Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Here aspiring creators can lay down some basic ideas of what they are going to do before submitting a finalized form for the viewing public. A good place to get some help from your fellows.
User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Wed Mar 19, 2014 9:11 pm

Evolved from the previous thread, the disembodied fight scene.

Aderyn – 1

Mother was bundling her into a cloak. She smiled as she did it, but the expression did not reach her eyes.

“Mother, where are we going?”

Mother’s fingers fumbled with the clasp. They had never fumbled before. “I told you, Aderyn, we are going on an adventure. You always talk about going on one.”

The girl thought hard. She had always wanted a real adventure, but something about this one felt wrong.

“Why do I need my winter cloak? It is summer.”

Mother’s smile faltered. “The desert will be cold at night, my love.”

"Why are we going to the desert?”

“That is a complicated question to answer.” Mother made no attempts to do so. She finished adjusting the clasp and began moving around the room, putting in order things that she had already fixed earlier that morning.

Aderyn knew to stay silent. Mother’s restlessness had begun an hour ago. A rider had come for Father. Many of the people Aderyn could see from her window were streaming toward the city’s gates and fanning out across the plains. She and the cook’s son had planned to practice pirating in the city’s sewers but Mother would not let her outside. Nor could she very well tell Mother why she had to keep the appointment, or where. The girl watched the people—her people one day, father had said—flooding toward the forest. Why would they leave?

She turned at the sound of the door opening behind her.

Father hurried into the room and his face split into a smile. “How is my warrior princess?” He knelt down in front of the girl.

Aderyn summoned all her dignity and bowed. “I am well, your majesty.”

“Good.” Father laughed and Aderyn could not help laughing, too. Though her parents spoke often of winter, her father was a true child of the south, and he smelled always of grass and leather—summer, she thought. Father ruffled her hair. The smile fell out of his eyes as his gaze shifted to Mother. “Are we all ready?”

Mother nodded, worry all over her face. She leaned close to Father and whispered, “Is it confirmed?”

Father did not answer. A look passed between them that Aderyn could not see. “Time to go, dear one.” Father laid one of his strong hands on her head and guided her towards the door of her room. Two Guardians of the Order opened the door for the family and stood at attention. Mother and Father nodded to them as they passed into the corridor beyond, also lined with Guardians. Aderyn did her best to follow suit, gathering the folds of her cloak around her and nodding majestically to their guards.

She loved this cloak. It was heavy and hot in the dry heat, but she felt regal and dignified. Aderyn liked to watch the hem sweep the floor behind her.

“Daughter,” Father said, and the girl’s head snapped forward. He had knelt in front of her again. “My warrior princess, I need you to be strong. This may be scary for you. Rurik—,” he called over his shoulder.

One of the Guardians stepped forward and removed his helm, bowing. “Yes, Majesty?”

“Stay with her,” Father commanded. He turned back to the child and grew very serious, more than Aderyn had ever seen him. “My darling daughter, things may get very frightening. I need you to promise me you will stay with Rurik, even if it means leaving your mother or me. Do you promise?”

The girl’s eyes flicked between the King and the knight. “Do not worry, Father,” she said, forcing a smile, “I will not be afraid if Rury is there!”

“Good girl.” Father pulled a ring from his finger. Their family emblem was stamped into the gold—a crow, wings spread, over a line of mountains. Father opened one of her hands, placed the ring in her palm, and folded her fingers over it.

“Before all these witnesses I declare Aderyn to be crown princess, heir to the throne of House Dovan. In the event of my death all of my duties and titles will pass to her, and I charge you all to follow her and defend her as you would do for me.” Father rose. “Come now.”

They continued down the hallway. Aderyn wanted to ask what was happening, but panic and tears rose in her throat, choking her. Rury walked beside her, which helped. She could not hold his hand. It would be unseemly for a warrior princess, especially one who was now heir to the throne, to do so. But she did reach for the edge of his rough-spun grey cloak. If the knight noticed, he made no sign.

Her parents were talking, softly. Mother had tears in her throat, too. Father seemed to be saying that he needed to be sure they would be safe before he could do his duty. Aderyn noticed for the first time that Father wore his sword. One of his attendants walked with them, carrying his shield. Was that why all of the people were fleeing the city? Was an army coming? The girl’s legs trembled, and she stumbled. Rury reached out a hand to steady her.

“Careful, princess. The stones can be uneven.” When she looked up at the helmed face, he gave her a reassuring smile. Aderyn did not return it.

If there really was an army coming, she would have to be ready, too. Swallowing to clear her throat, the girl asked, “where are we going?”

Father looked back at her, but Mother did not meet her gaze. Her shoulders shook. “There is a passage out of the city, my daughter. It will keep you safe.”

Aderyn thought to ask why, but they would pretend not to hear, dodge the question, or refuse to answer. It did not matter. They were in danger. Mother and the little brother she carried in her belly would need protecting. The girl thought of the dagger she had been given at her Naming, the dagger of her great-great-grandmother, Warrior Queen Hylda. It and the belt that accompanied it remained in an oak chest beneath her bed. Surely no one would let her go get it, not now. Aderyn would have to get it herself.

The girl began distancing herself from the knight, looking around for a gap in the other Guardians who flanked them. She felt Rury’s strong, gloved hand grip her shoulder. Aderyn sighed and let him pull her close again. She had promised to stay with him, and warriors keep their promises.

They came to the gallery. Ahead, a courtier Aderyn recognized as Lord Falen bowed before Father. His eyes skimmed over the girl before settling back on the King. He began a whispered conversation with Father, and Aderyn took the opportunity to tug on Rury’s cloak. The knight looked down at her.

“Rury!” she whispered, gesturing for him to come closer. The man knelt before her.

“What is it, my princess?”

“My dagger is still in my room. I need it!”

The knight hesitated. All knew the significance of a Naming Dagger. The kingdom knew the significance of that dagger. Aderyn almost smiled. She could see the knight struggling. He would choose to let her go in the end.

But then a flurry of movement at the door to the gallery drew their gaze. Falen left the room and in his wake several strange men surged forward. Before the Guardians could react, the strangers had driven swords or daggers through the throats of several knights. Red flashed from their blades. The remaining Guardians readied sword and shield and closed ranks around the family.

All at once sound rushed back in. Shouts, the clash of sword against sword and sword against shield, Mother’s startled scream, the wails of the dying. Aderyn became aware of Rury shouting at her.

“Ryn! Ryn, run for your room, I will keep you safe!”

He dragged the girl with him and elbowed a hole in the defending Guardians. Rury shoved her forward. “Run! I will be behind you!”

Ryn stumbled, but her legs caught her and she took off back down the gallery. She skidded around the first corner and up the stairs. The sounds of battle grew dimmer behind her and she could hear Rury’s heavy footsteps just behind her, then she emerged on the hallway overlooking the gallery below and the roar surged against her eardrums again. Aderyn paused by the banister to see Father striking down enemies anywhere he could find a gap in the defensive wall.

But then a bellow rose over the din, so loud as to shake the foundations of the stone. The ceiling caved in. Amidst falling stone and roof shingles a scarlet dragon emerged and closed his jaws around one of the attacking men. The whole hall froze.
In the eerie silence that descended over the gallery, Ryn could almost see, with perfect clarity, everything that was about to happen.

All movement and sound rushed in at once: Mother’s shriek as the wurm knocked her frail body against the wall. Guardians surging forward to try to fight the creature off. Father screaming and swinging his sword in rage and grief. The sounds of shredding bodies and crunching bone as the dragon tore through them. Blood awash on the walls and floor.
Then a piece of the stone walls hit her head, and everything went black.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Wed Mar 19, 2014 9:16 pm

Rurik – 1

The child on his back had finally fallen asleep. She was warm against him, even through the armor.

Walking was a curious exercise. Familiar as he was with his long strides, Rurik was not used to the speed with which they ate up ground. He was also surprised at the ease with which he navigated the shield and great claymore he carried in either hand.

The sense of vulnerability was almost palpable. Exposed on in the smoking ruins of a field, Rurik felt the irony of how much his armor jeopardized their continued existence. The Order armor stood out both to mortals and to more dangerous predators. The crest emblazoned on his shield and the pommel of his sword and the characteristic grey cloak and horse pin marked him as a guardian of a royal family. The white-silver sheen of the metal gleamed against the black hillside in the light of the late afternoon sun.

Rurik glanced yet again over his shoulder at the smoking city. No signs of immediate danger manifested, though he noticed that the ashes of the field held his crisp footprints. He would have to do some doubling back when he was far enough away from the city, lay a false trail. The assassins—a pain burst in his heart, a strange feeling as he considered it no longer beat—the assassins were dead, but whoever had sent them likely was not. When he and the girl reached the Castle they would be safe, but for now…

The child shifted in her sleep and Rurik turned to look behind them once more. The plumes of dark grey smoke spiraled skyward. A sudden gale at the center of the burnt city blasted smoke in all directions. The wyrm, scarlet, wrapped himself around one of the toppled stone towers and bellowed.

Rurik flattened himself against the hillside, praying the sun would not betray them. He held his breath—unnecessary in the first place, he remembered—until the dragon dove once more into the city. To continue feasting, he imagined.
The rattle in his throat as he released the breath made him cringe. Rurik began to slide the girl onto the ground. She shifted, and her eyes fluttered open as he began removing the armor.

She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes. “Rury,” she whimpered. Her eyes blossomed with tears as she watched the smoke billowing where flags once had been.

“Hush now, Ryn.” Rurik pulled the small girl to his now unarmored chest. He struggled to remove his steel boots as the child cried against his grey leather jerkin. The dragon rose once more from the smoke cloud to release a stream of victorious fire.

They could not stay here. The knight had already seen the charred bodies of refugees whom the dragon had likely chased down, and the beast might come back, searching for a meal. Young as she was, Aderyn’s childhood would have to end here.

“Ryn, look at me,” he said gently.

The girl met his gaze reluctantly, wiping tears from her eyes. Suddenly she frowned.

“Rury, what happened to your eyes? They’re all blue.”

He had for gotten about that. Rurik considered his answer carefully. “Ryn, do you remember your parents teaching you about the pale lady? The one with hair like yours?”

The six-year-old nodded.

“Good. That’s good. She’s important, and she has called me into her service. That is why my eyes are blue.”

Ryn looked panicked and began to cry again. “Does that mean you are going to leave me?” she managed between sobs.

“No, dearheart, no. Of course not.” He swept her up in a bear hug. “No, I am never going to leave you.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.”

Ryn nodded and hiccupped.

“Good girl. Now, Ryn, I need you to listen carefully. I am going to take you to a safe place, but right now we’re in danger, so I need you to be strong.” Checking for the wyrm once more, Rurik shuffled the pair of them to the other side of the hill, dragging his armor behind him. “Remember what your parents taught you about the Winter Lady?”

Bobbing in acknowledgment, the small face had hardened into the closest thing to determination it could manage.

“Good. I need you to be like Her now. I cannot carry you the whole way and we need to hide my armor.”

“Why?”

Rurik thought for a moment. He opted to only explain the easier answer—he didn’t need the small princess afraid of every stranger. “The sun reflects off the metal and is like a beacon light for bad things.”

“Like dragons?”

“Yes, just like that.” Peering over the hill brought no new flashes of red.

The pair of them set to work. Rurik pulled the armor apart and showed Aderyn how to bundle the pieces together with his shield. She paid close attention and even tried to help him sling the suit of armor across his back. Rurik arranged his cloak over the gleaming metal and looked down at the now quiet and thoughtful girl. Many would have found it unnerving, but…her father would have been proud. It was in her blood, and that stillness would suit her 'when she took up the Shield. Rurik took the girl’s simple, thin dagger and matching belt from around his waist and fastened them on her like a necklace. “Tuck these inside your clothing. You know well enough to keep this safe.” He took the girl’s small hand and slung his claymore over his shoulder as they started down the hill, southward.

“Ryn, remember when you said you wanted to grow up to be a knight like me?”

She nodded.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea.”

“Really? I thought you said I would have to learn to be a princess?”

Rurik laughed, an odd sound that rattled around in his throat. “Yes I did. And you would have had to.” But then the pain came again, a dagger in his chest. “But a princess needs a kingdom. And a dragon has yours.”

And the strange, ancient six-year-old looked up at Rurik and said, “I will become a knight and take my kingdom back.”

And Rurik believed her.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Wed Mar 19, 2014 9:44 pm

The familiar face swam before him. ‘Rurik,’ it urged, ‘she’s in danger, the whole family is in danger. They know about the ritual room. Get the family to safety!’

Who knows?! Who…

Sentinels lining the gallery. The royal family bundled for their journey. A sudden flood of people…blood like waves along the walls. The familiar smile like a dagger.

A cold storm of confusion and horror—but…I was protecting them…the blood oath protects them…

Icy steel in his gut. The burning of the Winter Lady’s eyes and Her silent rejection. The echo of Her words in his mind…

YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF DEATH.

Rurik jerked awake. In the grey light before dawn, he could see the small form of Aderyn curled under on arm. His hand gripped the claymore at his side. He’d always wondered if undead slept. Now he knew.

He turned to the ashes of the previous night’s fire. Fearing any assassins who may have followed, the knight had not dared to keep it lit for long. In the days that followed, they would have to go without one altogether—wood for burning would be scarce, and a flame or plume of smoke would be a signal beacon to too many possible foes. If nothing else, the Aldenor Desert was full of bandits.

Their best hope would be to make straight for the Spine mountains and follow them south. The journey would take a week if they stumbled upon a mount, certainly more if they did not, especially with the young princess.

And food would be hard to come by. Although…he laid a hand upon the wound in his belly. He’d have to remember he did not need to eat anything. That would make things easier. It would still be worth it to take some time to hunt before they entered the rock desert to the east. And if they could commandeer a horse from any remaining local farms, all the better.

The sharp cracking of a twig disturbed his reverie. Animal or otherwise, the pair needed to be prepared. Rurik laced a gentle but firm hand over Aderyn’s mouth. The girl’s eyes snapped open and she struggled for a moment before she recognized him. He held a finger to his lips. She fell perfectly still.

They lay like that for several minutes. Rurik took the opportunity to practice not breathing. When no dangers emerged from the undergrowth, he removed his hand from Ryn’s mouth and quietly began to collect his things.

Another snapping twig made the pair freeze again, and the sensation of a sharp point pressing into Rurik’s back dropped fear into his stomach like a lump of cold lead. Ryn’s dark eyes grew wide and afraid.

“Well, well…” said a voice from the direction of the sharp point—a crossbow bolt, Rurik guessed. “Luck is with us today.”
Several men, well-armed and clearly familiar with their chosen weapons, stepped carefully out of the brush. They kept their eyes glued to Rurik, though a few trained their arrows on Ryn. The knight felt a growl rise in his throat.

“Whoa there, Greycloak.” The voice at his back circled around to face him. The man who stood before him looked like a proper mercenary—scarred, weather-beaten, and calculating. He wore the smirk of someone who was expecting a very large influx of cash very soon. “We know who you are, and we’ve got every reason in the world to kill you and the girl right here, so just take it easy.”

“Why are we still alive at all?”

“Part of the contract. Only kill if necessary.”

One of the mercs spoke up in the trader’s tongue: I don’t like it, boss. Keeping a godsdamned Greycloak captive? I don’t like it. Just let me put an arrow in his gut. Rurik struggled to look as though he did not understand.

Without removing his eyes from Rurik, the leader snarled, Look at his eyes, idiot. He’s dead already. Nothing short of a bonfire will take him down now.

Rurik glanced at Ryn. One of the mercs had gotten hold of her tiny wrist and chuckled as she attempted to free herself. Anger flooded the knight’s body, and something in his eyes made the boss take a step back. The man turned to look at Ryn, and smiled.

“She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” He touched one of the locks of Ryn’s pitch black hair and stroked her cheek, and then turned back to Rurik. “It would indeed be a pity if we had to kill her here.”

Rurik stiffened, but let his sword fall to the ground.

The boss smiled. “I see we understand each other.” A series of gestures sent the mercs into action—two to bind the prisoners, one to rifle their gear, the rest to lead the way back toward the edge of the forest.

Ryn struggled at first, but fell still and silent at a look from Rurik. As the group left the shelter of the trees they came upon a troop of horses. The knight was stripped of his weapons and armor, but they left the girl alone when they saw she lacked any fine jewelry or obvious weapons. Rurik offered a prayer of thanks that they had not searched found the dagger. The prisoners were escorted to what seemed to have formerly been a pack horse. The supplies had been redistributed among the others. Rurik moved to lift Ryn onto the horse, but the boss stopped him.

“No, no. She rides with me.” In a single motion the man swept her up onto his horse. Rurik was left to mount alone. One of the other mercs tied Rurik’s reins to the rear of his saddle, and then the group set off south around the edge of the forest.

Rurik’s mind flicked swiftly through their options. In some ways this turn of events was a boon—as long as they could escape with a horse and some of the mercs’ trail rations. He kept his eyes glued to the leader’s back. Aderyn was seated in front of him. The trick would be getting her away and retrieving a weapon, preferably his Order sword.

The group met up with several additional mercs after about an hour and then turned east, toward the desert. Where could they be headed? Bandits in the desert might buy the pair as slaves, but the leader had spoken of a contract…

Many of the mercs, Rurik noticed, were uneasy around him. Whether it was because he was a member of the Order or undead, he couldn’t tell. Either way, they gave him a wide berth, and loosened their swords in their belts if they had to pass close to him.

The knight took advantage where he could. Rurik ceased breathing. Anyone who came within six feet of him found themselves fixed with his unblinking, ice-blue stare. He chuckled anytime they shied away from him.

Just before noon, at the edge of the desert, the group halted to water the horses and break their fast. Rurik watched Ryn as the leader lifted her off his horse. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground. The boss patted her on the head and led her by the bonds to the center of the group. Rurik spent a few extra moments atop his horse, surveying the group for a glimpse of his armor.

There—the one who had suggested they kill him outright. He might prove useful.

Rurik and Ryn were kept separate. Each was given a small biscuit, checked once more for weapons, and had their bonds retied.

In spite of himself, Rurik chuckled as he looked down at his biscuit. He was getting used to his new status, and he palmed the tiny meal to give to Ryn later.

The boss had gathered several of his men around him, those who had become apparent as his lieutenants. They spoke rapidly in the trader’s tongue, a strange blend of the round, deep northern words and the swifter, staccato southern lilt. The previous strategies to unnerve those around him became a convenient cover, and while Rurik turned his strange eyes on everyone who passed, his mind homed in on the conversation.

—need to see the girl die. We can’t just show up with her head, one of the lieutenants was saying.

I don’t like this job. I don’t trust the contract, another said, keeping his voice low.

Rurik risked a glance toward the group. The leader looked thoughtful. Why?

Bounty like this? Elan, they may fulfill the terms but kill us as soon as we take the money and turn our backs. We have to find a way to get paid and stay alive to spend it.

One of the other lieutenants shook his head as the other spoke, but the boss nodded. I want us all to think of possible strategies to fall back on. None of us have gotten this far by being stupid. Be prepared. Other thoughts?

The first spoke up again. We ought to think about the draugr.

The word sounded harsh and new to Rurik—the first time he had heard it spoken since he turned. His flesh seemed to bristle at the sound, like he’d been summoned, and the knight struggled not to look over.

He’s a liability. We have no idea what he is going to do from moment to moment. I’m beginning to agree that we should just kill him. He is not officially part of the contract—Order members should not be harmed, unless necessary. I would say it is necessary.

He’s from the Order. If he gets away and tells his people about it, we are dead men.

Again, the boss—Elan—was thoughtful.

He’d be good in gladiatorial fights, though. Could get a good price for him, another added.

Yes, but we still have the problem of transport. How do we get the draugr to a buyer?

The leader spoke up. We have one other concern, though: the girl. She’ll be significantly less cooperative if we get rid of her guardian.

Who cares? She’s a child!

And there’s a reason our client wants her and needs be certain the bloodline is wiped out. You remember what he was like when we negotiated the contract. There is something dangerous about the family, and I don’t want to be the one to wake it in the girl. Let sleeping dragons lie, as they say.

But—

The
draugr lives, the boss insisted. For now.

Rurik centered his attention back on Ryn. She had made herself as small as possible, clutching her knees to her chest. Several of the mercs who passed her pinched her cheeks or tugged her hair. They were making a game of watching her squirm. Rurik felt another growl rising in his throat.

A pair of legs blocked Rurik’s view of the girl. He looked up to meet the leader’s eyes. “Congratulations, draugr. You get to live.” Elan called over his shoulder—“Morn, get over here. Got a job for you.”

Rurik restrained a laugh as the man he had had his eye on sauntered over.

“Morn, you’re on babysitting duty. You don’t trust him? You get to watch him.”

Morn looked deeply uneasy as his commander clapped him on the shoulder and walked off. Rurik and the man sized each other up. Rurik smiled, drawing his lips back from his teeth, and Morn loosened his sword in its scabbard. He sat down across from the knight. Camp business carried on around them.

Eventually, after losing the staring contest several times over, Morn broke eye contact, shifting his gaze to check on the activity of Rurik’s hands.

Rurik looked over to Ryn again. The game was escalating. A few men brandished daggers and laughed as she whimpered. A loud cawing attracted the knight’s attention. At the edge of the temporary camp, a crow had landed on a large boulder. He wondered idly if it came for him, but his mind was jerked suddenly back to Ryn when the shouting started.

Elan had taken notice of the mercs’ chosen form of entertainment, and he chastised them in the trader’s tongue. His men backed off, but the yelling had Ryn terrified. Another caw from the direction of the boulder made the knight look over again. Three more birds sat next to the first, and their gaze was fixed directly on the mercenary leader.

If you have enough time to fool around, he was saying, then I suppose it’s time to get moving. Pack up! Get a move on! The man knelt down to speak to Aderyn and laid a hand on her arm, likely intended to be gentle and comforting. But as he did so, the princess jumped away from him.

Twenty or so crows from around the edges of the camp took to the air in a sudden flurry of dark wings.

A few of the horses, startled by the sudden movement, reared and made to escape. The boss watched his men get them under control, shouting, Come on, boys, it’s just a couple of birds!

But Rurik’s eyes were on the twenty who had left the ground to join twice their number in the air, swirling over their heads like a gathering storm. The whole camp fell silent. The knight returned his attention to the princess. Her eyes, too, were on the birds. He could not read the expression on her small face.

Elan had also considered Ryn as the source. His face split into a huge, almost-genuine smile and he took several steps back from the girl before taking a knee. “I am not going to hurt you, I swear it. Nor are we going to hurt your Guardian.” He waved Rurik over. Morn looked ready to protest, but one look at the boss’ face convinced him it was a bad idea.

Rurik rose, keeping his eyes locked on the leader’s face. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Morn’s horse, laden with his armor and weapons—one horse back and two to the right. The knight turned to Aderyn and knelt beside her.

“Are you alright?” Rurik asked quietly.

The girl looked about to cry, but she nodded.

He smiled briefly. “You know the most important things a knight can be? Honest—,” he raised an eyebrow, and Ryn broke eye contact, looking ashamed, “—and brave. But being brave isn’t how you feel, it is what you do. And you are being very brave right now, even if you feel afraid.”

Ryn nodded, but kept her head down.

Rurik became aware of a conversation taking place in the background. One of the lieutenants was speaking to the leader again. She’s dangerous? I’d just as soon kill her and take the smaller reward. They’re too much trouble alive, both of them. He pushed passed the boss, who missed an attempt to grab him, and drew his sword.

Aderyn screamed. Rurik rocked onto his feet and prepared to bull rush the lieutenant. And a collective gasp went up from the mercs that made the few who weren’t already look skyward.
Last edited by Azizrian on Thu Mar 20, 2014 1:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Wed Mar 19, 2014 9:53 pm

The crows dove as one great mass. Several of the horses reared and took off. A few mercs followed similar instincts to run. Many of those remaining looked unnerved, but readied swords and shields.

The mercs that the birds hit first—the lieutenant among them—were virtually shredded by the collection of talons and beaks. The quicker-thinking men curled up behind their shields.

Morn leapt to his feet, arm shielding his eyes as he slashed wildly with his sword. Rurik, who had thrown himself completely prone, watched a few of the birds fall dead, briefly. Then their skeletons stripped themselves of their flesh and the spirits rose again, clinging to bone and feathers.

Several of the undead crows pierced Morn’s body and kept flying. Morn collapsed, gargling as the last of the air left his body. Crawling forward, Rurik seized Morn’s short sword and slit the ropes at his wrists. He made for Ryn, keeping low and ducking any time the swarm of birds shifted in his direction again.

After the first pass, the crows spread out more. Though their movement still posed a hazard, Rurik noticed the birds’ behavior had become less aimless. They actively attacked any mercs who were standing. A few broke off from the larger mass to chase down the men who had already fled. Rurik could see Aderyn curled up by a few of the mercs, who fought the birds off with axe, shield, and dirk.

The leader suddenly bellowed over the din, “FIRE, Godsdammit! Light some torches!” The commander himself set a torch ablaze and headed for the princess, dispersing the birds with strong swings of the torch.

Rurik rolled as another wave of crows swept overhead. He came up near several of the horses, and ducked behind them, searching for Morn’s horse. The glint of silver caught his eye and he grinned. His armor, shield, and sword were all intact and waiting for him. The knight sought refuge alongside the horse as more birds flew past. Much as he wanted the protection of his armor, he needed swiftness. Reach, though...Rurik smiled. Reach was good. He hefted his claymore across his shoulder and slid Morn’s short sword through his belt, then made for Ryn again.

One of the mercs who had been fighting near Aderyn was dead. His companion, along with a few of the remaining mercs, had also found torches and had begun making headway against the birds.

Elan saw the knight had recovered his sword and cursed, but turned to face him. “Try to calm the girl down,” he called over his shoulder, then squared to face the draugr.

Rurik slung the claymore from his back and settled into a low stance. Many of the other mercs, he noticed, were watching as best they could. Few had ever seen a Greycloak fight. Fewer still had lived to tell others about it.

The commander bowed his head, muttered an unintelligible prayer, and settled into his own stance, sword in his right hand, torch in his left. Rurik raised the claymore, tracing the leader’s moves with its point.

A flurry of crows crossed the gap between them and the leader attacked through them, swinging the torch at Rurik’s face. The knight scarcely moved, turning his torso fully sideways and let the sword slide across his shoulderblades, knocking the torch away. In the same movement, he swung the blade straight at the man’s head. Elan barely blocked, stumbling backwards. He hesitated, thrown off by the speed and force with which Rurik had completed the maneuver.

The knight, growing accustomed to the new speed of his limbs, pressed the attack. Pivoting, he put the full force of his body into a spin, aimed at Elan’s head. The merc dodged backward, narrowly avoiding both the sword and a flurry of crows. Rurik dropped lower to avoid the birds as well. He sliced beneath the swarm of crows. Elan caught the blade with his own and swung wildly into the flock with his torch. A few fell to the ground, burning.

Rurik dodged the torch head. He could feel its heat as it missed his face. When the air cleared again, two additional swords stabbed toward him. Two lieutenants had joined the fight. Rurik slapped one blade aside with his own sword and dodged the other. Elan had backed off and began circling behind the three other combatants. The knight shook his head. Not a subtle tactic, but effective if he could not finish these two off quickly. Quickly and suddenly, Rurik swept both lieutenants off their feet with a single low kick and brought his sword down on one of their heads, cleaving it in half.

Elan roared in rage and charged Rurik’s back. The draugr met him with a sword pommel to the gut, then slit open the belly of the second lieutenant as he stood. Elan doubled over, heaving, and watched in horror as his lieutenant’s innards slid to the ground. Rurik pressed the advantage, slicing at Elan’s neck. The merc pivoted, ducking the claymore and swinging at the knight’s head with his torch.

Rurik, unable to bring his own blade around in time, brought his left arm up to meet it. He flung the torch aside, but the moment it touched his skin, the flames caught. At first Rurik did not even register what happened. Elan attacked again, and with his burning hand the draugr caught the merc’s wrist. Elan dropped his sword, patting out the flames that had caught on his sleeve.

Then the pain started. It did not feel like fire. Winter concentrated itself in his hand. Cold peeled flesh away from bone, which itself became charred and black. Unable to hold back, Rurik screamed. The unearthly shriek made all those within earshot pull back in horror. Even the crows seemed to recoil.

Rurik recovered just enough to smother the stump of his left arm with his heavy cloak. The cold still burned dully in his arm and the knight felt anger building in his chest. He screamed again, this time in rage, and charged Elan. He shoved aside the merc’s meager attempt to block him and smashed the pommel of his sword against the man’s temple. The merc jerked his head away, but it did little more than soften the blow. Elan collapsed, bleeding. Rurik raised his sword to deliver the final blow.

“Stop! I yield!” Elan gasped, releasing both weapons and rolling onto his back.

Rurik considered stabbing him and leaving him for the crows to eat, but remembered his Oath…

The Blood Oath. The Oath that no longer held because his blood had frozen in his veins. Elan’s eyes flicked to the sword in his the draugr’s hand and registered the hesitation on his face.

“Well? Going to kill me or not?”

Rurik snarled, and brought the sword to within an inch of the merc’s eye. The man did not flinch, simply held Rurik’s gaze.

“If I ever meet you again on the field of battle, I will bury my sword in your eye. That’s a promise.”

The man nodded. “Better that day than today. Just take the girl and go. I don’t want to see either of you again.”

“And for what price are you going to sell information about our whereabouts?”

He grinned. “A man needs to eat.”

The crows returned, sweeping toward the pair. Rurik dove to the ground. When they had passed and he looked up to see where the merc had been, he could see the man, already tens of yards away, running at a dead sprint.

At last, Rurik remembered the princess. “Ryn?” He looked to where she still cowered on the ground. She watched him, eyes almost unblinking.

“Rury…is it safe now?”

Rurik slung the claymore over his shoulder again and looked around. A few mercs hovered, at a suitable distance, likely hoping to lay claim to their horses—and a former comrade’s if they could. The crows, after their last pass, had returned to circle overhead. The knight knelt beside his princess. “Yes, I think it is.”

She nodded, and buried her head in his jerkin. As she cried, broken bird bodies and skeletons began raining from the sky. Rurik looked up to see the crow cloud dissipating. What, by all the gods, had happened? It seemed her blood was stronger than anyone had supposed. The girl would need training.

He shivered as he thought of what she had seen in him, and found himself grateful for his final decision—to act with honor.

“Come, Ryn. We should get moving.” He started to get to his feet.

Sniffling, Ryn said, “Wait. We cannot go yet.”

“What? Why?”

Ryn took a few deep breaths. “We have to make wreaths for them. Mother taught me to make wreaths for the dead.”

The knight sighed. Spirit wreaths could help keep their spirits at rest, at least for the time being. However, the knight seriously doubted any of the dead had the will to return so quickly. The princess, he noticed, looked exhausted. Such a great Working likely drew a lot out of her. And making enough wreaths, even simple ones twisted from the plains grasses, would take too long. “Can we do Rites for them instead?”

Aderyn looked uncertain. “But Father did not have time to teach me…”

Rurik pulled the girl to her feet. “I will show you. We should get moving in the next hour.”


They set out on horseback. Ryn sat in front of the knight. A second horse, joined by the reins to their saddle, carried Rurik’s armor, water, rations, and both of their cloaks. The summer sun would have been too much beneath a cloak at the height of the day’s heat.

Aderyn wore her dagger around her waist. Rurik still wore Morn’s short sword on his belt. He had tied the claymore to their saddle.

“Rury, where are we going?” the child asked. “Is this where you were going to take me with Mother and Father?”

“Yes.” Rurik scanned the landscape. It was clear of anything but rocks all the way to the horizon. Nothing large enough to be seen moved. “I am taking you to the headquarters of my Order. You will be safe there.”

“And they will teach me to be a knight?”

The draugr sighed. “I truly hope so.”
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Wed Mar 19, 2014 10:28 pm

Shadows - 1

The man swept back his fine silks in a low bow. “Milord, I hope you are satisfied with the results.”

The other figure’s steel eyes swept the hall. When he spoke, his deep voice echoed slightly, as if from the depths of a dark cavern. “That remains to be seen, Councilor.”

What had been a fine gallery was now simply a mess. Blood spattered the walls and slicked the floor. The ceiling and much of one wall had been torn down as the wyrm hunted his prey. The segments of human that remained on the floor of the hall were indistinguishable from each other—attacker and defender were mingled together.

“Were they all here?” The dark figure returned his attention to the former councilor.

Bowing again, the man mustered a smile that betrayed only slight nervousness. “Of course, Milord. Down to the last, innocent child. I was there when the assassins arrived.”

“And the Order?”

“All dead.” A snicker. “I even watched one kill himself in despair.”

The figure nodded. “You have done just as we asked.” He stood over the former Councilor, who looked up hopefully. “Unfortunately, I have no use for traitors,” the figure added smoothly, neatly parting the flesh of the man’s neck. The man gurgled as he slumped to the floor.

The crimson wyrm, partially twined around the former battlements and leering through the hole in the roof, chuckled. “Idiot human.”

“And you? Did you bother to keep track of how many you devoured?” His tone remained even, but the steel eyes burned with distaste.

Picking up a lost arm in his claws, the dragon laughed outright. “I gorged myself. Is that not a sufficient answer?”

“All of them have to be dead.”

“Why bother with them? All humans are the same. Sweet little bags of meat ripe for the eating.”

“This family matters. Their blood is dangerous.”

Licking at another limb, the dragon murmured, “dangerous to you, perhaps.”

The dark figure wheeled on the beast. “You watch your tone with me,” he hissed through his long, thin teeth.

The wyrm drew himself up. “You are beneath me. I am a dr—“

Remember who my master is, worm.”

The creature snarled, but settled. “I ate all who were in the room, Milord. Most were dead already. A few of the women were screaming. You’ll have to forgive me if I did not count every last one. No traces, you said, and there were a fair few to consume.”

The figured looked at the dead councilor. “I suppose you have done as we asked. Fortunately for you, we do have a use for dragons.” The pair stared each other down for a few moments, then the figure turned away. He nudged the councilor’s body as he departed.

“Best eat him, too. No traces.”
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Thu Apr 10, 2014 12:16 am

Rurik – 2

Aderyn’s head nodded in the saddle. Rurik gripped her tighter as she started to slide from her seat. Her stomach gurgled and she woke again.

“Rury,” she moaned, “I’m so hungry.”

“I know.” He scanned the mountainside ahead for the sign he needed. “We are nearly there.”

The sun burned directly overhead. The contours of the steep mountainside looked unfamiliar in the light, but far ahead he thought he could see the pillar he sought. As they approached, he saw he was right: it was a smoothed tower of rock, tapering slightly toward the crown, where the natural shape of the rock remained, resembling an actual crown. “Good news, Ryn! We will be there before nightfall.”

“Really? Where is it?” She sat up in the saddle.

“You should be able to see the Castle in just a few moments.”

He led the horses up onto a small, nearly-invisible path just behind the pillar. Rurik argued with himself—soon she would need to be blindfolded. However, if she saw the way in, the High Guardian would be forced to accept her as a future Guardian. It could serve to strengthen the case in their favor. Either way, he wanted her to see what would be her home.

The trail curved around the slope of the mountain, and the Order citadel opened before them. The trail now ran along a natural rock ledge skirting a massive valley. Beneath them, eight tiered walls of grey stone, quarried from the cliff face itself during the citadel’s construction. Each wall stood a dozen feet across, increasing in height as they rose to the tower that formed the heart of the Castle of the Guardians. The tiers formed octagonal rings, disappearing within the mountain. Between the walls, a thriving city went about its business. Large gates stood open to the inhabitants. But there was no front gate.

“Ryn.” Rurik pulled his cloak from the pack horse. “From here, I need to blindfold you.”

The girl twisted around to look at him. “Why?”

“Well…” He hesitated. “It is your choice. If you do not wear a blindfold, you will not be able to leave the Castle until you swear the Oath and become a Guardian, because you know the secret way to enter.”

“What happens when I swear the oath?”

“It means you swear to serve those to whom you are assigned.”

Aderyn thought for a moment. Rurik stopped the horses. “Rury, if I become a knight, can I become queen?”

The knight sighed. “Honestly, Ryn, I do not know. We have never had someone in your situation before.”

“I will not swear the Oath if it means I cannot be queen.”

Rurik nodded, and draped his cloak over the child’s head. “Very well. But let us keep that to ourselves for now. I will speak to my superiors and then we may decide what to do.”

Ryn nodded, and the draugr urged the horses forward again.

The path followed the contours of the cliffs. It hedged a second valley and then headed down towards the plains to the east. Rurik, however, led the horse behind a trick wall and up a narrow slope bounded by cliff walls.

“Rury, how can a road be secret?”

“It is carved through the mountains themselves. It makes use of illusions and some special gates to keep those who might stumble upon it from progressing.”

“What are illusions?”

He sighed, chuckling. “It is difficult to explain without showing you.”

“Is it like magic?”

“Some of it is. Illusions trick your eyes. Some make use of magic. Some only seem to. There are openings on this path that look like walls.” He steered the horses around and then through a carefully-constructed pile of rocks.

The two-mile journey took over an hour. Periodically the knight stopped the horses to open a gate. Some were mere doors that could be opened by cleverly-disguised levers. Others were illusions, swept aside as Rurik waved his cloak pin before them.

Finally the pair reached a narrow, low tunnel that led directly into the heart of the mountains. Rurik dismounted and instructed Ryn to lie against the horse’s neck. After a few hundred feet, the tunnel opened up again into a short, tall chamber. At the far end was a massive, perfectly-smooth all composed of a single piece of pale-grey marble. At the top of the wall, sunlight filtered through a gap between wall and ceiling. Rurik pulled his shield from the back of the pack horse and stepped forward.

A deep voice from atop the wall echoed through the cavern. “Who seeks entry to the Castle of Guardians?”

“A wind-brother, who has wandered far.” The knight held his shield, emblazoned with the Order’s crest, aloft.

He could hear movement atop the wall.

“Announce yourself, wind-brother.”

“Sentinel Rurik Bloodbound,” he called back.

“Your footfalls are heavy, brother. Come rest your limbs that you may race the plains winds again.”

Bright lines of blue light burst into life on the wall, tracing the outlines of a large door and the swirling image of a running horse that sealed it shut. With a loud crack the lines sand into the stone and the gates swung inward.

Rurik packed his armor back onto the horse and climbed up behind his princess, urging their mount into the blinding light of the afternoon sun.

As the draugr’s eyes adjusted—a process that took longer now, he noted—he recognized the large yard and Order stables. Rurik removed the cloak from Aderyn’s head. “We have arrived.”

A large company stood guard near the gates. Their commander hurried forward to welcome the travelers.

“Rurik!” The crest on the woman’s helm marked her as one of the six Keepers of the Order.

Rurik dismounted and saluted. “Sister Noiah.”

“At ease. By the gods, Rurik. What happened?” Her bright amber eyes took in Aderyn, the burnt stump of her comarade’s arm, and the blue glow of his eyes.

The knight pulled a small object wrapped in cloth from a pouch at his neck. Unfolding the cloth, he revealed the House Dovan signet ring. “May I present Crown Princess Aderyn of House Dovan, heir to the throne of Dovanrun.”

The girl slid from their horse and, dirty, worn clothing notwithstanding, attempted a regal nod. She swayed from exhaustion and her stomach rumbled audibly.

Rurik snuck a glance at his superior. The corners of Noiah’s mouth twitched up slightly but her eyes were hard; he knew her well enough to realize she was deeply troubled by their appearance. The commander opted simply for a low bow. “Keeper Noiah of the Guardians at your service, Princess.” She gestured to a few of the Guardians on duty at the stables. “I am sure you are tired and hungry. We will take you to the Tower—there will be food and a bath for you there.” Noiah helped the girl climb into the back of a small cart and then turned to Rurik. “The Council would like to hear your report as soon as possible,” she said quietly.

The draugr nodded. “How is Wynet?”

Noiah’s gaze turned steely, and she glared at him for a moment before responding. “She is well. She returns from patrol in a few days.”

Rurik nodded. “Will I see you soon?”

“Of course, brother. I will be present for the Council meeting.” They clasped hands and forearms, then Rurik turned away to climb into the cart, and the traveler set off again.

The road to the Tower wound in a great spiral along the outside of each tier. Rurik watched Ryn’s face as they drove. Familiar as she was with city life, the girl had never seen one this large. Despite hardly being able to stay awake, her eyes were filled with wonder at some of the buildings, five- or even ten-story-high stone towers. Any Guardians they passed were dressed mostly in grey, whether on- or off-duty, but the Castle’s other inhabitants, hailing from all over the Three Hundred Kingdoms, were much more colorfully attired. Some few were the families of some Guardians. Far more helped keep the daily life of the Castle moving smoothly, and had either sworn an oath to the Order or would never again leave the walls within which they lived. Their bright garments clearly delighted Ryn, whether they were smooth, brilliant silk coats, ornate brocaded gowns, or embroidered cloaks.

As the cart passed through the gate into the eighth and highest tier, however, all bright colors faded, save two: crimson and azure. The banners that hung in the High Court displayed the sigil of the Order on white cloth, a shield crossed by the sign of the First Sword and sealed with the sign of the Oathkeeper. The color of the shield varied for its members, red for its living brothers and blue for the draugr who joined them.

The court comprised the final circle, with the 100-yard walk to the high doors of the Tower lined with ash trees and guarded by hundreds of Order members. The stone of the courtyard rose smooth and pale over the travelers’ heads as they disembarked. Aderyn continued to take the city in wide-eyed. Something caught her eye across the Court, and she tugged on Rurik’s sleeve. “Why are they not dressed like everyone else?”

Rurik followed the line of her finger to a pair of guardians along one wall. The dark colors of their clothes and armor stood in stark contrast to all around them, and they carried no shields. “Every Guardian in this courtyard represents one of the three hundred royal families of the Kingdoms. As you know, most Order members wear grey, but those two Guardians represent special houses. The one in black is for the House that is Lost. And the woman there in dark blue is for the House that is No More.”

Ryn’s small mouth gaped open. “How can a house not exist anymore?”

He laid his remaining hand on her head. “On day I will tell you. Let us go inside. You should sleep.”

As the pair crossed the yard the tall doors opened and another figure wearing the crested helm of a Keeper came to welcome them. With a series of quick, precise movements he removed his helmet to tuck it under one arm. He bowed to Ryn. “Keeper Rowe at your service, Princess. We received a messenger from Keeper Noiah only moments ago.” His dark, curly hair was closely cropped, his equally dark eyes serious. “We are preparing quarters for you. Walk this way.” He turned on his heel and began to march into the citadel.

Ryn looked up at Rurik, seeming to seek his approval, and he nodded. “I will see you again soon, I promise. I told you, I have some I must speak to first.”

The girl squared her jaw, took a deep breath, and followed Rowe. Despite her dirty clothes, the girl was a small queen, processing behind the Keeper.

Rurik did not follow. Instead, he turned to walk along the line of his scomarades. Each as he passed nodded and acknowledged him: “Brother.” At last he reached his goal. He stood before the Dovan representative. “Sister Helja.”

Helja silently stepped forward and removed her helm.

“My sister…your brothers have failed. Dovanrun has fallen.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “But…what about the family? How many of our brothers survived?”

Rurik shook his head. “Only the daughter, Princess Aderyn, and I survived. And as you see…” he looked at his own body, eerily white, blue veins prominent in the light. “I did not strictly survive, as such.”

Helja took a deep, shuddering breath and blinked away tears. The brothers that stood within earshot looked dismayed, but shifted uncomfortably as the woman unpinned her cloak. “I…what do I do? Shall I…take the blue cloak?”

“Not yet, sister. We may require you to do so to keep the Princess safe. She may become a sister herself.” He squeezed the woman’s shoulder with his good hand. “Keep watch for us, sister. We still need you.”

[To be continued!]
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Tue Apr 15, 2014 3:29 pm

“Rurik…I do not understand. The Oath should have made it impossible for you to put the family in danger. That Oath is what has kept dynasties safe for thousands of years!” The High Guardian’s brow, so often furrowed with the cares of her position, seemed even more deeply lined, if that was possible. The knight had never seen her so anxious—Daren played absently with the end of her long silver braid and her eyes betrayed confusion…even fear.

Rurik shook his head. “When we first heard rumors of a possible dragon attack, we planned to move them to the safe room. But one of the courtiers, Lord Valen, came to me with intelligence that one of the other families was moving against Dovan, that the rumor of the dragon was their doing and the safe room was a trap.”

“And you believed him?”

“Yes! Lord Valen had always been loyal to the family and was a constant font of information about the goings-on in the region: mercenary contracts, slavers’ movements, the conditions of other kingdoms west of the Spine. I had no reason to suspect him.”

The Council members looked at each other.

“How did you survive, Rurik?” Kveika, the youngest of the Keepers, spoke up.

His chuckle rumbled like gravel in his throat. “If you call this surviving.”

The redhead arched an eyebrow at him, irritated. “How are you here?”

Rurik swallowed. He had known this moment was coming. The truth rose in his throat, but got caught before it could make itself heard. Cold fire prickled up his spine as he thought of the burning eyes that had banished him. He took a steadying breath that failed to steady him. “I instructed Princess Aderyn to make for her bedchamber. As I turned to follow, I was stabbed from behind.”

Through your armor?” Kveika’s gaze was unrelenting, her green eyes glittering in a way that hinted at the magic she carried rising inside her.

The draugr’s own blue eyes rose to the challenge. “They had mages and my attention was on keeping myself between the assassins and the princess.”

Several of the Keepers nodded. High Guardian Daren stared at him, piercing him to the bone.

“I saw the Winter Lady.” Rurik let the power of those words reverberate around the Council chamber. That, at least, was not a lie and the knight could tell even the most skeptical of the Keepers heard its truth. But his heart trembled as he added: “She gave me this purpose—to guide Aderyn until she may assume the throne again.”

What?” Rowe, dark eyes incredulous, nearly upset the table and several glasses of mulled wine as he leapt to his feet. “You cannot…the family is gone! The kingdom taken!”

“And both Aderyn herself and the White Woman have expressed a desire that the rightful heir take the throne! Or have you forgotten the lineage of House Dovan?”

Rowe seated himself, and the whole room weighed his words. The High Guardian pressed her fingertips together, watching Rurik intently as she considered the options. “Brothers and sisters, remember the Founding of our Order. Remember how, at the end of the Second Age, after the gods ceased to walk among us and we began to grow suspicious of one another, House Adalstren came to hate the Winter Lady’s own House. How they and many others came to blame the throne of Isvern for the existence of death, and how they rose against the House in revolt. How House Morova was shattered and those members who survived fled to found new dynasties. And how the Lady, so that none may think themselves above the justice of the gods, froze the blood of every member of House Adalstren and sent them to serve in the High Barrows, denied death for all time. All save the eldest son, who pledged himself to keep the events from ever repeating themselves.”

“We remember the House that is No More,” the Keepers intoned. Rurik remained silent—he knew what came next, but he feared the High Guardian’s verdict. The air had begun to tingle with the tint of magic, a variety of bloodmagic that vibrated in these memories. When each new member of the Order took the Blood Oath, its truth entered their veins, and the verbal recounting, unnecessary in the usual way of tale-telling, itself became an invocation—the power of a shared history thousands of years old called upon to strengthen today’s decision.

“Brothers and Sisters, remember the Silencing of the Fourth Age. Remember how House Aedelfryd grew suspicious of House Angeron, consecrated to He of Many Names. How Aedelfryd forgot the lesson of the Second Age and strove to wipe out their brothers in life. And how we moved to prevent the eradication of both houses, spiriting the children of Angeron away into the night.”

“We remember the House that is Lost.”

Rurik’ heart sank, empty. He had known the crescendo of that warm power, the flooding of the Blood Memories through his veins. But unconsecrated as he now was, bound no more by blood nor yet by heart, the working filled the air around him and left him—a blank space, awaiting judgment. He was no one’s brother.

When High Guardian Daren spoke again, her voice was deeper, strengthened with the depth of the Brothers’ Bond. All pronouncements now spoken would be binding. “As was done for the Lost House, we shall remember House Dovan, now the House in Dragon’s Shadow. The child shall remain here, trained as a member of the Order until such time as she comes of age. We shall discover which of the kingdoms sought to destroy this family and how our Brothers in service of the aggressors failed to prevent them.

“Rurik, no longer Bloodbound, for your courage and your sacrifice for the former House Dovan, you shall be forever Rurik One-Hand. Hail to you, Brother!”

“Hail, Brother,” the others echoed.

The muscles in Rurik’s neck tightened, and his fears were realized as Daren spoke again.

“Brother, you will take the Kinsoath to bind yourself to us once more. You will become one of the Guardians of the Unbound, to pass to the younglings who seek to join us your gifts of courage and honor.”

“No.” His response shook the room. Rurik felt the bloodmagic trying to tighten around him, seeking purchase on a body that was unshackled from the Order, but it sloughed off, unable to exert its will.

“Rurik,” Noiah’s expression was anxious. “Brother, you know we usually only accept draugar who used to be members of the royal Houses themselves. To even be able to remain in the Order is—“

“An honor,” he snarled. “I know. But you do not seem to understand. I have a task, and fulfilling it requires me to remain Ry—Princess Aderyn’s Guardian.”

The Keepers shuffled uncomfortably, and Daren stared him down. Once again, the bonds of the magic struggled to hold him, but Rurik shrugged them off.

“If you will not allow me to do so, I will swear the Kinsoath directly to her and to House Dovan,” he added, meeting the High Guardian’s gaze.

From the end of the table, a normally unassuming figure rose suddenly and came to stand before Rurik. His movements were too smooth and swift for a human, and his skin was blue, nearly transparent in the light that shone through the window. Dronor was oldest of the Keepers, formerly a prince of one of the eight original houses, undead for centuries and now the only draugr on the Council. Most who reached his age, weary of existing among mortals, traveled to the High Barrows in the Far North, but Dronor had chosen to remain. His eyes, wiped clean of anything but the blue fire that burned within them, fixed their harsh stare on Rurik. Dronor’s voice as he spoke carried the icy echoes of the spirit realm.

“Do not be a fool, boy. If you do not take the Oath you will never be permitted to leave these walls again.”

“If I take the Kinsoath to her, these walls will not be able to hold me.”

The tension wove itself into the magic that filled the air. The two draugar stared each other down for a long moment. At least, seemingly satisfied, Dronor nodded and returned silently to his seat.

Daren’s eyes continued to flick between the pair, but content, it seemed, with what Dronor had concluded, at length she spoke again: “Brother, you will take the Kinsoath to bind yourself to the Order once more. You will become the special Guardian of the House in Dragon’s Shadow, and will pledge the rest of your existence to its service.” The words spoken, the bloodmagic at once dispersed, weaving the decree into the very existence of the Order of the Kinsguard. Nothing now could prevent these events from happening. No interference would prevent the swearing of the Kinsoath.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Tue May 06, 2014 6:14 pm

Elan – 1

He ran a hand through his close-cropped black hair. Elan had few chances to bathe, but he soaked in the cleanliness as much as he did the bathwater. He smelled of too much cologne, but he smiled to himself, fingering his freshly-laundered clothing. In his line of business, life was something to cherish.

Elan had had a woman, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest. Now to break the news to his client, and see if he could weasel some measure of…compensation. The inn in which he sat, a seedy place—as such meeting places often are—at the edges of the slums, sat in the southern end of Aedonfen, one of the largest and wealthiest cities in the region.

The merc took a swig of his beer; it was watered down, but not bad for its price. The situation, however, left a bad taste in his mouth. Elan remained unsure, but he had a pretty good idea that the city’s ruling family were the ones who had contracted his services. This made them either: idiots for making under-the-table deals in their own city; or, very clever. The ambiguity disturbed him.

Elan’s dark eyes scanned the other patrons carefully, more for possible threats than for his employer, who had appeared at their first meeting looking as conspicuous as possible with a black hooded cloak. The merc’s former lieutenants had been right, though; this contract felt dirty, and those with money could always pay to make their problems disappear. He’d have to watch his step as he left the bar and certainly made it a priority to scan his fellow patrons.

Nearly everyone in this area of the city openly carried knives, often the simple dagger gifted to them on their naming day, but Elan could also see several fellow ne’er-do-wells sporting axes in their belts, and even a few swords. The innkeeper himself, formerly an army officer, displayed a pair of beautiful longswords over the bar, as much a threat as decoration.
Nevertheless, no one in the bar raised any flags: no eyes lingered longer than they should have, no one struggled to avoid his gaze altogether, and there were none present stupid enough to straight stare him down. Elan replaced his wide-brimmed traveler’s hat and tipped it forward over his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on the chair across from him, and waited.

Within a few minutes new footsteps could be heard on the cobblestones outside the door. The boots sounded expensive, edged with steel and fairly new, or perhaps rarely worn, as opposed to the soft, well-worn soles on the boots of the bar’s usual patrons. Elan did not move, but his eyes remained alert under his hat as the door opened.

The gentleman who entered was clearly that—a gentleman. Elan’s information identified the face he could scarcely see beneath the hood as House Aodhfin’s spymaster; a strange position for a house dedicated to the Oathkeeper. Theoretically Lord Dranoll was one who sought out spies and assasins and brought them to light, but his presence here demonstrated the shadier, unacknowledged side of his job description.

And confirmed the royal house’s involvement.

Elan listened to the hem of Dranoll’s fine cloak as it swept the floorboards—he was not stupid enough to wear silk, but its cotton was fine and tightly-woven. The merc tilted his hat back and audibly lowered his feet to the hardwood floor. The spymaster looked around at the noise, and Elan tipped his hat to the noble.

“Milord. Mind buying me a drink?”

Dranoll halted. He looked to be a nervous man, bald and sweating, comfortably plump and unused to flexing the muscles he had used in his youth. The spymaster did not smile, nodding and signaling to the barkeep as he joined Elan at the table.

They did not speak for a moment, sizing each other up until the innkeeper had delivered two mugs of ale and departed. Dranoll broke eye contact to look down at the beer. He sniffed at it; his nose twitched upward in a momentary grimace. Elan, on the other hand, took a great swig from his mug and another moment to consider his situation.

The nobleman spoke first. “Did you find anything?”

Elan swallowed, carefully replacing the mug on the table. “We found some very interesting things.”

Dranoll did fairly well at keeping the anxiety out of his face, Elan thought. But the vein in the spymaster’s neck throbbed visibly. “Several?”

The merc looked into his mug and took another sip. “Yup.”

“Where are they?”

Elan considered his next words carefully. “There are some things about the contract I would like to…negotiate.”

Eyes narrowing, Dranoll sniffed again. “The contract has been signed. Terms cannot be negotiated.”

“There are things the contract did not mention. That my employer did not mention. Things that render the terms of that contract null and void. I could simply speak to slavers instead. I am sure I would get a better price…”

The fear reached his eyes this time. “No, that will not be necessary,” Dranoll managed. “However, you must still convince me that the exception is sufficient—.”

“Three quarters of my men are dead.” Elan looked at the spymaster from under the brim of his hat. “No one told me anything about the daughter having a magical gift. The Greycloaks I expected to be trouble, but I had not anticipated a child would be so destructive. I will require adequate compensation for my losses. Enough gold to replaces supplies and horses and replenish the ranks.”

Dranoll looked startled, and his hand shook as he wiped his forehead with a black silk handkerchief. “We did not anticipate magical abilities to manifest in one so young.”

“But you knew she might have them?” Elan felt his cheeks getting hot, a slow burn of anger starting in his chest.

The noble coughed and would not meet his eyes. “I am prepared to offer you twice your initial fee as compensation.”

Leaning back in his chair again, the merc sipped his ale thoughtfully. Not a bad deal. Unfortunately, at some point the truth of the situation would come out. He took a moment to scan the inn again over the edge of his mug. No one had entered since the spymaster’s arrival. If trouble waited for him, it was likely outside in one of the alleyways. His few remaining companions waited for him outside the city. They would have to go a good distance to find mercs who would join them after that disaster. The question was how much gold he could get after the spymaster discovered they had no one to hand over. “How much do you have with you?”

“Half the original agreed-upon sum.”

Elan nodded. Nothing unexpected. “Then I am afraid I will require twice that to begin with, before I will give you what you seek.”
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Mon May 19, 2014 6:46 pm

Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs to the rooms overhead. The man who descended the stairs was carefully dressed to draw no attention. The pants Elan could see, still viewed discretely from beneath his hat, looked slightly too large for the man, and the boots too small, as if the outfit had been pulled together from the belongings of people who actually used their clothing for hard work. Nevertheless, he walked like a trained swordsman, possibly even assassin, and his weapons looked to be made of good steel. Dranoll’s eyes followed him down the stairs.

Elan occupied himself with his ale as the stranger approached the table. He whispered into the nobleman’s ear, and Dranoll’s brow furrowed. “My associate here tells me there is no one upstairs.” His eyes searched the merc’s face.

“That is correct.” Elan kept his tone even.

“That is not what we agreed.”

“I needed to be sure you were willing to negotiate.”

The two men stared each other down. Dranoll looked flushed. The fear in his eyes had been replaced by annoyance.

“I will not tell you the child’s location until you give me half of what you owe me.”

“You said you found several?”

“A girl and a Greycloak. That was all.”

“And where are they?”

“My associates are waiting for us outside the city.”

Dranoll nodded to his companion, and each extracted a clinking bag of gold from the depths of their robes. The spymaster threw them both down on the table and Elan pulled one open. One thousand gold pieces winked up at him. He hefted the other bag—it weighed the same, as far as he could tell, and he buried both sacks in the bottom of his pack.

“Pleasure doing business with you. Shall I direct you to the rendezvous location?”

Dranoll rose, twitching his cloak back into an elegant drape over his shoulders. “I have other duties to attend to, but my associate here will accompany you to retrieve the girl.” He turned to the other man and in a low voice said, “Kill the Greycloak. No traces.”

Elan took a harder look at the other man—possibly a mercenary, likely one in the service of House Aodhfin and used to regular pay. Based on his build, skin and calloused hands suggesting one used to and likely even adept at fighting…Elan guessed an assassin, or some other kind of hired killer, paid well and never asked to explain his actions.

Lord Dranoll laid a few gold pieces on the bar and then swept from the inn.

The assassin gestured to the door. His voice as he spoke was raspy and thick with years of pipe smoke. “After you.”

Elan stood slowly, smirking at his new companion and tapped his fingers to the brim of his hat. As he reached the door, the older merc paused and spoke over his shoulder, “Now, there is no reason we should not be civil about this.”

He heard a chuckle behind him. “Just show me where we are headed.”

Elan nodded and opened the door.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. It felt as though every sound within three miles were trying to cram itself into his ears. A few rats in the alleyway skittered up a drain pipe. Two blocks away, a group of drunkards were parting for the evening. The door of the inn behind him snapped shut. The sound of Elan’s sword being loosened in its sheath was sharp, metallic. And a rough cotton cloak brushed against the wooden wall around the corner of the building.

Elan greeted the stranger who hurtled around the corner with an elbow to the nose. Blood spurted and his attacker wheeled away, cursing.

Elan’s sword seemed to leap into his hand, and at the sound of movement behind him he swept it behind his head, knocking away the assassin’s dagger. He spun to face the Aodhfin lacky just as three more men emerged from either side of the building.

One, an archer, notched an arrow as he came around the corner. Elan twisted to the right, partially behind the assassin, and the shot went wide. As another assailant came at him with an axe, Elan caught the handle with his left and pulled the man in front of him as an impromptu shield. With the sword in his right hand, he parried another blade, forcing the point toward the assassin. Neither tactic worked. The archer took the opportunity to mutter a few choice words over his next arrow, causing the head to burst into magical flame. The assassin, meanwhile, nimbly avoided his companion’s sword.

“Twins help me,” the merc muttered under his breath. Elan kicked the axe-wielder in the back, wrenching the weapon away from him and flinging it at the fifth—the one with the broken nose—who caught it easily. He gave Elan a blood-streaked grin.

Even were these normal mercs, five would have been a tough battle. But the House spymaster had not hired useless thugs. Elan was outmatched. He stabbed the disarmed man in the back and retreated a few steps, keeping the open street at his back and the other assailants between him and the archer.

The assassin had drawn a short sword in his other hand and he lunged at Elan in a flurry of blades. His longsword caught the first strike, but Elan could do little more than twist out of the way of the next attack, and the dagger sliced a long, shallow cut along his side. The assassin would not let up. Each attack Elan blocked was followed immediately by another, and the merc found himself forced back into the alley as the others circled behind him.

Elan felt his heart rate rising in panic. Now was not his time. Now would not be his time. He changed directions, leaping backward between two of the other men and dodging behind a few large barrels. The burning arrow buried itself in the wood with a rich thunk followed by a whoosh as the magical flame caught on the barrel. Elan seized a loose board from the side of the house near him and swung it a nose-level just as one of the spymaster’s lackeys charged him. The man went down with a scream of pain and the merc clambered onto the pile of –now merrily burning—barrels. He threw the plank of wood just as the archer fitted another arrow to the string. The man dodged but his next shot went wide again, giving Elan time to fling himself onto a nearby balcony.

He raced around the corner, staying low to get some cover from the bannister. Another arrow buried itself in the wooden slats and the assassin’s dagger found a mark in the side of the building. Elan leapt onto a nearby roof and rolled down the other side, crashing through the canopy of a fruit stall. The group of men would have to run around the building.
Several new mounts had appeared beside his own horse, and he slashed their reins and set them running with the flat of his blade. Mounting his brown mare, Elan wheeled south and kicked her into a gallop. Behind him, the shouts of his attackers echoed off the cobblestones, fading away into the night.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Mon May 19, 2014 7:16 pm

The cool night air and the absence of any sounds of pursuit had calmed Elan’s nerves by the time he left the city. It was midnight by the time he reached the rendezvous point upriver from Aedonfen. His lieutenants had chosen a hollow nested between several low hills. But there was no glow from their fire, no voices to greet him as he approached.

Even the crickets seemed to have stilled as he dismounted and led his horse over the rise. The moons shone on drying blood around the hollow. All his remaining companions lay around a dead campfire, most dead themselves. One, though, his lieutenant Goran, looked up at him with glazed eyes.

“El…” He barely managed.

Elan slid down the grassy slope. “I will be right there, just hang on!” Goran held out a hand for him. The merc took it, assessing the damage. He had been stabbed in the stomach and had likely been slowly bleeding out for the past hour. “By the Eight…what happened here?”

“They…knew where we were.” Elan had to lean in to be able to hear him. “I do not know how. Surprised us…came over the hill and—,” he was interrupted by a bout of horrible, bloody coughing. “Heard them say…the boss was waiting for you. I worried you would not make it.” Goran managed a smile, and clutched Elan’s hand tighter. “It has been…an honor, my friend.”

Elan swallowed. “The honor was mine,” he choked. He reached into an inner pocket of his cloak and pulled out a gold piece. He curled Goran’s fingers around it. “We could not have you greeting the Lady a pauper.”

Goran smiled.

The old friends sat for a while under the light of the moons, until Elan felt Goran’s muscles relax, and the light went out of his eyes. He closed them gently. “Rest well, my brother.” Then he set to work building a pyre for the dead.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Sat May 24, 2014 8:07 pm

Aderyn – 2

Ryn leapt up from the desk at the sounds of loud voices in the hallway and the clamor of armored bodies.

“Aderyn—,” Rowe warned, his tone insisting upon later punishments for not returning to her seat. It took very little consideration for Ryn to decide his lessons were punishment enough, and wrenched the oak door by its iron handle. “Princess Aderyn!” The door slammed shut behind her and Rowe was apparently too fed up to follow. He had taken temporary responsibility for Ryn’s education, and the girl had taken a quick dislike to him. She had heard him insist to Noiah that he knew how to interact with children, but he seemed to know how to only treat her as if she were a soldier under his command or completely stupid. Aderyn had decided to behave herself during her lessons so that she could be a good queen, but she could not wait until they found a more permanent situation for her.

For the time being, however, the contents of the central tower provided educational experiences that were far more to her tastes. Until now she had only dared sneak off between lessons, but the volume of the commotion—and the sound of Rurik’s voice—spurred her to greater curiosity. The corridor itself was empty, but the voices, and a good deal of banging and scraping, drifted in from the main stairwell.

The stairs connected only the five floors comprising the tower at the top of the citadel. The highest floor, Rury had told her, was the council chamber, and Aderyn herself lived in the guest quarters on the third floor. During her self-imposed sneaking and lurking lessons, however, Ryn had filled out a mental map of the other areas of the building. Just below the council chamber was an enormous formal dining hall, filled with the banners of all three hundred royal families. It was pretty, but less interesting (and less well-guarded) than the areas below the guest rooms. The second floor held store rooms for basic goods, but also rooms for alchemical supplies and equipment, and a set of laboratories for the Order’s alchemists and engine’ers. The first floor was even better, containing the Order’s vaults, filled—she was certain—with magical artifacts and ancient weapons. Aderyn suspected they went far deeper into the depths of the city, and that even Kinslayer itself was buried somewhere in its depths, but she could not confirm anything. The guard refused to let her past the gate, even after she had shown him her signet ring, and she had been gently and firmly escorted back to Rurik.

Most of the activity in the stairwell was concentrated around the second floor. The staircase crossed back and forth down to the massive front hall, and Ryn ducked below one of the carved stone balustrade and peered around one of the stylized horse carvings. Rury was speaking to Noiah, both overlooking the work of a number of Order members who were busy hauling crates and barrels towards the laboratories.

The stern old woman who commanded the Order looked on. Noiah had introduced her once, but Ryn had been too scared of the woman to remember her name. She was in charge, Ryn knew, and liked her for it but nevertheless could not find the courage to speak in front of her. The activity below, though, offered to strong a temptation for curiosity.

Aderyn reached for her dagger. Panic rose for a moment when it was not there, until she remembered Rury had taken it after another trip to alchemical storage, “for safe keeping,” after it dawned on him it gave her some measure of courage for her unauthorized adventures. She felt for the signet ring instead, hanging by a gold chain from her neck. It was warm from proximity to her skin, and heavy, and made her think of Father’s hands. Taking a deep breath, Crown Princess Aderyn stood, rearranged her summer skirts, and descended as regally as she could manage.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Sat May 24, 2014 8:49 pm

Noiah saw her first. The woman’s lips pursed and Rurik turned to see where she was looking.

“Aderyn, where is Rowe?” He tried to be stern, but could not fully hide a smile.

“I heard all the noise and wished to see what was happening.”

Noiah sighed. “You seem to be an endless source of curiosity. Aderyn, where have you left Keeper Rowe?”

“He is still in my quarters, likely still looking at my writing lessons.”

Rurik laughed, and ruffled her hair. “You know, at some point you will need to take those lessons yourself. A queen must be able to read.”

Ryn scowled at his hand, but was interrupted before she could think of a suitable response.

“Careful with those barrels! There are extremely unstable compounds inside!” A woman’s voice echoed up the stairs. They all looked toward the main doors so see a lovely blonde woman with a brilliant smile on her face coming up the stairs toward them.

Rury’s smile mirrored hers. “Gwynet! It is so good to see you! Noiah said you would be home soon.”

They embraced, but Gwynet’s smile faltered as she took in Rurik’s altered appearance. “By the gods…what happened to you?” Her eyes wandered over Aderyn and the girl lifted her chin a bit higher as she saw the woman fitting pieces into place—the new Bluecloak in the courtyard, Rurik’s presence, the signet that gleamed around her neck…

Rury stepped in. “May I present Crown Princess Aderyn of House Dovan?”

Gwynet became solemn, and bowed to the girl. “Guardian Gwynet Bloodbound at your service.”

The silver-haired woman joined them. “Sister Gwynet, welcome home. Your patrol was a success?”

The other woman saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I also have some interesting new items from our contacts in the desert. They are being taken to the laboratories now.”

“Excellent. I eagerly await your report. Get some rest. The Council will convene to hear you at Second Call tomorrow.” The commander departed and Ryn let out the breath she had been holding.

Was it normal for patrol reports to go immediately before the council? Aderyn remembered her father would hear summaries of patrol reports from his commanders, but she could not remember them ever reporting to him directly. Although, she supposed, the last day…

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed with difficulty. Not in front of strangers. She was Crown Princess. Noiah and Rury held a whispered conversation with Gwynet, whose expression as she looked at the girl held compassion and pity. Ryn turned away. The pity made her feel sick, and she struggled to still her quivering chin.

Instead, she focused on the supplies as they were transported to the laboratories. As one of the barrels went past, Ryn suddenly caught a whiff of the strong smell of bad eggs. She gagged and covered her nose and mouth.

“Smells terrible, does it not?” Gwynet made the girl jump as she sat down beside her. “Dray and Val are a curious pair, but do come up with some of the most creative concoctions.”

“What is that?”

The blonde checked over her shoulder. Noiah turned to follow her commander up the stairs and Rurik had intercepted Rowe, who had finally emerged and looked like Mother did when she was about to call Aderyn by her full name. They were nevertheless occupied. “Well…” Ryn recognized the look on Gwynet’s face. It was one she herself often wore when deciding whether or not to behave. “It is an explosive powder,” she finally said.

“What? You mean like magic?”

“No, actually! Those without magic can use it. Our friends have made several tools with the powder, as well.”

“It sounds like magic.”

Gwynet laughed. “Yes, I suppose it does.” She became serious again. Without looking at the girl, she said, “I am so sorry about your family.”

Aderyn felt her spine straighten instinctually. “I and my kingdom thank you for your cond…con…” The girl frowned.

“Condolences?”

“Yes. Con-condolences.”

“That is an awfully big word for one so small.”

“I am not small!” Her head snapped in the woman’s direction. “I will be queen one day.”

Gwynet smiled. “I do not doubt it.”

The pair fell silent for a moment, and then Ryn’s curiosity got the better of her again. “Who lives in the desert? Is it not only full of slavers and thieves?”

“Ah.” The woman looked uncomfortable. “Yes, but I am sorry. I cannot say anything about it.”

“Would they make you sit in the stocks if you told me?”

“Something like that.”

Ryn nodded solemnly. She looked over her shoulder. Rury and Rowe were having a whispered argument. About her, she knew. The girl sighed.

“I take it you have gotten into trouble yourself?” Gwynet looked at her sideways.

Ryn’s spine straightened again. “Perhaps.”

“Good, I like a girl with spirit.” The woman smiled, and Ryn could not help returning the gesture.

“Guardian Gwynet, what do you do on patrol?”

“Please call me Gwyn.” She thought for a moment. “I could tell you what I am supposed to say.” Gwyn drew herself up. “Princess, I check on the status of all royal houses in the regions east of the Spine Mountains.” Her voice was formal, stuffy, even pompous. Ryn giggled. “Then again…” Gwyn looked around. “Give me a moment,” she whispered to her fellow conspirator. Ryn nodded, and the woman went to join the men’s argument.

Aderyn continued to watch the crates and barrels as they were shuffled to the laboratories. Some of the crates clanked as if they were filled with metal parts. Gwyn returned after a few minutes. “There is a fun surprise in some of those containers. My friends could not help making a bit of mischief.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes! Now come with me, I have offered to take over your lessons for the afternoon.” She winked.
The girl grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
Rury waved as the pair left, and Rowe scowled but looked, Ryn thought, a bit relieved.

“There,” Gwyn said when she had closed the heavy oak door behind them. “Now we may speak as we ought.”

“Will you tell me about the desert people now?”

“No, I still will not do that, however…” She settled into Rowe’s old chair. “I will tell you about my travels. I think geography is quite an important topic for a future queen.” Gwyn winked again.

“Yes it is! It most certainly is!” Aderyn paused. “What is it?”

“Come over here and I will show you what the lands around us look like.” Gwyn erased the fancy, curved scribbles that Rowe had written on the large slate. “And, if we are very lucky, you shall learn some writing as well.”

The girl clambered onto the chair beside her new friend. “I am ready!”

“Excellent!” Gwyn picked up the stylus. “We are here” She drew a dot on the slate, “at the Castle of the Guardians.” She wrote down the corresponding title. “Can you make out the letters? If I tell you this one is ‘c,’ what do the others look like?” They worked through the words together letter by letter. “Good! Now, we are situated on the Western edge of the Mother’s Spine mountain range.” Gwyn drew a series of inverted ‘v’s and labeled them. “Do you recognize the word ‘mother’? Very good. Do you know why the mountains are called that?”

Ryn thought for a moment. “Mother used to tell me the Great Mother is the world herself.”

“Exactly. Do you know who her children are?”

Dragons!”

Gwyn laughed. “Yes, and many other things, too. I can tell you later, though. Here is how I cross the mountains on patrol—the Shanmin Pass.” She drew a set of lines resembling a bridge just south of the Castle. “The Pass is a perfectly smooth tunnel through the mountains built by the old mountain folk. All humans are their descendants. They were very skilled miners and built the pass as a trading highway.”

“Are they all gone now?”

“No, there are some left, although they only live in small enclaves. One such group maintains the Pass, and I visit them every time I travel through it. They are good people. Now try to write the letters as I say them…”

After several minutes and multiple tries, Aderyn produced suitable versions of the correct letters.

“Good! I see you have been paying Rowe some attention.”

“Of course. A queen must be able to read.”

“Rowe was convinced you ignored him. Very well, from there I head south…”
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Sat May 24, 2014 9:28 pm

The full explanation of the route, complete with geography, history, and letters took two hours. Tea and cakes arrived just as the Eight Call went out across the citadel. The sun was sinking lower towards the horizon, and the call for supper would go out in two hours.

Aderyn had barely noticed the time passing. Gwyn told her everything she could possibly wish to know about politics and activities in the region that she patrolled.

“Finally, we make our way back across the mountains, arriving in the northern end of the Desert. This pass,” she drew another bridge, “is the Aldenor Pass.”

“Just like the desert?”

“Yes, and the high plains in which they are situated. They are all named for a prince who tried to rule there once.”

“What happened to him?” Ryn asked, carefully forming letters to mark the location on their slate map.

“The stories say that he went mad. He set fire to the fields of his own people and sowed them with salt. When he began attacking other cities, one of your ancestors met him in battle and defeated him. That desert was a rich farming region once.”

“Wow.” Ryn spent several moments struggling with the concept of a ruler who behaved in such a way. “Why would he do that?”

Gwyn shook her head. “No one knows. All I know is what the stories say.”

Ryn finished her letters. “Gwyn, why are you going to speak to the Council?”

“I need to give them my report.”

“Do people always give their reports directly to the Council?” Aderyn used her best innocent voice, and watched Gwyn carefully from under her dark hair.

The woman looked uncomfortable. “No.”

“What is so important about your patrol?”

Gwyn shook her head. “You are positively a witch, did you know that? A little Wyrdling!”

Ryn’s eyes went wide. “Do you think people would call me the Witch Queen? I would like that.”

“I believe you need to have magic for people to call you such a thing.”

“Rury says I do.”

Gwyn gave the girl a look she could not read.

“Gwyn, why does everyone begin to act strangely when they talk about it? All I did was speak to the birds.”

The woman’s face resembled Mother’s when she could not decide whether Ryn was telling the truth. “You did what?”

“They were scaring me and they were going to hurt Rury. No one would listen to me but the crows. I heard them in my mind and they kept us safe.”

Gwyn looked thoughtful. “Ryn, what do you know about crows?”

“They are connected with my family. Mother said they were sacred to the Winter Lady.”

Gwyn nodded, then once again seemed to struggle with telling the girl something. She took the girl’s hand.

“Aderyn I am going before the Council because I sent word ahead that my companions and I encountered Abyssals on our patrol. They killed one of us. Abyssals have not been seen in hundreds of years. There are those in the Castle who believe it to be simply coincidence. I disagree and I need to make the case to the Council that there is real danger. And I believe it is possible that their appearance is related to your family’s destruction.”

Ryn felt her heart pounding. “Gwyn, I am afraid but I do not know why. What are Abyssals?”

The woman paused. “I think it better to tell you everything from the beginning. Abyssals were created by one of the dragons, long, long ago. Would you like to hear the story?”

Aderyn nodded.

“Very well.”
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Fri Jun 06, 2014 11:24 am

Memory – 1

“This is the story of the great wyrm Ciargha and how he came to father the Abyssals and to destroy the great Island Kingdom of Brenedon. My mother used to tell me this story as a child, and now I tell it to you…”

Long ago, before the Gods walked, the Great Mother was created, and all was ordered and in its place. But the Great Mother saw that all was so, and she knew that there must exist that which cannot be ordered. And so she reached into that which lies beyond the sky, and taking a seed of this Void, combined it with the four elements and a piece of her own heart. And thus were born Kinæd and his mate Azhara, the first wyrms. Born of earth, they could walk upon land, and birthed new offspring in eggs of stone. Born of water, they could swim swiftly beneath the waves. Born of air, they could move just as easily through the sky. Born of fire, they lived with flames in their bellies, and could breathe it into the air. Born of the Great Mother’s heart, they were the first earth-dwellers to be given immortality, immune to disease and the ravages of time. And last, born of something that was all of these and yet beyond them, they had the first gift of magic.
The dragons had long bodies like serpents, with two hind legs and a pair of great, batlike wings that they could lean upon to walk. Their snouts were long and filled with teeth, and spikes ran down their spines from their noses to the tips of their tails. Their eyes, they say, were bright like gemstones, and could mesmerize mortals.
Kinæd and Azhara’s first brood consisted of three wyrms. Aurenaton was born blue and black and became known as the Serpent Who Circles the World. Zimay was born green and brown and it is she who sleeps beneath the mountains to the north of the Great Desert and shakes the earth with her breaths.
The last, Ciargha, was silver and purple, like lightning. He was the cleverest and most ambitious, and he always had a plan.
The Eight Gods, seeing these beings of chaos and power, feared for all else upon their new world. To defend non-magical beings would require hardy creatures whose intelligence might match that of the dragons. And so the Eight designed creatures like themselves, but of stouter build, tough and strong. Weilund, the great craftsman, fashioned the first of them in his forge, and the Eight set them in the mountain hearts, where they would become great smiths and miners, building great halls all of stone and precious metals. But still, the Eight knew, the mountain folk would need help. And so, following the Great Mother’s example, they gave their creations magic. But they would not give the new people access to the full magic of the Void, as the dragons possessed. Instead they created the eight magics, and gifted all but the last to their new people. The chief of the gods, Mora, who is sometimes called the Winter Lady, gifted Necromancy, the eighth magic, to the few she chose to enter her service.
When the first who would call themselves human came down into the wide spaces under the sky, the Eight came down to walk among them and teach them to make use of the world. After a thousand years, the Eight departed again, satisfied that these beings would serve as apt custodians of the world and protectors of its non-magical inhabitants.
But before they left, they and the demigods they created, the sun and moons, established the first royal families and kingdoms. They traveled far and wide to build their great castles and found their dynasties.
The great wyrms, meanwhile, had been watching. While the Eight walked the earth, they would not attack any but solitary travelers and wild beasts. Long-lived as they were, they survived in the places where humans did not walk, studying and experimenting with the gifts the Great Mother had given them, watching, and waiting.
When the Eight departed, the wyrms approached the first rulers of our kingdoms. Curious about us, they formed tentative truces with the kingdoms. Humans and dragons exchanged knowledge and stories. And slowly plans began to develop.
Rumors came to the ears of our kings and queens that the dragons meant to betray us. All of the royal families convened a meeting. Those dedicated to Weilund, protector and homemaker, insisted upon moving first to defend their kingdoms. The family chosen by He of Many Names, those of secrets and hidden truths, wondered at the things they might learn to defend themselves by studying the remains of one of the beasts. And those dedicated to Lyrion, messenger and storyteller, sought fame and heroism. And some, those who had been chosen by the Pale Lady, feared the presence of those who would never know death and how they might inspire others to reject the Lady’s embrace.
And so all the kingdoms allied to defend themselves from the threat. And when the great Kinæd came to meet them at the appointed place and time, he met an army of mages, schooled in their magics, and of soldiers, armed with weapons of steel to burn dragonflesh.
We had the advantage; he was taken by surprise and faced thousands. But still, the beast was strong and powerful. The battle raged for five days and nights, and thousands of our kind were cut down, but on the dawn of the sixth day, Kinæd fell. The Father of Dragons was defeated. The truce was broken.
As he died, the great wyrm roared loud enough to shake the foundations of the mountains. Enraged and filled with grief at the death of her mate, Azhara, fled far to the north to hide. Aurenaton, angry but fearing the combined human strength, razed great swaths of land with fire as he flew to the edge of the sea. Some say he bides his time in the waters, letting them cool his rage. Zimay, in grief and sorrow, buried herself beneath the Spine Mountains and slumbers there still.
And Ciargha, who had not thought the humans worth his notice, and who had never joined the truce, heard of his father’s death with dismay. That day he swore he would have his revenge.
But he waited. For one thousand years he did not sleep, but watched and learned. The dragon lurked at the edge of the human world and watched as we began to squabble and divide amongst ourselves. He saw distrust grow, the destruction of the Winter Lady’s house, the creation of the Order of the Kinsguard. He watched us argue amongst ourselves, watched dissatisfied sons and daughters leaving their families to found new dynasties.
Last edited by Azizrian on Fri Jul 04, 2014 2:38 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

User avatar
Azizrian
CAPS LOCK INCARNATE
Posts: 50
Joined: Tue May 21, 2013 1:36 am
Location: Narnia

Re: Aderyn of the House of Dovan

Post by Azizrian » Fri Jun 20, 2014 2:33 pm

And then Ciargha knew we were ready. He had made his home in the belly of an island in the southern seas, and he sought to give it a king. So the wyrm slithered into the countryside of the kingdoms east of the Spine. For weeks he listened to the common folk, seeking one among them who would suit his purposes. He listened to many who spoke of their crops and animals, their homes, families and livelihoods. Then at last he came upon a poor farmer, within whom Ciargha sensed a glimmer of magical power. The man spoke of his sick son, and his wish to cure the boy by whatever means necessary.

So the great wyrm went to him, carefully, as the man worked alone in his fields. He spoke at first as a voice from the trees, performing small services and miracles with his wyrm-magic. The dragon told the man he could save his son, make them both immortal, and make him a king among men.

The man was wary at first, and listened with suspicion. But Ciargha was patient. He became the man’s friend and slowly earned his trust, until he revealed himself in his full glory. The man was cowed at first, but was touched by this show of trust, and at last gave his name—Breton—and asked the dragon to save his son.

Ciargha took his friend to the island in the south. Breton sent word: immortality for those willing to work. Thousands came, and together they began to build a city. Mages, craftspeople, ordinary farmers, all collected on the island and began to erect massive towers. Breton became their king, as the dragon promised, and he and others with magical abilities learned from Ciargha, who taught them to control and even enhance their powers. The mages of the new kingdom—stretching ever-higher with delicate spires and archways—joined the wyrm in his lair and carved for themselves a space in which to work their magics within it.

There they studied, and under Ciargha’s guidance their talents and the city flourished. When they had become skilled enough, the wyrm guided them towards his purpose, and they delved into deep magics of which no story speaks. For three centuries they labored in their beautiful city with the dragon’s gift of immortality to help them in their work, and with the quiet leadership of Breton as king and archmage.

Then at last, it is said, the wyrm achieved his purpose. The mages of that great kingdom opened a gateway onto the Void, and Ciargha reached through it and drew forth its very essence. He formed it into something terrible—shaped like us but beyond our comprehension, empty and every-hungry, intelligent enough to best us, master us if given the chance.

And as the first of what we now call Abyssals stepped through the gateway, the mages saw what they had done, and how they had been betrayed. They struck out first at Ciargha, and their united spells weakened him; but still they could not destroy him. The great dragon’s laughter, it is said, could be heard even across the ocean in the kingdoms of the mainland, and all who heard it quaked with fear.

Then the beast and his creations struck out at the mages. In the chaos, King Breton escaped and warned his people of the danger. The citizens cast off their ships and began to sail away. But too soon the mages in the caves below were bested, and Ciargha and his minions, full with the flesh of the mages and drunk with their powers, burst from the caverns that had sheltered them and set upon the people.

But King Breton would not stand by. Though already weakened, and though the metal dampened his powers, he armored himself with steel plate and drew a sword of steel—the one metal to which dragons are susceptible. He taunted the dragon, goading him into combat to buy his people time to escape. The battle did not last long. Already sapped of strength, the Mage-King was struck down, but as he lay dying he dubbed the dragon the Great Deceiver. And with his last breath he laid a powerful curse upon the blade he carried. Though the steel should have repelled the magic, the King’s proximity to death created something beyond mere magic. It became poisoned forever against dragons and their creations, and the Mage-King plunged it into the dragon’s belly with his last ounce of strength.

Weakened as Ciargha was by the united powers of the mages’ spells, the blade’s poison worked. In his death throes, the Great Deceiver brought the whole kingdom crashing into the ocean. The Abyssals, now leaderless, dispersed to bring terror to their own small corners of the world.

And so ended the wyrm Ciargha and so was lost the great Kingdom of Brenedon.
Gæð a wyrd swa hio scel...
Волков бояться, в лес не ходить

Post Reply

Return to “The Construct”