Evening of the 12th day, The Halls of Desire
The splendour of the halls is unrivaled, colours of unknown desires, smells of childhood and adolescent sin, pearls spilling out of silver carafes and peacocks strutting between them and the sound of humming birds bathing in a fountain of black meteorite. On the throne sits the Elf: High above all others, an absence more than a presence and hard as you may try he remains out of focus and when he speaks you only ever remember what he said. Rusalki sit at the table below him, ministers and advisors in their robes of rain and sunshine and among them a young man with slanted eyes that stare at Ser Perilake without emotion and Avert says something in an elfin tongue and the unfocussed figure on the throne just laughs or must have laughed for that is what you remember.
If their travels had been pleasant,
you remember the Elf asking and
if they found the food to their liking
and
if it was more refined than Stribog's offerings.
 |
| The Throne Room |
Perilake stands
before the table, and stares back at the young man. The halls seem
nothing but empty noise to his eyes, the scents cloying and the
banquet of delights unpalatable. He wishes Inga was with him, and he
is thankful that she is not. "Avert?"
Referee
Avert looks over to the
Elf who seems to have given him permission to speak. “My lord has
asked you questions.” he says and his eyes are strange and cold.
“It is custom in his court to answer them before addressing his
subjects.” His hair is long and straight and his tunic the colour
of haze.
Anastaz, you are seated next to the Elf on his elevated throne of roots and reeds and a haggard looking human in a tunic woven from clouds. “Your reputation precedes you, Salt Knight, ” the man smiles sourly “ ... although your skills appear to mainly involve hitting creatures with a mace. Personally, I don't see the point but … my liege speaks highly of you. I'm Senechal Ashling.”
Heldris and Milos, you sit next to each other on the far end of the table among Courtiers who whisper feverishly about a sacrificial meal. They relish the thought of betrayal.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Relieved to be
overlooked among this company, Milos nestles into the Dove Knight's
shadow. His finger traces the pattern of runes on his ivory ring as
he ruminates on the Bridge Knight's taunts, mouthing the words
"King's slave" to himself.
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake stares for
a moment longer, his face a war of emotions. Finally, a smile breaks
through as he looks upon his son once more, strange as he is.
"Very well; my travels have been as nothing, for at their end I
have found my son. The food, I have found lacking in an ingredient
that seems scarce in this kingdom. It is the company of one in this
court is I seek, and I find it more pleasing by far than any
decadence found in Stribog's parlour." He gathers himself,
and looks around the room. "Where is Tizra, the Herald?
Where is the Elf's scuttling servant, the noble courtier entrusted
with the murder and theft of children?"
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
Heldris sits
uncomfortably between the fairy courtiers, longing to stand besides
the Gilded Knight in this moment of hardship. The quiet presence of
the Fox Knight at his side allows him to keep his composure, and to
find some more faith in their mission. Still, his hand clutches the
dagger that lies between the folds of his tunic, as whispers of
treason reach his ear. He exchanges a glance with the Salt Knight, as
if to say: "We are back in the shadows, but ready to stir"
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
As Perilake's words
ring out across the hall, Milos breaks from his reverie and turns his
attention to the dangerous dance of intrigue swirling around them.
His mismatched eyes survey those gathered for any advantage they
might discern.
Referee
You recall Coredis
saying
Once Osier – the one they call Avert - had mastered a glamour of messenger birds the Elf had followed their travels with interest and some amusement. A father must be proud of his son's talents. Much the boy has gained and much lost.
You remember the Elf calling for Tizra and a silver platter is brought in and placed before you. A longly viper is slowly uncurling from the severed head of the Herald and slithers up the throne and whispers something to the Elf. The Elf must have said
A formidable warrior has slain his servant and the father is to be blamed. The price will be discussed after the feast.
You are lead back to your seat Avert on one side and what's left of Tizra on the other.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz subtly nods
to Heldris. Turning back to the Seneschal, the corners of his mouth
twitch as he says, "Fame is fickle. We humans sometimes
prize odd things. What brings you here, so far from your kind?"
Referee
“I was taken by the
Rusalki and mastered their craft in Stribog's Brugh” He almost
spits out the last words. “And unlike most of our kind I survived
..." He stares at you with naked curiosity. “...although there
are rumours of escapees in the mountains.”
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
"Stranger things
have happened. Would you not wish to return to our realm, if you
could?"
Referee
You see a shadow
falling over Ashling's face and it contorts briefly before smoothing
into a polite smile. “The realms of men are below my aspirations.
My desire is to serve my liege with my craft.”
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
"Few seem to want
to leave this place once they've stayed here. What is your craft,
precisely?"
Referee
Somebody pours wine for
you and Ashling makes an incidental gesture and when the servant
leaves blood trickles from tiny cuts on her arms and face and she is
not serving you again. "Spells to bind and spells to find and
glamour to bring lust and pain." he says with a wicked smile but
his voice is hoarse from exertion or rage.
Sir Milos, while the Fae eat liver and lung and licorice they hiss their rumours behind cupped hands. They whisper of Ashling's hatred for Osier who will become the new sorcerer in his stead and his hatred for Stribog who mistreated him and that he wants Perunja who taught him all he knows to rule the western Rusalki. They hope Coredis will find the King's mare and that they will feast on Sivka's flesh and that the Salt Knight will lead them into battle to bring down the Lord of Frost and that Spring will finally come for all.
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake looks
briefly at Tizra's head on the seat next to him, and finds only the
barest glimmer of satisfaction in what he sees. A well deserved
death. Whether it has won anything will be seen, but matters not. He
thinks of Saša, the boy Anastasz could not save, and he thinks of his
own son. The boy taken from him, from Inga, for what seemed so long a
span but was but a season... but who knows how long here, in this
thrice damned kingdom? The child thief of Bohat is dead, as it should
be, however it was done. He steels himself to look at the young man
next to him. "Avert... my son." His heart hammers in
his chest. His son, alive. Here. The fear of losing him, the fear at
what has become of him, seems overwhelming. "Our little
bird..." He whispers, and beneath, there is the truth of that
fear. "I am so happy to see you," a tear falls down
his face, and the gilded knight's smile returns, its joy and warmth
and love undimmed. His son, alive. Here.
Referee
Avert stiffens and
looks down and moves delicacies around with a silver fork. “You
promised … “ He pushes the plate away and folds his arms. “I
was alone in my bed when the moon ...” he laughs bitterly “I
speak like a child! - ... when the Herald grabbed me.” He turns
towards you, angry now, his cold facade shattered.” And you did nothing!” Avert gets up abruptly and the chair of woven reeds
tips over and before you can act he is out of the throne room. There
is a hushed silence and Ashling sneers and the Elf must have clapped
his hands because this is how you remember it and the feast
concludes.
You recall that Coredis talked with passion and made demands and if they were not met the son would stay in the kingdom. Of his words you remember:
The Elf feels deeply the desire of the father to bring back his son. The father will do everything for his desire to be assuaged, yes? He will bring the mare before the Elf to be slaughtered, he will ride to Castle Frost and the Salt Knight will lead the Rusalki warriors. Only then will the spell be lifted and Osier will become Avert again.
But what if the father refuses? Will he be allowed to leave unharmed? No, he will not. The life of a servant has been taken and the Elf demands compensation. A duel perhaps or a sacrifice: A life for a life. They will be brought to their chambers where they will spend the night and tomorrow the Elf will hear their answer.
When the Elf leaves the Fae rise and bow and the peacocks shriek in panic and scatter and servants throw petals in his path and he holds a beast on a golden chain, some dangerous large cat and made of precious stone and the viper follows. Later you are in opulent chambers: lustful tapestries and canopy beds draped in brocade and incense burning in swinging censers that move on their own accord.
 |
| Anastaz' Chamber |
Perilake remembers
standing as Corelis spoke, cold fury against the hollow words. If
Tizras life was the elves, then so are his debts. A life for a life
has already been paid, and more yet should be paid still. He
remembers the boy from bohat - both of them - in his mind alongside a
memory of the Elf, cold and aloof, disinterested. He remembers the
Elf staring in silence, a terrible tension in the air, and then
something like a smile. Then a dismissal. A great beast on a golden
chain taken in hand, and Perilake remembers watching the Elf go and
thinking. How can a debt be owed for the death of nothing? And Tizra
must be nothing to have been so discarded after the duel. Such a
wretched thing can not possibly stand against what has been taken
from his family. Perhaps... He remembers his brothers eyes, Zoltan
looking with some grim satisfaction at the heralds severed head. The
others, cautioning his wrath, hoping to give their own counsel. He
remembers the boy, and the boy remembers him. He remembers. And so
Perilake remembers following the others to these chambers, to talk.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
The knights meet in
Anastaz's chambers, slightly larger than those of the others. A
four-poster bed is covered in bedding of silk and satin and the down
of exotic and impossible birds. Sumptuous tapestries decorate the
walls. They seem to display bucolic scenes of harvest festivals, but
on closer inspection, many of them depict varied kinds of blood
sacrifice. Anastaz sits on a stool, the goldfalx across his knees. He
worries the blade with his thumb until a single bead of blood forms
and drops to the ground. "These are a cruel and unjust
people, but I can set aside my own feelings to bring Avert home."
He looks expectantly at Perilake.
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
As he closes the
ornately carved wooden door, Milos notices that it depicts a knight
kneeling before a white haired Fae Lord in a bucolic forest setting.
He sighs heavily in recognition and closes his eyes briefly to
collect himself. Then he begins to search the room for signs that
they are being watched by their host. Sentient eyes looking out from
the woodwork or sigils of hearing hidden in the feathers of the
birds. After a quick survey, he says "I believe we can speak
freely here."
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake nods
gratefully at the Fox Knight. "They are unjust, but quick to
speak of justice, to invoke it in their own skewed fashion"
Perilake frowns. "And unlike our own kingdom, they seem
bound to their words by more than honour. Perhaps... perhaps there
lies a snare they have set for themselves. When they speak of
justice, they bind themselves to those terms. And in their arrogance,
they cannot see the weight of the scales set against them."
"Tizra was slain." He smiles grimly. "And the
Elf calls that a crime, a life that belonged to him taken without his
consent. But Tizra was nothing to him, an exiled scapegoat for his
failed ambitions, discarded and left to inflict greater harm on our
people... on our children." He paces. "If Tizra
still belonged to Corelis, then the Elf must pay the outstanding
balance before he can invoke any debt. Not just for Sasa and Avert,
but for breaching what he swore to in the Duel of Seasons." "If
Tizra was nothing, then there can be no insult - and Avert cannot
even have been gifted by a thief." He sighs. "I am
not sure of the straight path here, but we have seen that these
creatures work in crooked logic. Where they contradict themselves,
they are vulnerable... and perhaps they leave a path for my son to
return to his mother" There is a silence in the room as they
all consider Perilakes words, his last barely a whisper. After a
moment, Zoltan rises, and hugs Perilake fiercely, before holding him
at arms length. "He looks like Inga, though he now has his
father's fierce temper." Zoltan smiles at his former master,
and Perilake smiles back, pride surging forth even in these strange
times. "I am glad we have found the little bird too, my
lord... my friend."
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
"Shall we demand a
trial for the Elf's crimes, then?"
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
The Dove Knight
sighs, a worried look upon his tired face. “But who will judge
them? We stand in their court, and twisted as their logic might be, I
fear we have no power to hold them accountable.” He recovers his
usual temper, as if the words just uttered had shaken off his fears.
“But it is worth a try,” he considers, “after all,
riddles and old oaths have opened up a path for us only this morning
over the bridge, although the stakes weren't as high as they are
now.” A drop of blood falls from Anastaz’s goldfalx, staining
the the light floorboards. “I’d be willing to take the shape
of the hawk and call to the Winter King for aid. Although I’m
afraid even the walls have eyes in this sad palace, and acting in
secret might be hard to achieve."
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos frowns at the
suggestion and glances at the carved door again. The Lord now has his
hands around the knight's throat. "I fear we are already too
beholden to the White King and have yet to reckon what he may ask for
in return." He turns to Anastaz with a tilt of his head and a
questioning look. "I saw you in conversation with the
Seneschal. He has reason to wish Avert gone and Stribog humiliated.
Do you think we could bargain with him for aid on either of these
matters? He may know how to loosen the Elf's hold on Avert or vex the
Hunt."
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz strokes his
chin. "I would not trust the Seneschal as far as I could
throw him. But if it serves his interest, he may be inclined to help.
Who knows what his spells can do."
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
The Fox Knight
smiles mischievously. "I suspect you could throw him
surprisingly far if it came to it, my friend."
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
The Salt Knight's
mouth twists into something almost resembling a smile. "If
we want his help, a lighter touch than mine may be required."
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
"A shame, for I'd
liked to have seen it." He shrugs wistfully. "In any
case, I can seek out the wizard and attempt a negotiation if you
like."
 |
| Winding Stairs |
"These rumours,
that Avert is to replace him, and that he does not want to be
replaced. That he wishes to usurp Stribolg for his mentor...There
must be some truth to them." Perilake frowns. "This
wizard is no friend, but he could be of use. Perhaps he can end this
glamour... or no, that would risk his lord's wrath. But we offer a
way to keep his hands clean of involvement." His eyes fall on
the ring upon Milos's finger. "As for the King... I do not
believe he merely waits for our word to strike, if he could end his
enemy so. Perhaps like Barowia, he has other concerns than mere
strength. Perhaps there is some secret that would free his arm, win
allies, or break the strength of his rival." He scowls.
"I care not who rules this kingdom. I am aligned with the King
only so long as it serves. No further was promised and no further has
been given; he has his whispers, and we had brave Sivka. He does not
have my service, or yours." Perilake looks around at the
others, his gaze resting perhaps for a longer moment on Milos.
"But if we find something.... then we will send word, Heldris.
For now, we must learn what we can." He rises, and Zoltan
rises beside him, knowing where Perilake is going. The older knight
turns to say something, and Zoltan merely shakes his head, softly,
and mumbles something, inaudible to any but the one who listened for
those many years. Perilake smiles, and nods in return. "Our
family..." He murmurs, before turning to the other knights.
"I will speak to Avert. Whatever glamour this is, I must try."
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos steps forward.
"Go, my friend, with all our blessings. The human heart has a
power that no Fae magic can reckon with. It is why they seek us out
and torment us so." He points toward the Gilded Knight's
chest. "Reach for him from here, from the terrible pain of
losing him, from the deep yearning for his return. Let your broken
heart guide you."
Referee
Ser Perilake, outside
the door a servant with pearls in her hair for clothes is waiting for
you. “My lord doesn't want you to get lost.” she says and takes
Zoltan's hand. The air is lacquered with incense, rich and heady, and
her bare feet step lightly on fine rugs. You climb winding stairs of
great halls where stars are painted on the ceiling and colourful
birds fly freely and you walk passed doors behind which there is a
chorus of sighs and moans of pleasure. There are no windows and no
way to orient yourself and high up in the palace you turn into
another corridor. A solitary guard, a season destroyer in smoothbark
armour, watches you approach, hand on the hilt of her goldfalx. “Only
one guest at a time” she says and opens the door for Perilake. A
chandelier of candles illuminates shelves of books and scrolls and
the young man they call Osier is watched by many birds in cages as he
is standing in a bow window bent over a silver bowl filled with
water. He mutters elfin words and his hair hangs straight down,
obscuring his face.
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
"The birds here
are beautiful." Perilake says as he quietly walks into the
room. "When I first arrived here, they sang to me in a voice
sweeter still for how I had missed it." He waits for the
young man to turn and face him. "Their song changed though,
perverted by another. This seemed like mere days to me. But... I fear
it has been much longer." His voice shakes, the horror and
sadness of these long months breaking through the courage and
single-mindedness that has carried him here. The sorrow and the shame
that were luxuries he could not afford, indulgences that would only
slow him in his quest. He steadies himself, and reaches into his
pouch for a small wooden falcon, carefully varnished and cherished,
placing it down upon a small table between them. "That song
scared me when I first heard it, but it made me proud, and it gave me
hope. Even when it was twisted, it was a sign." He sits at
the table before the young man. "Please, tell me. What do
you remember? Tell me of my son, and what has become of him since
Tizra's magicks stole him away."
Referee
Osier touches the
surface of the water with a briar and for a moment you see the hawk
with bloodied wings hacking with his beak at a raven and something
very white below the canopy and then the image is gone. He picks up
the falcon and turns it in his hands. “I remember being a child
riding on wooden stick and a man with many scars laughing … what
was his name …?” He shakes his head and you see him frowning and
then there is a proud glint in his slanted eyes. “Now I ride
warhorses if I wish to, with brocade saddles and silver reins and
sometimes a jade panther when my lord allows it.” He looks down at
the toy with a sad smile. "What happened to your son?"
Osier puts the falcon carefully on the table next to the bowl. "He
grew up."
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake stands and
walks to the bowl, peering down, staring at their reflections in the
now still water. "He grew up, here. Away from those who love
him still." Perilake lets a finger trace the water and sighs.
"And he has grown up as I knew he would; strong, and sharp.
You wield these magics, yes? I have seen it. I have heard it. Your
mother would be as proud as I am, standing before you now. As would
the man with the scars." Perilake smiles in memory. "His
name is Bartek, and he misses you. Losing you... has left such pain."
He spreads his palms, and looks down at the jagged, ill-healed
scar. He remembers the bite of the steel, the pain, the rush of
blood, but still not enough to wash away the enchantment of Tizra.
Still not enough to save his son. He notices Osier - Avert - looking
at the cut quizzically. Years have passed for them, but this injury
is near fresh, mere months. "They say it would have healed
cleanly if I had let it. But there was no time, for me. You were out
there, and you were alone." His voice catches, and his chest
heaves, and his shoulders tremble, and his voice is a whisper. "I
have wondered if I could have broken Tizra's spell by severing the
entire hand, but that was as beyond my power as moving more than mere
inches." He blinks away the tears in his eyes, and masters
himself. "You would fare better, I think. A wizard, a master
of magics. You have power that I have never known; it is not just
Coredis and his tricks. Would you... would you show me?"
Referee
“I would have made
Tizra ... “ he hisses the name” … choke on his own tongue and
watch him suffocate!” He is more Rusalki than ever now as he looks
at you with cruel eyes and arrogant smile and his hair is long and
straight like a fall of dark brown water. “I am not as strong as
Ashling or Perunja, his mistress, but I can can show you my talents.
What do you want me to weave?”
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
"I believe my son
will be stronger still." Perilake says sombrely. "And
I believe that Tizra is fortunate that it was my justice that found
him, not yours. I apologise for taking it from you." He
sighs, and looks into his son's eyes and the cruelty there, where
once there was only warmth and kindness. "Is it within your
power to view the past? To view another's memory, if it is freely
given."
Referee
He hesitates, “I
cannot see beyond the bounds of the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom and I have
never tried to steal the memory of anyone ...” Osier places the
briar in your scarred hand and closes his fist around it until the
thorns pierce your skin and blood drips onto the carpet. “But if it
is freely given, I believe I can.”
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
Perilake nods, and
clenches his fist around the thorns deeper still, as he goes deeper
into his broken heart. The fear, the helplessness, the loss. The
powerlessness. The searching, the hope, the horror. And beyond,
further, as the paths of memory tangle the sweet and the sharp. The
faces of Bartek, of Inga, of his uncles, of all of Farkash and the
boy they doted on. Of a world more humble but more whole than this.
Of stable cats, no jade panthers but fierce in their affections for
the boy who brought scraps. Of Blacwyn, a mighty steed that still ate
sugarlumps from a small hand, and allowed himself to be led on reins
of leather. Of the mother who waits, who hopes, who believes that she
will be reunited. And of the sheer joy at being able to breathe
again, that his heart is once more within reach after the long nights
of fear and loss. All of this pours from Perilake's hand into the
still waters of the basin, and with a word and a gesture from Avert,
they take shape; the blur of images surge forwards, alongside a mist
that contains sounds and scents and swirls around the young mage, the
heady vapours carrying yet more as they are inhaled.
Referee
Osier gently reaches
out and touches Inga's face and waves distort the vision of her on
the surface of the water. “Is that Avert's mother?” he whispers.
“They must have ...” He looks away. You still hear echoes of her
laughter and the smell of her room lingers even after the memory has
faded from the scrying bowl. “If I stay I will become the strongest
sorcerer of this generation, stronger than Ashling, stronger even
than the Weaver. If I leave ...” You can see his reflection in the
window and the strange, slanted eyes look back at you. “Don't you
want to be proud of me, father?”
Ser Perilake, The Gilded Knight
"I already am. And
so is she; all I want is to see you together again." Perilake
takes the young mans hand. "You are my son. That is your
mother. You must know, learned as you, that you are under a spell. I
am sure in time you would be the strongest sorcerer, but I believe
the chains of Coredis would only grow stronger still."
Referee
He wrestles his hand
free, rushes over to the shelves and begins dropping scrolls and
books into a satchel. “Nobody binds me!“ he spits, “When do we
leave?”
 |
| Somewhere within the Halls of Desire |
As the door shuts
behind the Gilded Knight, Milos turns to his comrades. "Our
friend is on a noble errand to regain his son's heart but I think he
dismisses the power of Fae contract magic too breezily. We need to
gather leverage to even the scales in our dealings with both the King
and the Elf. I will seek out Ashling to that end."
Sir Heldris the Dove Knight
"Yes, I fear
you're right." The Dove Knight grabs a candle from a drawer
and lights it. "I'll walk the palace hallways. Much is
hidden in broad daylight here, that might very well reveal itself at
night." He nods to his friends. "Be careful, and
remember: if you need my help, I'll know."
Referee
Anastaz, when you leave
your chambers a servant wearing diamonds in her hair for clothes bows
before you. “Please allow me to take you to my lord.” she says
and her hands are smooth and soft as she leads you through the Halls
of Desire until you reach a garden where dragonflies with golden
wings hover between lilies, tall as trees. The Elf stands very close
to you, the viper winding itself around his legs like a cat. You feel
his gaze rest upon you.
He was hoping for a meeting with the Salt Knight.
He must have said.
An agreement can be reached for the father and the son, if only the Knights would consider his offer: To give up an old mare and to fight a quick war against his enemy, a single battle really against tired soldiers. The insolence of killing one of his servants in his own halls will be forgiven and the Knights will be allowed to return unharmed.
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
"The Gilded Knight
and I have been speaking about the Elf's actions," the Salt
Knight says. "He takes credit for the actions of a cast-away
servant, and takes offense at his death. Yet he does not claim
responsibility for his misdeeds. Either the Elf is guilty of the
kidnapping of Avert and the murder of Šaša, or the Elf has no right
to keep Avert here and waylay us." "We have no quarrel that
cannot be mended. If Avert is returned to his father, we will leave
this realm for good. I am even willing to return the Bow of Harvest."
"But if the Elf
insists on keeping Avert in the Halls of Desire, he must also answer
for Tizra's crimes."
Referee
The viper hisses
angrily at Anastaz words and the Elf is quiet for a while or if he
talked you cannot remember what he said. You do recall him saying
The Elf regrets the confusion the human is labouring under. The Elf will do what he pleases in his own halls. Is there anything else the human wants to say?
Sir Anastaz, The Salt Knight
Anastaz sighs and
looks down at the viper. "We need not be enemies," he
says, almost sadly. And with that, he departs.
Referee
Milos, you are lead by
a servant through the palace, he is wearing a silver tiara for
clothes and he is very beautiful. “My lord doesn't want you to
wander the halls alone, lest you lose your way.” he says and takes
your hand. There is a chorus of moans and sighs of pleasure behind
every door and you climb spiral staircases of silver and grand marble
steps until you reach a courtyard high in the palace and a spire made
of wood and a wooden flight of stairs until you reach an antechamber
with mechanical birds dipping their beaks into a fountain and a
season destroyer with his hand at the hilt opens the door. Ashling is
sitting in a bow window staring into a silver bowl. Without looking
up he says: “You are not the first spy the Winter King has sent.
What do you want?”
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Milos cocks his head
to one side. "You speak quite plainly for a denizen of
Faerie. Let me be equally direct and not waste your time or mine. You
want Osier removed from the board. We want to take him home. You want
to see Stribog humbled. What better way than humiliating him with a
failed Hunt. Such a blow would open the way for Perunja to depose him
as leader of the Western Rusalki. Therefore, I propose a temporary
but mutually beneficial arrangement between us. What say you?"
Referee
“You have your plans,
little fox, but alas between the wish and the thing the world lies
waiting” the sorcerer says staring intently into the bowl before
leaning back, apparently pleased with what he saw. He looks curiously
into your discoloured eyes. “Tell me, how did the Winter King trick
you?”
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
"Ah, so we are
playing the game of answering a question with another question. I
will again follow your lead then. My story with the Winter King is an
intimate one and the telling may make me blush." He sits across
from the wizard at the window and looks out on the pastoral view, as
if we could see in the distance the looming threat of winter. "I
wonder what you saw in your scrying bowl that brought you such
satisfaction just now? Mayhap we trade stories?"
Referee
“We can trade stories
… ” Ashling pours wine into a cup and slides it over.“ … but
I have no interest in the details. The halls provide enough pleasures
of the flesh and I know the King can be very alluring in his hidden
grove.” He leans back again and shadows obscure his face. “A
guerdon for a gift: Osier yearns to return home, I gather from my
bowl, and he is willing to abandon the Elf.” His voice is hoarse
and you sense that he is suppressing a strong emotion but you only
see his eyes glinting in the darkness and he is impossible to read.
“Now you: Your lord can summon you whenever he pleases but instead
he opened a portal for you and your brothers. What was his demand?”
Sir Milos, the Fox Knight
Upon hearing the news
of Avert, the Fox Knight sighs inwardly in relief. Perilake's appeal
reached the boy. To Ashling he replies simply: "That my body would feed his realm."
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