the flickering light. Eventually, he nodded.

<"It would please me to host the High Princess and her daughter. I will provide a brace of messenger ravens for your return. Release them once you have arrived in Valkyrie, and they will remember the way when she must needs send a message.">

Avonlea



Aris looked up at the pale, imposing figure on the threshold, the cold gust of air ruffling her hair away from her face where it had fallen whilst she sat in her silent repose. The chill blast did little to counsel the Queen, though perhaps she found a small measure of comfort in it, reminding her a bit of her cold lover's embrace. She arose gracefully from her cushioned chair and smoothed her silver gown and better arranged her raven cloak as she followed the Lord into his study. She stood impassive for a moment, as she took in it's grandeur, feeling ever smaller and more insignificant unto this Lord as she stood within the presence of untold decades of gathered knowledge and study, and perhaps it was right that she felt so. Her gaze turned from the skeleton serpent hanging testament to ages long past and into the black, endless depths of Lord Winter's inscrutable eyes.

"Yes, thank you My Lord, I find myself quite parched." She seated herself opposite from Lord Morrig, feeling quite distanced from him across his great imposing desk.

"Firstly, I would apologize to you, as I may have deceived you into believing there was but one matter on which I wished to speak, though I assure you that such covert measures were necessary to ensure our utmost confidence." She paused, not implicitly stating that she suspected one or more of her maids to be in the Council's employ, though assured in the Lord's perception that he would be astute enough to ascertain as much.

"There are in fact, three points of topic that I feel must needs to be spoken between us, I pray that I not usurp your time away from your other guests too jealously." Her stomach fluttered as she decided upon her first speaking point,

"It was called to my attention after the fact, that the creation of a child between myself and your Dullahan was displeasing to you. I would beg your forgiveness for my transgressions against you, as I knew not what I had done at the time. Nor, in fact even now am I fully cognizant of the ramifications of bearing a child of two worlds, other than a keen knowledge of the burden that has been placed upon Eirwen's shoulders as the sole representative of our two realms so intimately entwined. As Eirwen's mother, I would seek to lessen her burden, that she might share it with another to who she may commiserate with long after I am gone." The Queen shivered then, as though a malignant hand reached out for her even here in the sanctum of winter. She was but one and twenty but she felt not long for this world, and briefly she grieved for her life lost and her child's singular isolation. Collecting her morbid thoughts, she came back to her first point,

"Even knowing my transgressions and your displeasure, still I would seek your permission to bear yet a second child of the Dullahan. A true sibling so that Eirwen might not live bereft the comfort of one who understands her mien." She placed her hands flat on the black desk as to settle their nervous disposition, she rose her pale blue eyes unto the Lord's and awaited his verdict, or his wrath.
Lord Winter steepled his fingers as he watched the High Queen ease her thirst with the effervescence of winter, as the linger cool slid down her throat and settled in her chest. It was but one of the keys to the slow transformation of those chosen as ambassatrix, but even the slightest taste carried with it the echo of his twilight eternity. But he could dwell but a little on the sparkling liquid, for the High Queen's request was as portentous as it was ignorant of her danger.

<"It is...a reasonable request, High Queen, from one unaccustomed to our ways. Perhaps you think my displeasure born of a concern with the purity of our blood, or a requisite distance between our peoples. It is neither. My displeasure with the Dullahan was twofold - first, that he defied my intent to spare you the indignity forced on you by the Prophetess Council, and second for the dire threat your child posed before we confirmed her to be trueborn.">

He spread his hands, and leaned across the desk until their shadows met and blended together.

<"To birth a child of Aeldir blood outside the protection of the Old Gods is a taboo that has stood for millennia. Within our borders, the unborn souls of coming Aeldir are nourished, protected, guided to their intended vessels by the will of Babdi. Beyond, they face manifold dangers, and might well be waylaid. Leading to an immortal born with a mortal soul.">

His face, already stern, turned grimmer still, and the room seemed to darken with the portent of his words.

<"There is but one fate for one so cursed. They may seem healthy for a time, but the mortal spirit was not made to endure the long centuries. Eventually, the strain of the passing years turns to dementia, and eventually madness. A madness beyond death, a madness that inevitably twists towards destruction of both the soulless accursed and all those in their wake. There is but one mercy for such a monstrous creature, and that is oblivion. That is what was risked. That is the suffering your daughter was spared by fate.">

He withdrew, and light returned to the room.

<"I do not know what possessed Lugh Annan that night. Perhaps he saw something in you, a promise of a bright future, a beacon that would guide a wayward soul across the trackless ocean and to your womb. Regardless, it is not a risk I would see undertaken again. But that does not mean it is an impossibility.">

He poured himself a draught of effervescence in a tall crystal glass.

<"If you were to pursue another child, it must be born beneath the gaze of the Old Gods. You need not spend the entirety of your pregnancy in their care, but when your time comes you must seek them out or risk disaster. I would welcome you back to my court at such an hour, should you remain willing.">

A sip on his glass, and his eyes narrowed.

<"Knowing what trials await, do you remain steadfast?">

[Mary_Sue]

Avonlea

Lord Winter steepled his fingers as he watched the High Queen ease her thirst with the effervescence of winter, as the linger cool slid down her throat and settled in her chest. It was but one of the keys to the slow transformation of those chosen as ambassatrix, but even the slightest taste carried with it the echo of his twilight eternity. But he could dwell but a little on the sparkling liquid, for the High Queen's request was as portentous as it was ignorant of her danger.

<"It is...a reasonable request, High Queen, from one unaccustomed to our ways. Perhaps you think my displeasure born of a concern with the purity of our blood, or a requisite distance between our peoples. It is neither. My displeasure with the Dullahan was twofold - first, that he defied my intent to spare you the indignity forced on you by the Prophetess Council, and second for the dire threat your child posed before we confirmed her to be trueborn.">

He spread his hands, and leaned across the desk until their shadows met and blended together.

<"To birth a child of Aeldir blood outside the protection of the Old Gods is a taboo that has stood for millennia. Within our borders, the unborn souls of coming Aeldir are nourished, protected, guided to their intended vessels by the will of Babdi. Beyond, they face manifold dangers, and might well be waylaid. Leading to an immortal born with a mortal soul.">

His face, already stern, turned grimmer still, and the room seemed to darken with the portent of his words.

<"There is but one fate for one so cursed. They may seem healthy for a time, but the mortal spirit was not made to endure the long centuries. Eventually, the strain of the passing years turns to dementia, and eventually madness. A madness beyond death, a madness that inevitably twists towards destruction of both the soulless accursed and all those in their wake. There is but one mercy for such a monstrous creature, and that is oblivion. That is what was risked. That is the suffering your daughter was spared by fate.">

He withdrew, and light returned to the room.

<"I do not know what possessed Lugh Annan that night. Perhaps he saw something in you, a promise of a bright future, a beacon that would guide a wayward soul across the trackless ocean and to your womb. Regardless, it is not a risk I would see undertaken again. But that does not mean it is an impossibility.">

He poured himself a draught of effervescence in a tall crystal glass.

<"If you were to pursue another child, it must be born beneath the gaze of the Old Gods. You need not spend the entirety of your pregnancy in their care, but when your time comes you must seek them out or risk disaster. I would welcome you back to my court at such an hour, should you remain willing.">

A sip on his glass, and his eyes narrowed.

<"Knowing what trials await, do you remain steadfast?">

Aris's (http://mac.h-cdn.co/assets/cm/14/49/980x1472/5482c774111ff_-_mcx-ballet-beauty-valentino-fall-2013-couture-s2.jpg) attention to Lord Winter was momentarily diverted by the unexpected nature of the blue draught he had poured for her. As its icy clutches took hold in her chest and seemingly encased her very heart she found her distraction was not founded of concern, for she found the beverage singularly bracing and she again found herself taking another sip as the chilling effect faded and soon she found her glass to be empty. Finally finding only dregs at the bottom of her glass, she set it aside and listened with rapt attention to the Lord's words though they did inspire more questions than answers within her racing mind. Whatever questions his words raised, she found a measure of relief that his displeasure had not been born of perceiving her unworthy to bear a child of winter, though she sought to absolve her lover of wrong doing in the eyes of his Lord.

"Pardon, My Lord, but Lugh did give me the choice of preserving myself that night. It was I who..." She trailed off as a furious blush lent a pretty glow to her cheeks, remembering that first tentative kiss between them, that she had initiated. She had not noticed that here within the privacy of the Lord's own chamber she had addressed the Dullahan more intimately than she had yet dared to his face. In her innocence, she realized not that the Dullahan had perhaps purposefully that night posed her choice as to lie with him or reveal herself a coward, so that there had only been one real choice available to the future Queen.

"I would not feign to be privy to the Dullahan's intentions, My Lord." A shiver gripped her spine as Lord Morrig detailed what horrible fate her dear daughter had so narrowly escaped. Lugh Annan shared the intimacy of his body with her, and generously so, though the intimacy of his mind, and even his heart she felt was withheld from her. Still not entirely cognizant of the fact that the Dullahan had meant to end their daughter's life the night of their first meeting if she had been judged as one of these accursed by his magick charm. Though whether this ignorance was genuine or willful one could not say. She wrestled internally, outward silent for a long moment,

"I find I would still seek a true sibling for my child, and would consent to bear the child within your demense, Lord Morrig." Perhaps convinced even further despite the purported dangers at the Lord's assertion that her child might be unaccountably long lived, ever more reason to seek a companion for her, in Aris's own mind and she took great comfort in that thought.

"Also upon the topic of my child, children perhaps, this may pertain to both if I am so blessed to be granted a second." Aris moved on to her second point of topic, as it was pertinent to their current conversation,

"I would ask that upon Eirwen's flowering, that she be welcomed to dwell within your lands, though I would be sore aggrieved to be parted from her I would seek to shield her from the Council's control and manipulations." Aris's eyes glanced around nervously as though even here she feared the Council's ever watchful eyes, their blindness no impediment to their uncovering the slightest covert deed.

[TheDarkDM]

Avonlea

Aris's (http://mac.h-cdn.co/assets/cm/14/49/980x1472/5482c774111ff_-_mcx-ballet-beauty-valentino-fall-2013-couture-s2.jpg) attention to Lord Winter was momentarily diverted by the unexpected nature of the blue draught he had poured for her. As its icy clutches took hold in her chest and seemingly encased her very heart she found her distraction was not founded of concern, for she found the beverage singularly bracing and she again found herself taking another sip as the chilling effect faded and soon she found her glass to be empty. Finally finding only dregs at the bottom of her glass, she set it aside and listened with rapt attention to the Lord's words though they did inspire more questions than answers within her racing mind. Whatever questions his words raised, she found a measure of relief that his displeasure had not been born of perceiving her unworthy to bear a child of winter, though she sought to absolve her lover of wrong doing in the eyes of his Lord.

"Pardon, My Lord, but Lugh did give me the choice of preserving myself that night. It was I who..." She trailed off as a furious blush lent a pretty glow to her cheeks, remembering that first tentative kiss between them, that she had initiated. She had not noticed that here within the privacy of the Lord's own chamber she had addressed the Dullahan more intimately than she had yet dared to his face. In her innocence, she realized not that the Dullahan had perhaps purposefully that night posed her choice as to lie with him or reveal herself a coward, so that there had only been one real choice available to the future Queen.

"I would not feign to be privy to the Dullahan's intentions, My Lord." A shiver gripped her spine as Lord Morrig detailed what horrible fate her dear daughter had so narrowly escaped. Lugh Annan shared the intimacy of his body with her, and generously so, though the intimacy of his mind, and even his heart she felt was withheld from her. Still not entirely cognizant of the fact that the Dullahan had meant to end their daughter's life the night of their first meeting if she had been judged as one of these accursed by his magick charm. Though whether this ignorance was genuine or willful one could not say. She wrestled internally, outward silent for a long moment,

"I find I would still seek a true sibling for my child, and would consent to bear the child within your demense, Lord Morrig." Perhaps convinced even further despite the purported dangers at the Lord's assertion that her child might be unaccountably long lived, ever more reason to seek a companion for her, in Aris's own mind and she took great comfort in that thought.

"Also upon the topic of my child, children perhaps, this may pertain to both if I am so blessed to be granted a second." Aris moved on to her second point of topic, as it was pertinent to their current conversation,

"I would ask that upon Eirwen's flowering, that she be welcomed to dwell within your lands, though I would be sore aggrieved to be parted from her I would seek to shield her from the Council's control and manipulations." Aris's eyes glanced around nervously as though even here she feared the Council's ever watchful eyes, their blindness no impediment to their uncovering the slightest covert deed.
Lord Winter's countenance grew dark at mention of the Avonlean Council, though he did not respond immediately. Rather he leaned back into his tall chair and examined the contours of the sea serpent hanging from the vaulted ceiling on iron chains, memento of a conquest long passed.

<"Yes, your Prophetess Council. A distasteful group of crones. I would offer your children sanctuary here, should they wish it. I would also offer it to you, High Queen. You would not be the first outsider to find peace behind the veil of Tir Amser. But would it not be better to free yourself of the looming threat before it has strength enough to strike?">

[Mary_Sue]

Avonlea

Lord Winter's countenance grew dark at mention of the Avonlean Council, though he did not respond immediately. Rather he leaned back into his tall chair and examined the contours of the sea serpent hanging from the vaulted ceiling on iron chains, memento of a conquest long passed.

<"Yes, your Prophetess Council. A distasteful group of crones. I would offer your children sanctuary here, should they wish it. I would also offer it to you, High Queen. You would not be the first outsider to find peace behind the veil of Tir Amser. But would it not be better to free yourself of the looming threat before it has strength enough to strike?">

Aris relaxed as the Lord consented to harbour her children, for the moment distracted at the prospect of relaying to the Dullahan his Lord's consent to conceive another, and rendered most happy for it. Her happiness was but short lived as Lord Morrig put forth his suggestion of treachery. She knew she must keep the desire from her heart lest they ken her purpose with their canny minds. She sat back in her chair and folded her legs under her beneath her skirts, feeling quite small and insignificant next to such vital figures as Lord Winter and the Council. What motive of purpose they had! How sly and cunning they all were compared to her! She was the High Queen, and yet her desires looked no further than her Queendom's needs and her children's safety. The very foundation of her people's traditions were being called to task and she felt unequal to discuss the matter at hand, in no small part because she knew the Lord spoke true yet she dare not move against the Council whilst they still held the temple in their grasp.

"My Lord, what you are proposing, even if possible, is quite blasphemous. the Council is said to be the voice and eyes of the Mother on Arandi, to defy them would be to deny the Mother herself. I do not know that it could be done." Or so they tell us. She shifted uncertainly, the deep wells of experience that dwelt within the Lords eyes coupled with her own doubts was nearly enough to convince her.

[TheDarkDM]

Avonlea

Aris relaxed as the Lord consented to harbour her children, for the moment distracted at the prospect of relaying to the Dullahan his Lord's consent to conceive another, and rendered most happy for it. Her happiness was but short lived as Lord Morrig put forth his suggestion of treachery. She knew she must keep the desire from her heart lest they ken her purpose with their canny minds. She sat back in her chair and folded her legs under her beneath her skirts, feeling quite small and insignificant next to such vital figures as Lord Winter and the Council. What motive of purpose they had! How sly and cunning they all were compared to her! She was the High Queen, and yet her desires looked no further than her Queendom's needs and her children's safety. The very foundation of her people's traditions were being called to task and she felt unequal to discuss the matter at hand, in no small part because she knew the Lord spoke true yet she dare not move against the Council whilst they still held the temple in their grasp.

"My Lord, what you are proposing, even if possible, is quite blasphemous. the Council is said to be the voice and eyes of the Mother on Arandi, to defy them would be to deny the Mother herself. I do not know that it could be done." Or so they tell us. She shifted uncertainly, the deep wells of experience that dwelt within the Lords eyes coupled with her own doubts was nearly enough to convince her.
Lord Winter's smile in response to the High Queen's protestations was mirthless, and his eyes moved deliberately to look on an arched cabinet where hung idols and holy symbols that seemed to span the ages, wood and weathered rock giving way to bronze, then iron, then gold.

<"Blasphemous in Avonlea perhaps, High Queen. But this is not Avonlea. Nor is Daen the first new god burdened with unfit prophets. Consider how easily your own New Order overwhelmed the entrenched beliefs of the Grand Church. Clearly they lacked the favor of your god, and who is to say they are the only ones? Belief has terrible power, but it is an ephemeral thing. Steel and fire may disperse it, disaster undermine it, but always it flows back into the hands of those believed fit to wield it. You believe your Council to be unassailable, monumental, but is that not what they have taught you to believe? Have taught your entire people to believe, down to the meanest beggar? And is it not evidence of their frailty, that they seek such an iron grip on the throne, to deny your daughter any inheritance beyond banishment? While you believe them invincible, invincible they remain. But allow yourself to believe, truly believe, in the strength of your own convictions? As I and my court believed in Thalia and believe in you? Then it becomes a simple thing. An inevitability.">

[Mary_Sue]

Avonlea

Lord Winter's smile in response to the High Queen's protestations was mirthless, and his eyes moved deliberately to look on an arched cabinet where hung idols and holy symbols that seemed to span the ages, wood and weathered rock giving way to bronze, then iron, then gold.

<"Blasphemous in Avonlea perhaps, High Queen. But this is not Avonlea. Nor is Daen the first new god burdened with unfit prophets. Consider how easily your own New Order overwhelmed the entrenched beliefs of the Grand Church. Clearly they lacked the favor of your god, and who is to say they are the only ones? Belief has terrible power, but it is an ephemeral thing. Steel and fire may disperse it, disaster undermine it, but always it flows back into the hands of those believed fit to wield it. You believe your Council to be unassailable, monumental, but is that not what they have taught you to believe? Have taught your entire people to believe, down to the meanest beggar? And is it not evidence of their frailty, that they seek such an iron grip on the throne, to deny your daughter any inheritance beyond banishment? While you believe them invincible, invincible they remain. But allow yourself to believe, truly believe, in the strength of your own convictions? As I and my court believed in Thalia and believe in you? Then it becomes a simple thing. An inevitability.">

Aris's eyes followed the Lord's own black pools and she joined his gaze upon the trinkets of faith long departed from this world. She shivered then and pulled her raven feather cloak tighter around her small form, though warmth was not what she sought, but comfort and the conviction of purpose. That dark looming purpose was growing around her, and she yet did not know if she could bear its weight. She felt the merciless grasp of inevitability clutch ahold of her, pulling her towards her fate hand over hand with relentless determination. Her uncertain gaze moved again to the Lord, her face held the vulnerable look of the very young who were not wont to intrigue and treachery, and yet in her held an earnest desire to free her people from the darkness that had oppressed them for as long as they knew. Was that chance not worth risking her life? And yet she was loathe to cast it away so readily, though the Lord was wise, and his words rang true, might not she be but a tool to him? The one and twenty short years of her life were nothing to him, he spoke of belief in her, but was it the belief that she could be turned to his purpose or the belief of her as a person, vital and just in her being?

"Thalia was punished for her trespasses against them, whether she disappeared of her own volition or no matters little, she has suffered for it either way, and make no mistake." Her voice quavered, imagining a forced separation from her child, or children perhaps. She felt a sudden jolt of realization strike her, had she not only now brokered safe harbourage for her children? She would be made to suffer abandoning them whether she defied the Council or no, it seemed she had but one choice if she was to be assured their safety, and free her people from the crones hoary thumbs, for even now her chosen heiress, Sabine Stormskye was being made to attend the Council, her mind twisted to their evil purpose. That was the fate that awaited Avonlea should she fail. She turned her pale face to the Lord, dismayed though resolute in her demeanor,

"Tell me what you would have me do, Lord." Her voice was little more than a whisper, though served her well enough in relaying her new conviction.