Ithunn: Road to Amber

Snippets of a Conversation

Sat, 03 May 2008 14:29:44 GMT

The image of Caine waves a hand, explaining, "No, it's alright. I'm just up to about here with mystical weird crap."

To the image of Caine, Ithunn repeats, "Mystical weird crap. Yes, I think that about describes it accurately."

****************************************
In the Trump image, "It's alright, I think it will be amply obvious if I don't have time to talk," Caine promises with an odd smile. "But do check when you're about to leave. If I have need to get a message to you, I have ways."

To the image of Caine, Ithunn seems suddenly leery. "You don't send a raven, do you? Portents of doom or other bad omens?"

The image of Caine laughs easily. "Well, if it'll cause trouble, I can certainly stray from habit. Unless I call another thing, ravens are what I get by default, I guess. Can you imagine me calling forth a bunny rabbit as my messenger? I mean... really," he chides.

Sol and Ithunn Have It Out

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 12:54:13 GMT

Starbucks was never like this.
Ithunn comes in, frowns, then settles at the table in the archway.

Gil mutters to Heulwen, "... interested... drumming?..." His eyes dart to the two women who entered.

Sol looks up and frowns. Her eyes narrow and she hisses something something in a tongue notedly not Thari.

At the table in the archway, Sol says, "Are you eager to be turned to cyndres, Blood Thane?"

Altair looks a little worried for a moment. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" He asks

Surayya, glancing at Gil and Heulwen briefly, then around the room. Special attention is given to the exits.

Ithunn laughs suddenly and loudly, looking up at Sol, answering her in the same language.

At the table in the archway, Ithunn says, "Just try it, Sol." She grins, reaching into the pouch at her waist, and takign out a small vial. She pops open a tiny cork to open it."

Surayya chuckles faintly. "No, Altair, you are not in trouble. And it is not my place to punish, even if you were." She gives him a reasuring smile.

Sol throws her mug of hot coffee at Ithunn's face with little warning, her hands bursting to flames, "Oh no you don't!"

Heulwen springs out of Gil's lap before he can evict her. She's favoring her left shoulder and arm but her legs work well enough.

A small metal vial clatters to the floor, falling out of Ithunn's fingers as she ducks to get out of the way of Sol's coffee. Her chair topples to the floor with a clatter, and she draws her blade even as she's falling.

Gil stands, drawing his gun in the same motion, but inverting it, as if to use the grip as a club.

"Well, that's good because..." And then things are being thrown, and Altair is on his feet. He steps swifting around to be between Surayya and the fight, drawing his Starblade as he glances to Gil. "Why's this always happen when we're together?"

Surayya rises to her feet, even as Altair steps infront of her. She stays behind the man, but tries to peer around his shoulder to watch what's going on. Her eyes narrow. "This is *not* some bar to brawl in," she hisses out towards Sol and Ithunn. Yes. Surayya is UnHappy.

Sol growls feircely in their native tongue as she approaches with her own blade which has shaped itself from fire.

Ithunn gains her footing and with a roar, rushes in toward Sol, blade drawn, fire be damned. If she hears or sees anyone else in the coffeehouse, she doesn't show it.

Heulwen slips toward the door as the fight starts. She glances back at Gil and Altair briefly, but seems to have decided that things are well in hand.

Sol swings to parry the blow, but her blade seems to shatter into a billion tiny little flames which rapidly regroup, but that means Ithunn's blade scores a blow along Sol's flank, soliticing an infurated gasp from her as she hops back. Her eyes smolder like twin embers.

Gil mutters, steps forward, about two arm's-breadth from the corner, and slams the gun pommel onto the grounds. Runes cycle out from the impact, covering the floor around Su, Altair, Gil, and where Heu would have been.

"Nice work." Altair muses to Gil. "There's just one tiny little problem..." There's a gesture with the blade, towards Sol and Ithunn. "We might actually want to do something about that."

Ithunn presses her advantage, barreling forward to try to knock Sol over and press her blade to the woman's throat. "Yield!" she roars at her.

Gil says, "Yeah, well, she doesn't want my help, and the only way to stop a Thane in blood rage involves severe bodily harm to her."

Surayya moves so that she's standing between the two men. She still looks like she's rather unhappy about this whole fight going on, and one hand holds her scroll tightly. "So you can't just knock the two of them out before one severely harms the other?"

Ithunn's voice is strangely lower--like a man's, almost.

"You know, Gil, I'm good with the whole severe bodily harm to the people trashing the coffee shop." Altair muses, though he makes no move to step outside the circle. It's clear they've had conversations like this many, many times before. "On the other hand..." There's a plume of smoke, and he begins searching his pockets for something. Surayya gets a thoughtful look.

Sol's eyes widen in fear. Not at the blade, in truth she doesn't even seem to notice the point at her vunerable throat, her shock so absolute as she stairs at Ithunn, "...N...no.." She takes a step back, her fire evaporating with her fear, "It's...impos..impossible..." she stammers in her color having drained from her face.

Gil says, "Circle also protects the shop from wayward fireballs. Well, this part of it. But feel free to break it if a plan of action occurs."

Ithunn steps forward again, following Sol, still threatening with her blade. Her voice, in that odd tone still, is low, though the language is ancient Kitezh, if it's at all recognizable to others.

At the table in the archway, Ithunn says, "You have betrayed us, daughter. Threatened our existence and the existence of the lands and people you vowed to protect. Your oath is broken at your feet."

Sol hastily backpedals more, tripping on her own feet and falling on her ass. Her anger returns in a tiny measure, a strange contrast to the fear which is still thick about her.

Surayya points out, to Gil and Altair, "That's not the Thane's voice."

At the table in the archway, Sol says, "Your love for your pets makes you blind. They will be the reason you meet your end."

Gil says, "So is she channeling a demon, or a champion? Or one of her gods?"

Ithunn lunges forward with the blade--it looks as if it might pierce Sol, though it stops within an inch of the woman's chest.

At the table in the archway, Ithunn says solemnly, "then meet your death now."

Gil draws a throwing knife, counterbalanced with a rather significant leather pommel.

Surayya shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I cannot sense such things." This only seems to make her more unhappy.

Sol does flinch at the lunge squeezing her eyes shut before peeking open an eye staring up at Ithunn as if puzzled why she's not run through yet. Her eyes narrow and she mutters something lowly.

Gil calls out, "Yo, people. This isn't your mead hall. Speak Thari." The knife is raised as if to throw.

At the table in the archway, Sol says, "you know where you'll send me."
At the table in the archway, Sol challenges

"Gil, depending on who that is in there...maybe they can't." Altair points out with a thoughtful frown, having given up looking for whatever he was searching for. "Gotta stop leaving those on the dresser."

Muttering to Altair and Surayya, Gil's voice goes all singsong. "... distract... get... shout..."

The sword clatters to the floor at something that Sol says, and then Ithunn rushes forward, her hands reaching for Sol's neck. "Hold!" she shouts back to Gil and the rest--still in a masculine voice.

At the table in the archway, Ithunn says, "I will kill you with my own hands!"

Gil starts to throw the knife, re-thinks, bites his lip, and preps to throw again.

"Time to drop them." Altair muses to Gil. "When you throw, I go, so be prepared to do your magic again." There's a glance to the other, as if to confirm this works.

Surayya mutters a few words under her breath in Alhambran.

Sol 's eyes widen as Ithunn seems to throttle her. She manages to wheeze, hand to Gil a halting gestures, "Don't..." she doesn't manage more, her eyes rolling back in her head. Suddenly the black tattoos begin to writhe wildly beneath her skin. From her eyes begin tears of pure inky blackness which roll off her like water from a duck's downy features, staining nothing as it flows from her. Her nose and mouth begin to expel it and perspiration rolls off her skin, but oddly none stains her clothes. As it hits the floor, it seems to just...vaporize. As this happens her tattoos begin to fade and shrink.

Gil nods. "Wait one s...." Holds a moment. "Well, there's something you don't see everyday...." Humor in the face of the unknown.

Altair shakes his head slightly, raising an eyebrow and letting out a plume of smoke. "I swear, stuff like this is why we stopped hanging out together." He deadpans, continuing to watch.

Ithunn throttles Sol with both hands, choking the woman mercilessly. She might kill the woman if she doesn't stop soon. "Your death! For breaking your oath!" she roars, her voice alternating now between a man's and Ithunn's own.

Gil says, "This is why you never want to date...ok, that's it...."
Gil's hand whips out, the one with the knife.

Sol's hair looses the dark streaks interrupting her rosegold hair, and the last of the tattoos fade from her, Even the braids in her hair untie themselves. Sol weakly works at Ithunn's hand, "Fa...ther..." she rasps, loosing strength.

Surayya steals Altair's cigarette, and takes a long drag from it, herself. She lets out a blow of smoke herself, then offers it back. "I, for one, would rather this place not be sullied with blood."

"Never want to date.." Altair trails off as the knife whips out, accepting his cigarette back and placing it between his lips before grinning over to Gil. "Alright, let's go."

Gil's hand whips out, the one with the knife. It tumbles end over end, heading for the back of Ithunn's head.

THWAP! The pommel hits the back of Ithunn's head, knocking her out and sending her tumbling to one side of Sol, her hands still at the woman's throat.

Altair is moving when the knife starts to, heading toward Ithunn and Sol in case the target doesn't go down. He slows when she does, coming to a stop beside the two.

Sol pries Ithunn's fingers from her throat and coughs and wheezes, her entire frame shaking violently as she gasps desperately for breath.

Gil's lower jaw juts out, teeth showing. It's like worrying your lip, but in reverse. Then he make a decision and the gun pommel slaps down on the earth again, surrounding the women. He moves to support Sol, if allowed. "Check her?" he asks Altair of Intunn, all business. Maybe just a dash of 'Please tell me I didn't just break the Blood Thane's skull' in there.

Surayya's expression is a slight scowl as she moves over toward Ithunn and Sol, heedless of Gil and Altair's intentions. She kneels down beside the Thane, murmuring some words in Alhambran once more. Her eyes get a faraway look to them, as she does so.

Altair checks Ithunn over while Surayya kneels and does her thing, the man seeming to have an idea of what he's looking for.

Sol doesn't resist. She manages a weak but reassuring smile of a dimmed but present warmth, a warmth which normally is dvoid on the rare occasions Sol ever bothers to smile.

Ithunn grunts and rubs the back of her head, half sitting up. "What the hell?" she blinks.

Gil says, "Well...you went all Angelic on me there, Sol..." He looks up to Ithunn. "I was just going to ask you that, Lady."

Gil's voice doesn't sound harsh, just ...quizical.

Ithunn frowns, her brows furrowing. "Loki again??"

"Yeah. What the hell is probably a good question to answer at this point." Altair agrees, kneeling behind Ithunn as she sits half up. "That was...well, alright it didn't even come close to weird, but.."

Sol's gaze shifts to Ithunn, "Are you arlright, Heart?" and again, there's something diffent. Her address is genuine, no sneering or sarcasim.

Ithunn scrambles up--well, she tries to, lurching forward unsteadily. "What?" she stares at Sol. Her hand goes to her sword belt--the sword is on the floor.

Gil says, "Thane..." His voice is pitched to distract. "Note the lack of black tats. Is this what she looked like before?"

"How about we don't do that." Altair suggests, putting a firm hand on Ithunn's shoulder as she lurches forward.

Surayya rises to her feet, her eyes and focus returning to reality, her moment of calling on the divine gone for the time being. She leans against a table, and closes her eyes.

Sol looks up at Ithunn, "I...will not harm you." her voice thick and her eyes welling up with tears. She looks a touch overwhelmed as notes the moistures, "I...there's something wrong with me." as if for some reason tears were something freakishly unnatural.

Ithunn stops, peering closer to Sol, then blinking at the woman's tears. "Sol?" she asks, her voice gone kind. "*Lady* Sol?"

Ithunn just lets Altair's hand rest on her shoulder, too stunned to move.

Gil chuckles and squeezes lightly, still supporting her. "This would be that soul you were talking about."

Surayya gathers up her scrollcase once more, and slips out of the coffeehouse.

"She's crying, Gil." Altair notes, as if this is entirely the other's problem. He stands then, taking his hand off Ithunn's shoulder. "Yeah, she's definitely crying." And then he's following Surayya out rather quickly, apparently something having caused him to flee.

Ithunn sways, a little unsteady as Altair leaves suddenly. She grabs for a chair, then sits down. "THe tatoos. What happened to them?" she asks Sol.

Sol lifts her gaze to Gil, "Soul..." she looks dismayed. "I'm being punished." She looks up to Ithunn manages to pull herself together. To Ithunn she murmurs pleadingly, "Please just call my Sol." as if it's something she's sure she's requested before.

Ithunn curses quietly in Kitezh, then looks to Gil. "What happened? I remember drawing my blade, and then nothing else."

Gil says, "Deep male voice. Much choking. Tats decide they're some sort of plasmic oil, and wander off to bug someone else. You pass out, after some unfortunate encouragement. I put down a protective circle to keep various gods and tats out for now."

Ithunn rubs the back of her head, giving Gil a look. "Encouragement, eh?" she frowns. She looks at Sol. "Deep male voice. Loki?"

Gil strokes Sol's hair. There's a fond comforting body language, but more friends than romantic entanglement.

Sol looks away, "Father." She whispers. she leans her head back against Gil, "How do I make it *Stop*?" she wonders, tears threatning again though she seems alternately irritated and overwhelmed.

Ithunn gasps, her eyes widening. "Odin?" she says, though it's more a gasp again than a real question.

Gil says, "You don't." A bit of a grin. "Looks good on you, anyways."

Sol wipes her eyes and mutters, "You're no help." She grumbles, seeming soothed by the stroking of her soft curls, "But you may contiue doing that." she adds hastily. She swallows, "Did you pray for help, Ithunn?"

Ithunn nods mutely, her eyes still very wide.

The runes glow and mutate slowly on the floor. They have been the whole time, like embers.

Gil says, "This Loki fellow is your father?"

That gains a sudden hiccuping giggle from Sol, "No. Odin. My father. Er. Creator."

Gil says, "So I take it you were demoted back to Valkyrie?"

Ithunn nods to affirm this. "Not Loki, though I prayed blindly for help. What did Odin say?" she asks Sol.

Sol's stomach gives an angry, demanding growl. She looks to Gil, "Demoted?" She frowns, "I...uh. Valkyries don't have souls." She lifts a tear-dampened fingertip, "I...think he punished me." She makes a face and folds her hand over her belly, "I don't recall. General displeasure."

Ithunn says, "You have a soul now? Your father punished you by giving you a soul? THen...you're human? Mortal?"

Gil cocks his head at Ithunn, and mouths something. May be "Has this ever happened before?" Might be "Half the ever papal beef war."

Ithunn shakes her head in reply. Her expression is puzzled--it might be she doesn't understand what he's trying to get across, but if so, she's not letting on. She stands, still shakily, and retrieves her sword, sheathing it.

Sol frowns, "I...am not sure. I feel...different." from the look of her she's not pleased about it. She lifts her hand. Frows. Snaps her fingers, with growing frustration then slumps back, "Human."

Gil says, "Valkyries don't have rhythm?"

Sol says, "I can't call forth flame!"

Gil says, "I'll teach you how to use flint. Or matches."

Ithunn stares. "Why not? Rest a few minutes--maybe it will come back. I think I throttled you pretty good, from the red marks around your throat."

Sol looks wry, "even when you fell your hands stayed in place."

Gil says, "Does this mean you two can stop trying to kill each other and I can actually get to know the Thane as someone who ISN'T trying to kill a friend of mine?"

Ithunn looks to Sol, answering slowly. "If her father has punished her, then I think so, yes. We are no longer enemies and she is welcome in my lands and home again."

Sol murmurs, "I have no reason to harm the Thanes." she hesitates, "Returning..." she looks of a mixed mind. She looks around and relizes she's on the floor in public. She then notes she's comfortably cradled against a buff Gil. She debates a moment before reluctantly requesting, "Help me up?"

Gil does more than that...putting the hand cannon away, he craddles her and straightens. "So...now that Ivor won't recognize you and will hit on you the instant I turn my back, I can once again offer crash space at Karm."

Ithunn tilts her head. "Ivor? And do you have a tarot card for your father, Gil? I think I should talk to him. Or maybe Sol should."

Gil says, "He cared more about his furniture than her when she was a goddess, I'm not inclined to think that would change now. He can wait til she's comfortable with it."

Sol belatedly notices the ring of protection and a hint of trademarked curiosity lights her eyes, distracting her from the discomforts of being human. "Did you do this, Gilgamesh?" She chuckles, "Why would you want Ivor to hit on me? And I will if you like, though there's no need if it's an imposition." She frowns and notes, "That...may not be entirely accurate. I know your father cares, we are friends. He simply wasn't worried."

Sol looks to Ithunn, "And why?"

Gil nods in response to the question.

Ithunn sighs and stands up, searching the floor with her eyes for something, then reaching for a little vial. She tucks that in the pouch she's wearing, then takes out a hefty handful of coin and approaches the coffeehouse owner, who is standing and listening to this all, hands on his hip. A short, heated discussion, and then money can be seen to change hands--the owner pursing his lips and heading into the back, shooing curious employees as well.

The runes fade out, leaving no trace.

Sol rubs her face and lays smiles to Gil, both apologetic and grateful. She wonders again, "Is there some rush to Tell Gerard?" she pokes at her belly, "any why is my body making...noises?" as if on cue there's another angry rumble of her stomach.

Ithunn turns toward Sol and Gil, rubbing the back of her head. "Lady Sol is always welcome in the Kitezh embassy," she says, emphasizing the "lady." "Whether she is mortal or not, she is Kitezh again now, and welcome. But perhaps you better feed her first, Gil," she grins. "I'm going to sit in our sauna for a while and try to get rid of this headache."

Sol peers at Ithunn, "Sol." she murmurs stubbornly.

Gil says, "Ivor seems to hit on anyone near me for any length of time...." A pause. "It's hunger. Do you know how to eat for pleasure, or did you skip that, too? You'll need sleep..." To Ithunn, "Suraaya healed you, Thane, so I wouldn't worry about a concussion.""

Sol says, "You mean Desirata, yes? And if he should, I will try to be polite and not laugh at him." She assures. She looks to Gil, "I never needed food..." she makes a face, "I must sleep as well?"

Gil says, "Yes. You may even come to enjoy it. I'll make sure I'm there the first time. And when you wake up."

Ithunn ahs. "Good, then maybe my head won't hurt too much longer. But I'm still going to our sauna. I'll stop by tomorrow to talk."

Sol says, "Enjoy sleep?" She looks uncomfortable at the thought, "Being unconcious?" She shakes her head and seems dubious. "I will believe your word."

Family Business

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 03:20:34 GMT

Ithunn and Gerard are discussing weight training regimens:

Ithunn considers for a moment, then doubt crosses her face. "Do /you/ do these sort of things? Tighten muscles to make them stronger and bigger? Did you ever? I bet you didn't follow these sort of routines, or whatever you want to call them."

Gerard looks at her, surprised. "Of course I do," he says finally. "The same way Benedict practices with a blade or Corwin - I don't know, sings in front of the mirror."
Gerard says, "And Bleys spends seven hours getting ready in the morning."

Kitezh: Spawn of Fenrir

Sun, 13 Jan 2008 05:34:27 GMT

It is morning, deep into the White Mountains in Kitezh, the sun shining blinding off the snow that blankets these woods. Here and there are remnants of the battles that have been fought--corpses of enemies not yet burnt, patches of oily black ice from the now-receding road. And though things have been relatively quiet, there is a trail of blood on the snow that could be followed--blood and packed-down snow, as if something has been dragged away.

Taleyn reports this to her superiors, Ethan being the ranking officer on duty. "It looks fresh, Sir. With a Weir and a fast team, I'm sure we could catch it."

Ethan nods at Taleyn, "Your call. I'm here outside the order of command." He rushes to the front, saluting Taleyn like she were HIS superior today.

Leto watches the exchange between the two with some amusement as he walks up. "Good Morning everyone. What news?"

Taleyn's eyes widen and she cringes a little. Swallowing heavily, she says, "Yes, Sir!" and "Er, Knight Commander Ethan, you take point." She looks around carefully to select the rest of the team... Rae and Leto are fast, and showed inimitable agility last night at the celebration... "Ensign, you're with us. Have you seen Rae this morning?"

Leto nods, "I passed her on the way here. Shall I fetch her?"

Taleyn says, "Please do so."

Leto says, "It will be my pleasure. Lieuteneant, are we going afoot or mounted?"

Taleyn grins at Leto with good-natured evil. "You're fast afoot, Ensign. Think you can keep up with a Weir?"

Leto chuckles as he goes to inform Rae her presence is required. "I can try Lieutenant, I can try." He goes in search of the Weir.

A breeze stirs through the forest. It carries with it the stench of death, and beneath that, a distinctive scent that only those with the sharpest noses could detect.

Ethan , at the front. pauses in a crouch. "These are fresh" He says pointing to the tracks of some...thing.

Having been where Leto previously passed her, Rae isn't hard to find, nor does it take very long for Leto and the Weir to arrive near Taleyn. "Taleyn," she greets with a smile, pulling her hair into a loose knot at the back of her neck, "You need me?"

The tracks, where they can be seen, look like paw prints. Wolf prints, in fact.

Taleyn nods to Rae. "That we do, Rae. Can you give us a squad of Weir for a patrol to catch an enemy at the hunt?" She nods to Ethan where he is examining the trail. "We track it, we kill it."

Ethan looks back to Taleyn and nods his approval of her plan to use the Weir. Knowing he'd slow them down on foot, he relieves himself of point, and mounts a destrier to Taleyn's side.

Leto loosens the blade in his scabbard and checks the sabre knot, as he listens to the discussion between the formidable women.

Ethan gives a nod to Leto.

A howling goes up in the forest, answered in the distance by animal roars.

Rae gives a sharp nod to Taleyn, expression slowly becoming somewhat serious. She turns to the direction she came from, letting out a howl. One is heard in answer, and Rae turns back to Taleyn. "They come," she says. And, sure enough, three grey weirwolves come darting through the snow in short order.

Taleyn smiles grimly. "Rae, will you lead the trackers? Ensign Sorgo, guard the trackers' left flank, Knight Commander, the right flank, and I'll take the rear guard. Let's move out!"

Ethan nods with a grim smile of his own, his massive blade offering a ringing sound as it slides from it's scabbard. seamingly at ease Ethan guides his destrier to the right flank.

Leto returns Ethan nod and then takes his position. Though his eyes are serious and he looks around alertly, the start of a devil-may-care grin starts to form on his face.

Rae's own grin pulls at her lips, the trickster hunter that she is. "Of course, Dame Taleyn," she says with a bow. In a blurry moment, the woman is gone, leaving the cinnamon wolf in her place, the rune still apparent beneath her fur. The Weir spread out in a semi-circle, Rae at the head. Some noses to the air, the others to the ground.

The wolves would find that the trail winds through the woods, bloody and the same size, though as it moves up and down the hills, there can be seen more and more paw prints joining it. Finally it ends in a clearing in a small hollow. Through the trees, Rae's wolves could see the scene: There, feasting on an unrecognizable body of a warrior, are 10 oversized wolves--black furred, eyes red, maws dripping blood. The largest looks up from its grisly feast, snarling something as it sniffs the air. "Dessert is on the wind," it growls in an animal voice.

Taleyn calls, "Left flank circle! Right flank charge!"

Leto wheels his mount and leads the circling manuever as he draws his saber. He does his best to see that the defensive manuever is performed correctly and that the left flank is in the proper position.

Rae relays what is seen, what is heard from the wolfspawn. Two of the Weir move away, so that they might circle with Leto. Rae taking the other to join in the charge.

With his destrier's flanks heaving, Ethan pushes his mount at full speed full on into the lot of the Dark Wolves, taking care to time his strike correctly with Leto's circling manuever and provide the lord Sorgo with a devestating angle of attack. This charge seems to doom the horse as Ethan sends it ahead and rolls to it's side for cover, emerging a second later as harbringer of death to two of the wolves, surprised by the trampling steed. Two red streaks paint the trees, and two wolves fall.

The dark wolves drop their meal, growling as one in something that sounds more like a laugh. The largest and most dangerous looking of the dark wolves leaps toward Rae and her weir. The rest of the pack bound toward Ethan, Leto and Taleyn, ill intent in their eyes--two of the wolves falling right away to Leto's attack.

Lead-dark wolf growls as he approaches Rae, something gutteral and almost speech-like. ("Sister! the wolf growls to Rae. "Why are you not fighting *with* us?")

Leto gives a hand gesture and a short yell to order the left flank to attack. He canters his horse back a bit to gauge the initial effect of the manuever and then charges the Percheron forward into the fray.

Taleyn meets the Dire Wolf's leap with a leap of her own, slipping her feet out of her stirrups and launching herself, blade extended, to catch the beast under the sternum with her shaft of silver. The creature howls in pain, but gurgles its last as Taleyn and it fall to the frost-hardened ground.

Taleyn oofs as she lands hard atop her prey, winded but getting up to stand as if guarding her pony. She looks around at the fray, grimly assessing the remaining foe.

Leto grabs a hand full of mane and swings out from his saddle and low to the side of his horse. He thrusts hard at one of the wolves in passing but only gives it a glancing blow.

There's a crashing sound through the forest, and the roars that were heard before now seem to be growing closer. No words are understandable to the weir's ears, just incomprehensible fury--and then dark bears, foaming at the mouth and monstrous, crash through the forest on the right flank.

The whinney of Ethans horse, it's breath frosted onthe air, is cut short, as predictably one of the wolves sinks it's maw into the equestrian throat of the Destrier. Ethan uses the steed's sacrifice without hesitation. The flash of his blade in the morning sun seperates the wolf's fore from it's aft. The Destrier still stumbling is not yet quite dead. Ethan spins his force around the steed pinning another of the black beasts to the frost covered pine behind it. His imediate foes dispatched, Ethans eyes narrow and search the ditance for the enemy. "Enemy reinforcements!" he calls to Taleyn. "What is you command?"

The fur at the back of Rae's neck rises, and it continues down her back, a wolfen mohawk. She growls lowly to the wolf that speaks to her. "I am not your sister, you are something that should not be!" Launching herself forward, jaws open, to snap at the front leg of the lead-dark wolf.

The dire wolf attacking Leto gives a growl that for all the world sounds like a laugh as Leto's attack glances harmlessly off the fur on its back. Before Leto's horse can fully clear it, the dire wolf lunges, claws and teeth sinking into the flank of Leto's horse, all its weight seeking to pull the horse adn Leto down.

Taleyn yells to the right flank, "Hold your position until they get here! Dig in and meet their charge! Left flank, mop up!"

The other Weir, meanwhile, atack with their own savage furiousity. Fang and claw used against the direwolves, merciless in their battle with them. Clearly not concerned, at the moment, that these creatures would have once been allies, family, to them. Now they are sick wolves, creatures to be put down for their own good.

Leto tumbles from his horse and takes a spill on the ground right in the thick of things. He rolls and comes up in a crouch, his blade already trying to set some type of defense.

A howl goes up from the dire wolves as they struggle unsuccessfully against the Amberites. Far in the woods, off the left flank, is an answering howl, and an icy blast of wind, as more wolves come to the aid. The dark bears plunge into the fight--and though they are trampling the dire wolves, they don't seem to be friends of the Amberites, either--they try to grab Weir and human alike and fling them across the fields. They are dumb and slow moving, though, and could be stopped from these attacks.

The gallop of hooves can also be heard in the distance. Not far off, but gaining in speed. Five knights mounted and lead by another, smaller form to the front. The fray of Amberites and fiends bring the horses to a halt as the rides dismount quickly.

Lead dire wolf growls a laugh at Rae, rolling away from her attack so that her jaws close only on fur and not muscle. "We are the sons and daughters of the great god of the wolves, Fenrir! You are weak and powerless without us! See your true destiny--the power that our kind will have!"

Taleyn utters under her breath, "Piss!" Then she shouts at a Weir, "You-- Back to camp for reinfor--" then she hears the gallop of hooves! She looks up at the newcomers and beams. "Well, met, friends! How about some bear-baiting?"

The dire wolf that pulled down Leto's horse goes down with the animal, rolling with it, teeth trying to make a meal of the horse's flanks. A second dire wolf seizes the opportunity, though, and jumps for Leto--its massive weight trying to pin the man down so that it can rip out his throat.

Ethan holds as is asked. Meeting the charge of the Lumbering Bears head on. His first swing litteraly forces the charging point bear into a backward flip...legless. The beasts line breaks on the right flank like waves upon a cliff. Ethan Signals Leto. "Now!"…that is when he sees Leto's trouble.

The demonic bear beasts roar as they charge toward the Amberite force, with the power of a freight train. One of them takes a swipe at Ethan with a paw the size of a cart wheel.

Rae's eyes flash in anger. "Fenrir," she growls. "Is no god to me. Your destiny is to be nothing more than my kill." With new determination, she dashes forward. Faking to the left, before she twists in the last moment to try and close her jaws on the right of the lead dire wolf's throat.

On the flank, barrelling out of the woods, comes a pack of Winter wolves, their fur and their eyes white. They seem to be heading to cut off Nineve's ride, and as they run, their breath sets out a chilling wind so cold that both man and beast might have trouble moving. There are only three of the Winter wolves.

Taleyn yells, "You two Weir, reinforce Left flank! The rest of you meet that charge on the right!"

Leto curses as he hits the ground hard underneath the wolf. They quickly become a tangle of fur, teeth, leather, and steel. Leto's mount seems to be faring better than his rider as he savages his attacker with teeth and hooves, stomping the wolf into bloody muck. The young cavalryman laughs wickedly even as he is being torn to shreds by claws and teeth. A bright flash, and Leto's bootknife is embedded in his enemies throat.

The cartwheel size paw send Ethan end over end. He rolls and rises to meet this new foe, a large gash on his face. The bears comes down on him, and Ethan is lost from view.

The knights are nearly caught half in and out of saddles. Some having landed flat footed while Nineve and two others still remain astride. The winter wolves soon becoming a new focus. "Jonah, take Marcus and help the others," she commands and gives a sharp tug to the reigns to wheel about on the new threat.

The two Weir nod their agreement to Taleyn's order, their paws tearing up the snow beneath them as they make for the left flank. One of them lets out a howl, a call for more of the Weir to come to battle, to take part in this killing dance. The other growls out a challenge, to bear and wolf alike.

There's a howl that breaks across the battlefield as Rae's teeth sink into the throat of the lead dire wolf. He flails wildly, claws trying to rake Rae's face, feet trying to disembowel her. He howls piteously with his dying breath, the cry taken up by the other dire wolves--something that Rae and the weir would understand. "You will be destroyed! Fenrir and his kin will rule the world!"

Taleyn's face is white as a sheet as Ethan disappears.

Leto tosses the wolf's corpse from on top of him and stands up, somewhat worse for wear. He surveys the carnage around him and tries to ascertain where he is needed most.

Taleyn calls to Leto, "Keep the Right Flank secure from behind! Mop up those Dire Wolves!"

The are dark bears trying to maul anything that moves--Amberite, weir or dire wolf. The dire wolves are in a blind rage, though Rae and her weirs are gaining the upper hand over them now that their leader is dead--the dire wolves have become wild and wreckless in their attacks. Winter wolves are heading for Nineve.

The lead dire's paw connects with Rae's face, leaving scratches of blood, but she does not let go, not until she feels that last thud of pulse against her teeth. "He will not save you," she howls out. "We will not die so easily." She bounds away from the corpse, looking for her next challenge.

Leto nods as he sounds a rally cry. It isn't a proper one, but it gets the point across. With a few gestures and shouts he attempts to direct the mop up.

"But who will help you?" Growls one of the winter wolves, cunning eyes marking the woman giving orders. The other two continuing a slowly to circle the knights, "Or your freinds after we've tasted your blood." Hisses one of the two circling beasts. The air stilling as the tempeture itself drops as if these white wolves brought the cold of the high peaks with them. One of the wolves sprints off quickly, turning away from the group and disappearing back into the darkness.

The Weir are fast, compared to the bears. Dodging attacks while issuing their own. Two of the Weir take down a bear, tearing out the creature's throat. Wounded, but healing even as they fight, the blessing of their blood.

The pile of bears over Ethan is full of motion. A mound of roars and fangs and claws. And then suddenly on the topp of the pile a dark furry back explodes and Ethan's massive blade points skywars from the carnage. Leaping literally through this bllody opening is the vengeful Aberite. He lands outside the pile, madness in his eyes. Red from head to toe. The Bears grappling now, only each other look...confused.

Nineve tugs fiercely to the reigns as she brings the sword down. "I don't need anyone to save me," she quips. Her eyes flashing with irritation at the winter wolf as she urges the mount forward to try and strike at the beast from her perch. The following knights, slow their mounts to try and track the remaining wolf. Soon only one as one knight sweeps out of his saddle and the other urges to the remaining wolf.

Taleyn shouts a cheer as Ethan emerges. "We've got 'em on the ropes, boys!" Then her eye lights on the wolf speeding off into the distance, out of range of their arrows, and presumably to fight another day. Her eyes narrow, she marks his trajectory. She Makes A Mental Note Of It.

As Taleyn looks away toward the fleeing wolf, a bear lurches toward her, snarling.

Leto engages another wolf. This time it is a tad different. It is an elegant dance of death composed of swipes, lunges, dodges, and fients. Leto whistles softly as he fights. Claws and teeth are no match for steel this time. The wolf goes down speared straight through the heart by a particularly nasty thrust from the cavalryman.

Four of the remaining dire wolves form up, and with a tremendous growl they lunge toward Rae. "Murderess! Traitor!!" They try to take her down as a pack, but their growls would serve to give Rae and her weirs warning of the attack.

The winter wolf howls as Nineve's blade cuts into its back. The beast easily the size of her horse, spins, bitting one of the knights head. With a shake and a snap, the knights body is tossed yards away. The second wolf busy's itself with the other knights, exhauling a breath of cold air that leaves two forzen in place, as spears and blades seek to bring down the other wolf.

Taleyn's attention remains distracted. Her eyes widen as she realizes something about where the wolf is headed. "Nineve--" she calls, but is lunged at from behind by the slavering bear-beast.

Taleyn screams in horror at the bear. "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nineve half turns to the saddle. Her eyes widen at the fallen knight and she snarls. She pulls one foot up and circles the horse about her prey. But instead of another swipe, she pushes off from the saddle to lunge at the back of the creature. Her hands curling about the hilt of the one blade she holds to drive it down into the creature's neck.

Taleyn's sword whirls, cuts slices, dives, and dices that bear. "YOU! BRUTE! YOU! HURT! MY! PONY!!!!"

Rae drops low, a savage growl sounding deep within her throat. "Twisted, sick creatures. All you do is weaken the pack," she rumbles out towards them. The direwolves fall upon her, but she twists, bucks, throwing one of them off. The Weir she had brought with her to charge leaps atop one of the dire wolves, teeth tearing out the creature's haunches in one bite. Rae battles the other three, taking more damage than she's giving, at the moment.

Leto sees to the ordering of the mop up as best he can. He curses briefly as he surveys the area of operation. He returns to the task at hand and tries to carry out his orders.

A scream to curl the blood of the most tested warriors erupts from the Winter wolf as Nineve's blade sinks into its neck and the wolf bucks. Trying to shake of the blade and woman free from its back, but Nineve's strike sinks deeper and the wolf slides into the snow, leaving a red trail of blood.

From the shadows behind Nineve, a white shadow cuts across the land like a lightning strike.

Nineve clings to the blade, pushing it deeper and deeper until the beasts ceases. Only then does she stagger back to her feet, wincing from the pressure to her bruised ribs. One foot placed on the shoulder of the beast as she rends the blade free and reaches for its sister, still sheathed. Her gaze searches about and settling on the other wolf engaged with the knight. The shadow going unnoticed for the moment.

The 3 dire wolves that Rae fights scream and howl their agony and anger in their attack, fighting with all their might to try to bring her down. They form a mass of shrieking, growling blood and fur and teeth, and it's not immediately clear who has the upperhand in the battle. The growls from the dire wolves, for those who understand them, are something on the order of "traitor!! fight for Fenrir or die!"

Taleyn sticks her blade into the Dire Bear for one last devastating blow through its skull. Then her head snaps up. "NINEVE! BEHIND YOU!"

Ethan leaps back onto the pile of bears. His blade driving into one's heart. His foot un-manning the other, who roar becomes a whelp before it's eyes are divided by an over head double handed swing of the enormous cleaver. After dispatching these two, the blood covered Ethan, rushes across the frost covered ground, closing some of the distance between him and the lady Nineve. He seems to be only looking to her now, as he cuts down a would be intercepting wolf.

The knights of Oisen have the other wolf cornered, several bodies line the now wounded white wolf. Two spears left in its side are dragged as the wolf fights a losing battle. And then there is a Rawr! Pushing up into the air brushing through tree branches, leaps the third and final winter wolf. Its white ice cicle like teeth gleaming in the light as its jaws and paws target Nineve and Ethan. Its coming like a snow storm of fury and wrath.

"DIE!" howls the terrible winter wolf.

Nineve seems to catch the warning just a moment too late. Her intent on her men, only to have the missing wolf resurface. Eyes widen, just as she curls one blade against her arm defensively and tries to strike out with the other. The offensive one skitters out grip, as the two slam to the ground.
The sound that comes from Rae is a laugh made by the throat of a wolf. "Fenrir can bite me," she barks out. "For the son of a trickster, he certainly has no sense of fun!" Fur matted with blood, both her own and that of her enemies, the rune of Ragnarok still showing. Rae snags one of them by their own muzzle, and with a quick, sharp twist, breaks the creature's neck. Her other Weir fight-companion leaps on one of the remaining attackers, teeth snapping at its flanks. Rae's own teeth sink into the underbelly of the last direwolf that had attacked her, disembowling it gruesomely.

Taleyn looks around at the field of battle to marshal the force against the remaining foes. She barks some orders with the aim of directing the efforts to back up those who need it.

Ethan's eyes go wide, as he just couldn't get there fast enough. With Nineve engrappled with the wolf Ethan's sword is useless, so he drops it. He slams into the side of the winter wolf, sending it, Nineve, and himself tumbling.

Leto gestures for the men around him to obey the Lieutenant. He whistles for his horse, and observes the scene around him. He curses again as he notices Nineve's predicament.

The remaining dire wolves that aren't dead or dying streak off into the woods to fight another day, howls deep in teh forest signalling the remaining pack to regroup in the woods.

The three collide, Nineve, Ethan, and the Winter Wolf. Sent sprawling across the snowy ground, all three leave slight trails of red in thier wake, but whose blood? The beast springs to its feet, shaking off dirt and snow. Blood dripping from its side and a front leg, leaves the wolf frenzied, as it wrecklessly charges between the pair, rows of daggers for teeth snapping at both Ethan and Nineve.

Nineve rolls to her feet. The blade having sliced through a bit of leather and marking the weapon cradled against her forearm. "Now," she cries, possibly to Ethan. But the now doesn't really describe what, until she's diving towards the wolf, rather than retreating. The blade uncurls and swipes low to catch beneath the maw of the beast. Ethan uses the head on attack to lunge at the wolf again, trying to knock it off balance.

Taleyn seems to think Nineve and Ethan have the winter wolf well in hand. She gives Leto some time to survey the damage, then calls, "Ensign! Report!"

What bears that Ethan and Taleyn and the rest haven't killed now make a break for it, crashing back into the woods--but only one or two manage to escape.

Again the three collide, this time, Nineve's blade leaves a spray of blood as it cuts along the beast's neck. Ethan's slams a shoulder block into the creature, with the sounds of bones cracking. The winter wolf falls, its body sliding into the snow to a stop. Terrified eyes glance back at the pair as its final breath escapes and it slumps into the snow.

"Are you alright?" Ethan asks Nineve, Kneeling in the snow over the corpse of the winter wolf. Blood has turned white snow red in places all around on the field of this conflict. Ethan looks about seeing it is over... for now.

The last of the four direwolves that attacked Rae is killed, the Weir's jaw ripped apart. A howl is sounded by Rae, taken up by the rest of the Weir, as they move through the snow, looking towards where the bears were escaping to. "Taleyn, do we persue?," Rae asks, voice thick with rumbling.

Leto looks relieved at the conclusion of Nineve and Ethan's engagment. He checks his horses injuries and then mounts up. He gives the area a calculating look. He could just as well be counting salt pillars from his demeanor. He nods to himself briefly and makes his way towards the Lieutenant.

Taleyn replies to Rae, "We'll need a fresh patrol for that, I think. Let's get back to camp, and we'll assess the need." She looks up to Leto. "How's it look?"

Nineve studies the cut of her own blade. Yes, there's cuts and abrasions to her face and hands from the tussling, but overall whole. "I think I'm fine. Did you look to Simon, I think that was him," she replies and pushes back to her feet. The woman limps slightly but begins to call over the remaining knights and slowly takes in a head count. The knights seeming to fall in around one another, and at least one of their fallen.

Leto gives Taleyn the tally in a merchant's voice. The overall gist is that it could have been worse, but it isn't really all that bad.

Taleyn smiles at that. "Good work, all of you! And thanks to the Oisen Knights for the reinforcements. Let's get back to camp and make our report."

Leto turns and begins to marshal the troops as best he can for the return to camp.

Bloodied and scarred Ethan still moves suredly, the gashes on his face, and limbs, slow him not at all. He leaves Nineve to her soldiers and reports back to Taelyn. "Well planned Taelyn. You lead well.

Rae gathers the Weir to herself, nodding to Taleyn. Bleeding and wounded, but happy to be that instead of dead, the Weir postion themselves around the group--one to each side, one to the back, and Rae towards the front. Watching and listening around them, incase of another attack.

Taleyn smiles at Ethan. "Thank you, Knight Commander. And if I may say so, I've never seen anyone burrow through bear like you, Sir!"

Taleyn leads her wounded pony carefully. "Poor dear," she murmurs. "My little hero."

Rae glances back to Ethan and Taleyn with a grin on her muzzle. "It was very impressive," she rumbles. It might be hard for the man to understand, but surely Taleyn could translate if need be.

Taleyn grins between Rae and Ethan. "She says she's impressed." She beams at Rae affectionately, then adds to Ethan, "Or, do you understand Weir, Commander?"

Leto gets all in order and rejoins the nucleus of the operation. He looks to his companions Rae gets a wicked grin, the Lieutenant a soft smile, and Ethan a somber look of respect. He says to Taleyn, "Lieutenant, we are ready to depart."

Simply replying, "We all fought well." Ethan seems grim.

Taleyn says, "Excellent-- move out!" she orders. She looks at Rae as though she would just love to skritch the Weir commander, bane of Dire Wolves, Harbinger of Ragnarok, but she thinks better of it. "Thanks for letting me direct the weir pack during battle, Milady."

The patrol moves out of the area and back to camp.

Rae inclines her big fluffy head to Taleyn. "You're welcome," she says with a wink of one amber eye. "You did well." She gives a goofy smile to Leto, and makes the trot back to camp.

Taleyn turns to Ethan. "Knight Commander, thank you for placing me in command of the patrol. Would you like to deliver the report to the Command Tent?"

Ethan just smiles a wicked grin. "Report to Benedict? with my cousin there... I think not. You can handle that. Part of being in command of a fight." He calls back to her as the patrol moves back toward camp yet he does not. His eyes still fixed grimly in the direction the enemy has fled.

Leto stays alert and high in the saddle. His gaze continually roving over the entire area. He hums the tune of a particularly naughty ballad as they ride.

Taleyn replies, "Yes, Sir." She eyes Ethan. "Sir? Are you injured?" She shoots a look at Leto and his naughty ballad, but there is mirth in her eyes.

Ethan says, "Im fine. Get Going!"

Taleyn smiles and jumps. "Yes, Sir!"

Ethan places his hands on his hips and looks victoriously over the dead.

Rae and the Weir she brought part, the three moving off to the place their kind have retaken camp. Rae herself looks between Ethan and Taleyn, and then Leto.

Taleyn looks at the others, herself. "How many of you are all right to continue pursuit, if so assigned?"

Ethan seems determined to remain. His eyes and mind on the horizon. "As many as are ordered."

Kitezh: Battle at the Forest's Edge

Sat, 12 Jan 2008 14:41:18 GMT

Through the brutal cold and snow travels Ethan, coming into view of Lady Nineve's patrol. The wind howls and white flurries cascade in a downward angle. His red hair whipping in stark contrast to the the white peaks. "Hail knights of the Oisen!" He calls and his voice is carried with the bite of frost on the wind.

Nineve works with a smaller contingent of her men, only about ten in number. She looks up at the hail. "My lord," she replies in surprise and turns to one dark haired night. "Jonah, see that all is prepared for our advance."

Nearby there are many Kitezh warriors, all bearing shields and swords and axes, the standard of the Heart of Kitezh with them, Ithunn among them, as well. They move as a group, seemingly back from a patrol, but unbloodied as yet. "What news?" Ithunn calls.

Collins manages to catch up with Nineve on foot, leading a few handlers and some of those armored attack bears. "Ho!" he calls, approaching.

Ethan says, "I have found you!" Ethan smiles and calls to Nineve as he aproaches. Meeting them up the slope of the mountain."

Nineve waves off the knight, and he takes five of the ten with him to begin patrolling near the edge of the forest. She turns back to Collins, a subtle wave for Ethan to join. "I was thinking we could assure that their is no more roadspawn. Do you think that you can take the other side with a small group of the bears," she suggests.

Collins nods approval, then gets those bears to form up on the far side. "Aye. Missive from the Knight Commander, too," he notes, and passes her a quick note.

The forest does appear to be quiet, perhaps unusually so. There is only the wind blowing through the trees, bringing with it a foul stench and a faint howling sound.

Ethans heavy feet leave deep marks upon the snow. He comes to stand before Nineve and bows. Eyes meeting hers, he says "It seems we need not wait until you get back." that same look in his eyes that he had left her with the last time, revealing what he had known that she had not.

Nineve chuckles softly, and nods. "That is true," she notes and looks down to the note. The words bringing a subtle dip of her smile. "Hmm, I see," she mutters and tucks it away again. Her attention turns to the remaining men. "You are to cover Collins and the others... fall out."

Both Ithunn and her men turn at the faraway sound of howling, their expressions suddenly darker. Ithunn mutters a gutteral word to her men, quietly, and they head out in the direction of the sound with her.

Collins leads a small group up bears, to one side of Nineve's force, keeping pace with her and her men. Collins fingers his machete while they move along.

Ethan grins, and his eyes look a little wild. Then, he's darted off running with great speed on the heels of the Kitezh.

Sebastopol has brought with him the men he brought from Amber. He has other men too, of course, but notably he has *these* men. They're more drilled and military than the bulk of the Kitezkha force. He has the Quartz making a lump under his tunic and other warm clothes; he has the Spear in his hand, and a shield on his arm. And strapped across his back a sword. But for now he looks like he's going to stick with the spear.

The group apparently won't have to wait to meet whatever it is that is making the noise--there is a steady sound of twigs snapping and footsteps falling on the ground--something moving heavily and not caring if it makes noise. All at once, it seems to be all arond them, as if they are encircled.

There is the faint smell of some sort of animal on the wind, drawing closer. Half normal, with an undertone of rotten.

"Close ranks," Nineve barks out with the strength of one in command. Her hands sliding and pulling free two blades and she darts forward towards her men. The Men turning away from one another to form a sort of circle so the threat only rests on one side. The knight sliding into the arrangement with surprising grace.

Ethan draws his blade with grace and power. Far too large a sword for most men to pick up with both hands, let alone one...yet there it gleams in the light, and as he spins it to the ready, it is obvious he wields it as deftly as a dirk. Hatred burns in his intensifying eyes, and his breath is heavy with anticipation.

The bears become increasingly agitated at the noises and scents coming from further ahead, as Collins, his handlers, and his bears press forward. Hearing Nineve's voice on the wind, he starts to pull his force in closer to hers.

Ahead of the scouting party of Kitezh, some Black Barbarians come out of a small clearing. Their distance is about a football field. These are Kitezh Vikings corrupted by the road, with grey skin and blackened clothing of fur and cloth. They lead hellhounds on flaming leashes, their baying unearthly and ominous as they catch the sent of bears and man-flesh. The group is not large: a dozen men and perhaps a score of hellhounds.

The knights remain shouldered to shoulder and move in teams. Two men for each barbarian. Nineve steps towards one of the barbarians and falls into the customary stance. Teeth already gnashing as one of the beasts tries close on the knight.

With the enemy coming into sight, Collins's small group of bears and handlers prepare to fight; the bears begin to look quite agressive - thankfully, they're looking in the right direction. The handlers strain to keep the bears in line, and draw weapons, and continue to advance in line with Nineve's forces.

The Black Barbarians bellow and unleash their hounds, which begin scattering towards their enemies. One Darkened Barbarian blows on a resounding horn, signaling further into the black wood. The rest draw weapons and advance behind the hell hounds.

"Tainted Bastards!" Ethan bellows as he breaks ranks with the knights! He charges head on into an unleashed hellhound, and it doesn't even slow him down. A powerful spin into the oncoming hounds cleaves onw in twain by the might of his massive arcing blade.

The sound of that horn of the corrupted Kitezh draws curses from Ithunn's men, and as a group they run forward, swords unsheathed. Ithunn follows at a run, just a pace behind. There seems to be some sort of grim determination about them this day, as if they are going to meet their fate.

The handlers don't wait for a command. The bears seem to know roughly what to do - they rush in clumsy charge to try and meet the hounds head-on with resounding crashes, their handlers unable to keep them in check. Collins and the handlers follow in their wake, ready to fight. From the looks of things, the bulk of the bears aren't likely to pull through.

Knights try to close on the barbarians, but many are hindered by the jaws of the approaching hounds. Still fighting pairs and trying to outflank the beasts, it is soon clear that they may be evenly matched. Nineve advances on one of the beasts as it lurches for her thigh. Teeth catching on the chain as she drives one of the blades down to dislodge the beast.

The hellhounds, drooling bloody spittle, like to leap and claw at their enemies...rotten maws of teeth seeking fleshy areas to clamp down on. Most of them engage the bears (they like to gang up), while the Black Barbarians and a few hounds charge at the knights, leading with mighty axes or hammers. Soon enough the enemy forces are fully engaged.

Sword meets shield with a clash as the Heart's berserkers, deep in their bloodlust, hit the lines of their road-poisoned brethren. The fight is hard and cruel, the sides seemingly evenly matched. Ithunn stands against a road-spawned Kitezh twice her size, holding off the enemy with quick jabs of her sword and swift footwork. She lunges, thrusting her sword through the man as he stumbles, then turns, standing quite still and staring off in the distance. "Trolls!! On our flanks! Trolls" There are no trolls in sight.

Pounced upon by two more hounds Ethan whirls his blade in a figure eight and drops to a quick slide on his knees, rising a split second later to gut a barbarian that had been ready to come down on him with a great axe. Ethan revels in it. His eyes mad with hate. Blood splatterd about him, he scans the field for his next victim.

The stench comes first, before anything is seen. The smell of trolls can carry on a decent wind for miles...

Collins growls something in a backwater language from Sukho and starts hacking away at hellhounds, trying to ensure at least a few bears survive. After a few bears in front of him fall, he finds himself trying to fight off two hellhounds at once. One goes down, and the other leaps at him. The two begin to roll around on the ground, a mess of fur, blood, teeth, and fist.

Sebastopol and his men, for the most part, are clear-eyed. And rather than rushing in like mad, they spread out and close from the flanks, splitting into pairs, fighting back to back, defending each other. This is not typical Kitezhka style, but it proves lethal for several hounds. Sebastopol catches one of the corrupted berzerkers on the point of his spear and *freezes* him. One vicious jab, and the thing-that-had-been-a-man is a man-shaped statue of black ice.

Nineve cries out as teeth graze skin, but it offers the baring of a neck. She whips the blade down, trying to sever the head of the beast. Her knights faring far better, begin to wade into the barbarians. Adjacent to one another and working their way further. The call of -trolls- has them darting a glance back to the lieutenant. "Die," she snarls and kicks the body free, and then looks towards Ithunn's cry. "Regroup!"

Amidst the growls of attacking hounds, and the yelps of dying ones, comes a crashing from the forest. More Dark Barbarians preceed the much larger trolls. Another score of the corrupted men lead ten of the awful trolls. Ten feet tall they are, with curly and wet looking fur. The sight and smell of them make undisciplined men vomit. The trolls have no weapons, but their strength and natural claws make a fearsome weapon. The group emerges in a position to flank the allied forces, closest to Nineve and her knights.

Ithunn has switched to her axe, which she swings before her in a wide arc, burying it deep into the sides of the Dark Berserker before her now, then pulling it out again with a grunt as the man crumples to the ground. "By the gods!" she cries, venting her fury to the skies, "you'll not take these lands!"

The snarling, growling, blur that is a hellhound latched onto Collins becomes a yelping, dying one as Collins somehow manages to get the upper hand, and rises with a number of gruesome wounds. But three bears survive, though only one handler fell. His little force has become a tiny one. Collins barks a command and they rush to rejoin Nineve, to help out with the fray there. The oncoming trolls... Collins's handlers aren't in any condition to deal with anything that size without a bear between them and the enemy. Collins looks determined, though, despite his wounds.

The men of the Heart seem to rally to this cry, and though many fall, more press their way through the mass of foes, striking them down at every turn. A low song now seems to come from them, a rhythm to their killing as they make their way toward the trolls.

The knights indeed fall back. Jonathan, youthful and dashing, turns to check on the lieutenant. The faiths not with him for he turns his back to an advancing troll. Dashing or not, the backhand that sends him flying is enough to send him crumpling to the ground yards away. The act, and Nineve's cry of caution delivered too late and she's rushing towards the troll in question, even as he raises his hand back for another attack.

Sebastopol's men - or at least the ones who are not lost to the bloodlust yet, or curled around eviscerated bellies dying slowly, or just plain old dead - are not disciplined enough to be proof against the stench and sight of trolls. Sebastopol himself is not proof against these things. So for a while, they're vulnerable, at the mercy of their rebelling stomachs.

Collins works a whip and a machete with brutal efficiency, trying to manage the incoming trolls and Black Barbarians... and having mixed success Handlers fall. Collins takes another cut to the face, and a troll manages to rake him across the back. He's fighting just to keep alive, not even to bring down foes.

The flanking Black Barbarians slam into Nineve's knights. The trolls disperse amongst all the combined forces, unafraid to fight alone and take on several men at once. Minor wounds heal quickly, major wounds slow the creatures but will not stop them. Severed limbs wriggle with life of their own.

In the distance, there is a sound that resembles a tree being ripped from the ground.
Ribs crack as Collins engages a troll. It breaks his arm, too, with a solid thwack. Collins staggers back among Nineve's forces, barely able to flail a machete, and with no sense of direction, on the verge of unconsciousness.

Nineve tries to swallow over her revulsion, hate spurring on her actions for once. The fallen knight continues not to move while his brethren fall upon the barbarians, and the ring of steel echoes. The lieutenant raises one of the blades to counter the swing of the trolls hand, and threatening to knock her off-balance.

Ithunn and her men work as a team against one of the trolls, some distracting the thing with spears thrown at its eyes, while Ithunn and a few men run in to hack at its legs with axes. The troll roars, trying to grab its attackers wildly.

Sebastopol recovers before most of his men. He orients through the cries, bellows, roars and other distractions, on a single voice, a certain voice. Shield on one arm, spear in the other hand, he runs and stumbles toward it, toward where Ithunn and her men are engaging their troll. From a safe distance he throws the spear, catching it where its kidney ought to be.

Frost giants are 30 feet tall with a strength that defies legend. They have snow-white beards, icy blue eyes, and pale flesh...but otherwise look like a very, very, tall man. The one that appears from the depths of the forest towers over most trees. In fact, he has one in his hands that he means to use as a club. His nose is big and his voice is deep, gazing over the melee, "Smelly little creatures stink up Boulder-Shoulder's home! Not even good for stew!"

One last yelping Hell hound flees the battle, and over half of the Black Barbarians have been cut down by the noble forces of Kitezh defenders. The trolls fare better: to a one they live, though some have suffered gruesome wounds. They all seem to pause and turn in amazement at the towering giant, offering a momentary reprieve from the heated battle.

Nineve lunges forward, still lost to her anger and not moving with her usual resolve. Though her movements are lightening quick, not compared to some but fast as she uses the reprieve to wound the troll. Only when the blade sinks between two ribs, does she look up. Her eyes widening slightly. The Oisen matching their counterparts to stare up at the new foe.

The troll before Ithunn freezes, and she stops mid-swing of her axe, staring at the icy beast. It takes her a few seconds, but she glances at the spear, then turns and spots her brother, acknowledging his help with a smile and a nod. It doesn't last long, though--her gaze travels over Sebastopol's head to the frost giant, her mouth dropping open. "Good gods...." Her men turn as well, staring, their attack and bloodlust forgotten for only a moment.

Boulder-shoulders lurches forward with a ground-thudding step. He swats aside a troll with his tree-club (the troll looks like it was hurtled by a catapault) then reaches out to grasp Collins...

Collins stumbles, unable to even engage anything in his current state, but somehow remains standing and not engulfed in barbarian, troll... or whatever. The arrival of a giant only adds to his confusion.

Boulder-shoulders lifts Collins to place the battered man on one of his shoulders. This one act of kindness signals the giant as en enemy to the Dark Barbarians and their wicked trolls. The combat begins anew.

Collins passes out on a giant's shoulder. An odd place for a nap, to say the least.

A shout of joy goes up from Ithunn's men, and they take to hacking again at the enemy, voices lifted in song. "Fire!" Ithunn screams to them suddenly. "Fire! Get torches--fight the trolls with fire!" She turns again to swing her axe at an advancing Dark Berserker when her eyes go wide. "Seb! Behind you!" A troll threatens to crush him.

Sebastopol gets caught trying to wrench the spear free from the frozen troll's back. It's not much of an impediment, but it's too much of one. The non-frozen troll behind him brings down a massive fist, and the Thane crumples as though pole-axed.

The tenuous grasp that Nineve has on the blade is soon answered with a similar backhand. The troll catching her more to the chest and sending her flying back, winded. Blood courses down her cheek from where a claw has caught her face. Jonah, reacts to Ithunn's words and rather than hurrying to the fallen woman, he darts off to find fire. Soon, there is the flicker of orange over a makeshift torch in his hand. Slow to begin, but glowing brighter. One of many needed torches.

One massive Black Barbarian, with a double-sided waraxe, singles out Ethan as a dangerous enemy. He bats aside a few common soldiers, stalking towards the sword-weilding Ethan. He speaks in the ancient language of Kitezh: "(Are you ready to die little man of flesh?!)"

Ethan's fury is like divine wrath, glorious and terrible he locks blades against the foe. He seems crazed as he cleaves through the crowd of trolls and reaches the enemy. Power and grace fueled by a mighty vengence guides his blade and streaks of red crescents fly in the frozen sky. Covered in blood, the large grey brute sees his doom in the eyes of Ethan of Amber.

The giant isn't as effective as he could be. Swinging his tree-club would sweep away allies as well as enemies, so he picks his targets more carefully - picking up a Dark Barbarian and tossing him into the woods like a ragdoll, for example. All the while he does his best to keep Collins situated safely, "Wake up little man. Haha! You miss all the FUN!" A troll latches onto one of Boulder-shoulders' legs, and the giant kicks it away.

A few of the Kitezh warriors hurry to Jonah, lighting branches and hastily made torches. They hurry back toward the trolls.

"Seb!" Ithunn screams as the troll crushes him. She starts to rush forward to help, but the troll advances on her and she stands alone, facing down the troll.

The knights offer up the small flame as one slowly becomes many. Knights joining the ranks of beserkers to advance on the trolls. Jonah remains firm, while one of the knights drives his torch towards the troll that sent his leader flying.

Collins does begin to stir. Broken ribs are painful, under all that jostling. Somehow, he hasn't lost his whip... as the fighting continues, he somehow finds a way to secure himself to the giant better and starts trying to sting troll eyes from shouldertop. Not very successfully, mind you.

The troll struck with fire goes up in flames like a pile of dry leaves, shrieking and flailing to its death. The sight of the flames cause the other monsters to panic, and just like that morale and momentum is on the side of the defenders.

Boulder-shoulders lifts his tree-trunk and slams it down, smashing the troll in front of Ithunn to a pile of reaking mush in one massive blow. The giant grins, "You okay pretty girl. Boulder-shoulders will protect you!"

The Dark Barbarian who sought Ethan does indeed see his own doom, obviously unware of the skill of this particular Amberite. Though he will not stop, willing to die for his demented cause.

Ithunn laughs, looking up at the ice giant and nodding. "Thanks." She looks around the battlefield, taking in the fleeing enemies and her men making short work of those enemy soldiers still left alive or too slow to turn tail and run.

Jonah carries the torch at the ready. The knights spreading out to strike at the fleeing barbarians and trolls with the torches. The lone knight finally hurries off towards the two fallen comrade, waving his torch to keep the creatures away even in their retreat.

The axe of the Dark Barbarian comes arcing in and Ethan barely sidesteps the attack, but his opponent never sees what kills him as Ethan spins his momentum to his foes flank and rear. The blood covered blade of steel now red as Clarissa's Crown makes a ringing sound as it cuts through bone, and at the right moment, a pop and a twist. The Dark Haired head flies almost straight up, landing behind Ethans shoulder as he stands behind the back of the headless enemy.

The headless man falls to his knees in the bitter snow.

Ithunn sends her men to pursue the fleeing enemy, especially pursuing the Dark Berserkers and chopping their bodies into gruesome pieces.

Faced with such powerful foes, and losing their monstrous trolls to the wicked flame of the knight's torches, what few Dark Barbarians there are flee to the woods. Perhaps two or three actually make it into the safety of the corrupted wood. The battle is done, bleeding and charred bodies littering the ground. Oh, and one very large giant, who once again grasps Collins gingerly to set him upon the ground.

Collins looks like he might be about to pass out. Toward the giant, he says gruffly, "You have my thanks, noble warrior." His voice is weak.

Ithunn, meanwhile, has set herself the task of chopping up the bodies of the Dark Berserkers, blood flying every which way as she wields her axe, face set grim and determined. She pauses now and then in her work, doubled over and wretching from having to do this particular job, but she asks none of her remaining men for help.

Jonah lowers the torch and raises the woman's head. Her eyes slowly flutter open, and then widen as she looks about. When she tries to rise, it brings a sharp cry of pain. "Did we..." She finally musters. The figure of the other knight still remains unmoving.

Boulder-shoulders tells Collins "You welcome." He looks around, assured that no more trolls are stinking up 'his lands', then casts his club into the woods.

Ethan is still scanning all around him for foes close enough to kill. Finding none he seems half-about to charge into the corrupted woods alone in persuit, but his searching eyes find Nineve... and his eyes sharpen from hate to concern, his breath heavy he drops the mighty blade in the snow and rushes to the wounded Nineve. "Rrrrraaaaaaaaah!!!".

Ithunn makes her way across the battlefield, finishing her gruesome task and finding herself standing before the ice giant. She pauses, standing wearily before thegiant, gazing up at him. "Who are you?"

Collins twists toward Ethan, watching him, and seeing Nineve. He tries to grunt, but he has no breath. He starts after him at a slow stagger. Somewhere, a few lucky handlers stir, wounded but not dead.

Ethan says, "Nineve." landing in the snow beside the lady he looks for ways to help. "Stay still a moment, don't worry we'll get back to camp."

Nineve bites to her lower lip and tries to shift with Jonah's help, pausing at Ethan's words. "Jonathan," she asks questioningly to Jonah. The knight shakes his head. "I think he landed wrong, Lieutenant," he mutters, sounding miserable and steals a glance to Ethan. She reaches up to squeeze Jonah's arm. "He was a brave knight. Go and get him." The last statement more of a command.

The giant picks his bulbous nose, looking down at Ithunn. "Me Boulder-shoulders, son of Avalanche-beard. Magic been returned to Kitezh, so us frost giants come back too. Didn't expect smelly trolls everywhere, though."

"You're here because..." Ithunn stutters. She glances to Sebastopol--her men having carefully retrieved his body first as they search for the fallen. "Because of the Quartz and magic is back? Who else has returned with you?"

The giant replies, "A few giants. Some of frost, some of the storm. I better go now. Supposed to avoid you little people, but can I have some bears for stew?"

Ethan says, "You men gather up the wounded!" shouting at varoius knights, his eyes return to Nineve's "can you stand?""

Jonah releases the lieutenant to Ethan's care and hurries off to the fallen knight. He checks the man's pulse, still looking rather grim while he gathers up the man. The rest of the knights spread out to start checking on the beserkers and handlers. "I'm intending to," notes Nineve, smiling wryly. She meeps as she shifts to curl her legs beneath and rise.

Ithunn eyes Collins as she answers the giant. "Road-tainted bears? You can eat them? And you and your kind have my leave to hunt in the woods of my lands--any of the road spawn, of course, but also any of the beasts of the woods that belong to my lands."

"I will help you." strong arms gently helping Nineve to rise off of the cold stone beneath her, says Ethan.

Boulder-shoulders nods, and gathers up a couple of corpses for his efforts. He starts humming a warped melody about bear stew, then begins plodding off. His footsteps are like rolling thunder, until the sight of him is lost amidst the trees of the Black Wood.

Collins sighs, but offers no hard words after the giant. "Better a giant than a roadspawn," he says toward nobody in particular, as if he were adressing a bear and not the air in front of him.

Ithunn turns to Collins. "I told him to take just our bears. Not yours."

Nineve loops an arm about Ethan's shoulders. "My blades," she comments. One of the knights having already seen to this small detail in his checking of the wounded and dead. The blades tucked under one arm. "The others?" She questions and presses down on his shoulders some to leverage back to her feet, possibly with his help.

Collins ahs at Ithunn. "Ah. Misheard you. He should take the others too. No doubt 'e will, later."

Ithunn nods. "Probably, yes." She walks to the ice troll that fell on Sebastopol, tugging at the spear that is embedded in it.

Ethan says, "We can carry them if we have two logs for each man and some cloaks. There are far more of us that are fit to move than not. It may slow our return but it won't stop it." Ethan stands straight and has his arm around Nineve which alsmost lifts her feet off the ground he takes off so much weight. Easing her movement enough to take her own steps.

Nineve bites back a whimper. From her stumbling steps, it could be either her ribs or foot. Between the two, she doesn't wish to put much weight to either. "I guess charging a troll wasn't one of my more finer moments," she notes wryly to Ethan, smiling sheepishly.

Ethan says, "You are very brave, my lady, I think it was a far finer day for you, than for the trolls, no?"

Collins does what he can to help with the wounded. Not much, given his arm and the ribs.

Ithunn grunts as the spear comes loose with a tug. She steps back, turning it about in her hands. "Hmph," she snorts, then thrusts the spear hard into the torso of a dead road-spawn bear. There's a cracking sound as the beast turns instantly to ice.

Nineve smirks and tightens her grip. "Yes, because fools are brave," she notes and looks back to the thanes. The sound of cracking ice holding her gaze.

"Thane, where is..." Her eyes focusing to the beast. "Not again," she whispers.

Ithunn looks up to Nineve and Ethan as she yanks the spear out of the now-frozen dark bear. "It works," she grins, smile fading as she realizes that Nineve is injured. "You're hurt badly?

"I landed the wrong way, I think," Nineve remarks. She leans into the support that Ethan offers. "Do you need help, Thane. I can see the men assist."

Ethan shakes his head... "I can't believe you got hurt... Kincaid is going to kill me." with a laugh, just happy Nineve is not too grievously injuerd. He himself seems unharmed, the blood on him is not his own, which is un-natural considering his recklessness in the battle. The smile on his face is one of grim satisfaction. His thirst for vengence on the road-spawn so well slaked this day.

Ithunn says, "My men can handle it, but thank you. And I'll have Sebastopol taken back with the rest of the fallen Kitezh, far enough away from the road for the morning. I wonder...yesterday Beatrice said the road was spreading. I wonder if we've pushed it back or not." She galnces between Ethan and Nineve. "Kincaid is your husband?"

Nineve nearly chokes on her own breath. "No," she states firmly. A swift shake of her head that sends curls dislodging from the ponytail. "He's my commander. I am unwed, Thane, just his lieutenant."

Ethan says, "and he's my cousin." having a look of protectiveness over Nineve. "Even though I'm not under his command, He'd expect me to protect her..." and then laughing, "I'll catch hell."

Ithunn closes her eyes in a slow blink. "I don't understand how you could possibly protect her--not really. It's war. She's in the thick of the battle, fighting hand to hand. Anyone can die, unexpected things can happen. If you want to protect her, keep her off the battlefield."

"I think I would rather suffer your final death than be removed from the field of battle," Nineve says and gives Ethan's shoulder a squeeze. "He's not going to kill you, but I may need to get some weight off it for now."

"She is a knight of Amber." Ethan says defiant of Ithunn's logic. and then to Nineve. "I respect your ability, Nineve, but next time we fight together in battle, I'll be sure to make it side by side." He gazes at Nineve sincerly. His honest respect outweighed by his protective side, and lifts her completely in his arms, armor and all. he leans down and grabs his blade securing it to his scabbard.

"I see," Ithunn answers, scanning the landscape as she speaks. "I don't see any threats, though I'll send out patrols to make sure. I'm going to accompany my brother's body back to the camp."

Nineve nods. "I understand, Thane." She yelps as it becomes clear it actually is her ribs when she's lifted. Her eyes squinting closed despite her bravado. "I can walk," she notes rather pointedly to Ethan.

Ethan says, "Sorry." with a smile, and he sets her down gently but doesn't put her wieght all the way on her leg either. He really just wants to help as best he can. "We should be heading back."

Ithunn looks at Nineve with concern. "There are horses if you wish to ride?"

Nineve shakes her head firmly, limping somewhat. "I will be fine, Thane. Thank you." She looks up to Ethan, nodding and taking a tentative step back towards the camp. She seems to be able to stumble along easily enough. "Thank you for the offer, my lord."

Ethan lets Nineve take the lead, and escorts her toward the fieldlands. between them are a few whispered words of "Hawking..." and "Battle..." and "Mission?"

(Scene fades here..)

Diary entry

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 04:29:07 GMT

There are some who wish to parade us around in our fancy dress costumes as quaint examples of barbarians. Beasts on Amber's leash that look pretty and are entertaining and amusingly dangerous, to be choked back with a tug of the collar when we go too far. "How cute--look at the barbarian lord and his sister." "Isn't that just the simplest dress you've ever seen? I didn't know anyone still wore actual animal skins as furs anymore!"

But if we don't maintain who we are, even in times like these, then we ultimately lose who we are.

Loki Summoned

Wed, 26 Dec 2007 05:08:22 GMT

Stone Fortress--Kitezh

It's late at night in the castle, the place quiet, especially in this sitting room, set high in the Keep. Shelves of books line the walls, there's a hearth with a fire burning low, a couple of leather-covered chairs and a small couch. On this couch sits Ithunn, legs crossed, eyes closed--she's not asleep, she's concentrating, murmuring to herself. In front of her on a low coffeetable is a candlestick, the candle burning down low. Ithunn moves toward the candle as she concentrates. Her words are barely audible, but it's clear she's speaking quietly, kindly--speaking Loki's name.

Loki arrives without resistance, stepping out from behind a stone pillar. He's dressed in green tights and a brown hooded tunic with yellow trim. A flimsy-looking short bow of wood and a quiver of three arrows is slung to his back. He wears a head-dress with long and ornate horns. "Ithunn." he speaks, smirking with a handsome but devilish face. He performs a sweeping bow. "What a pleasure to see thy beautiful countenance once again." Loki speaks the ancient language of Kitezh.

Ithunn looks up, trying to hide the look of surprise that the god has actually shown up in the sitting room. She stands up quickly, dipping a curtsey, eyes dropped. "Good evening," she answers in the same language, carefully. "Thank you for answering my prayer. Can I offer you mead? Food?"

Loki reaches out boldly with slender fingers, towards Ithunn's cheek.

Ithunn freezes on the spot, eyes wide with a sudden fear at Loki's reach. "Oh, I could find you some ale if you prefer," she says hastily.

Loki grazes the back of his fingers against Ithunn's soft cheek, cupping her chin gently and briefly. "I require nothing, my dear. As for thy summoning, even the god of mischief respects a summoning on the Yule."

Ithunn is still deathly still, but the fear moves out of her eyes. "Yes, Yule," she smiles. "I've been so preoccupied that I'd nearly forgotten. Well..except for the festivities and the feast," she grins.

Loki turns, lifting the horned head-dress off to reveal a short mess of attractive and dark curls. He sets it down and asks, "Doth thou seek companionship this eve? I was under the assumption that thy company was occupied recently with the thieving sorceror Gromph?"

Ithunn stares. Maybe it's because she's never actually seen Loki in person--much less seen the curled locks that crown his head. Maybe it's because the god knows her business with Gromph. In any case, she gasps, then clears her throat to try to mask her reaction. "I...I was hoping for a conversation. With you."

Loki turns a charming smile over his shoulder. "Ah. A favorite, among mine hobbies. I do so love a good conversation." He moves towards the hearth to warm his hands. "I just happen to be of a mood to converse with thee; the loveliest of our mortal thanes."

Behind Loki's back, Ithunn looks relieved. Still, she keeps a smile in her voice. "I'm honored, Lo...erm...Lord. Sir." She frowns. "Pardon me, but what is the proper way to address you?"

Loki laughs with amusement and turns, offering his backside to the warming fire. "Why, I am the Prince of lies! A child of the Utgard. A god and lord among the titans of Kitezh. But thou mayeth simply call me 'Loki'. After all, we are alone here. No need for frivolous pagentry, eh?"

Ithunn swallows hard. "Yes, I mean no, no need for that, no. Can I get you some mead...Loki?" She's hesitant about addressing him that way.

Loki mms, considering his thirst. "I am well. Eager for conversation, even. Whatever shall be our topic?"

Ithunn says, with a definite attempt to sound casual, "I have a uh, quest for you."

Loki doesn't hide his surprise, "A quest? So it is not conversation that will quench thy summoning, but a _request_. How intriguing. The wants and needs of mortals are ever-fascinating."

Ithunn shrugs one shoulder and offers an apologetic smile. "You'll have to forgive me for being tongue-tied in the presence of a god. Though you've answered my prayers before, it's never been quite like this."

Loki gestures dismissively with splaying and slender fingers. "Thou art one of my favorite of worshipers. Your prayers are of prime priority to me." Ithunn may not consider herself a worshiper of Loki, but evidently he does.

"All right," Ithunn says, settling herself onto the couch. "The Kitezh aren't known for coy games, so I won't waste your time. I've need of.." she clears her throat, glances up at the god, then looks away to the fire, "Thor's hammer." The words said quickly.

Loki's angled features tighten and narrow. "Mjolnir?" He tsks. "A weighty request for anyone. Why wouldst thou have need of my dim-witted brother's mallet?"

"We'll be needing it to kill giants," Ithunn replies, brows creasing slightly at Loki's change of expression. "You must be aware of the corruption spreading through our lands..surely? Just last week, an entire village in the northlands was swallowed by the blackness, 50 killed."

Loki nods uncaringly, "Aye, the blackness is certainly a scourge. Even great Heimdall has been unable to pierce its origins with his far-seeing sight. But hardly any concern of mine. I quite enjoy the chaos it brings. As for the giants...thou knoweth well enough that giants have not tread Kitezh since the father of that thieving lover of thine smote mighty Ymir."

"Ah...but they will return," Ithunn smiles. "So says the valkyrie who guards our souls. The blackness will let them in and they will destroy our lands again, battle the gods. We...my brothers and I...serve the gods. We will slay the new giants for you."

Loki's expression twists with irritation. "Thou forgetheth, /I/ am kin with the giants."

Ithunn winces. "Oh..there is that, yes," she murmurs. "Though, goodness knows, why you might want new giants sharing your lands...but..."

Loki nods disarmingly. "Still, it would amuse me no end to see what my intellectually-challenged brother would ever do without his precious Mjolnir. Very well, I will entertain thy request. But such a great reward will require great cost."

Ithunn frowns slightly. "Yes, I was worried about that. What sort of cost did you have in mind?"

Loki moves away from the fire. "I am mulling that over." He sits next to Ithunn on the couch, crossing one leg over the other at the knee and angling himself towards the Princess. "In the meantime, I have some questions for thee."

Ithunn turns to angle herself toward Loki--perhaps coincidentally, it puts a bit more space between them. "Yes, of course--I'll be glad to answer whatever I can, sir." She nods her head respectfully.

Loki says, "Tell me, my lovely, why is it you have taken up with that petty wizard of Amber's blood?"

Ithunn laughs, settling back into the cushions of the couch. "I'm surprised that you even know my business in that matter. He /is/ also of Kitezh blood. And he's an honest man. Despite what you think."

Loki laughs, "What I think? My dearest, Gromph and I know each other well. I am well-aware that he is incapable of telling a lie."

Ithunn studies the god. "You know him well, you say. Yet you don't like him? What has he ever done to you?"

Loki scowls suddenly, mood shifting quickly. "That half-breed possesses the magic of Ymir, magic that was rightfully mine until his slow-witted father came along and slew the great giant. Gromph made a bargain with me to keep his magics. Should he ever tell a lie, the magic will be lost to him forever...transferred to me. To his eternal torment, no doubt."

"What?!" Ithunn says loudly. "So whoever slays a giant gains its magic? Is that how it works?"

Loki says, "No no, my dear. This was a special case. Ymir was a god, father of the giant-kin and possessed of mighty magics. In his slaying, a ritual of transfer was completed. Gerard claimed the power, and gave it to that bearded lover of yours during conception."

Ithunn nods slowly. "I see. And that's why you..." she pauses, "have this animosity towards him. Quite understandable. Though, help me out--I'm not sure why Ymir's magic should have been yours."

Loki says, "Ymir was MY father."
Loki says, "I visited Gromph as a child...."
Loki says, "I would have stolen the magics, but that annoying gnat has powerful blood. In the end, we agreed on our bargain."

Ithunn thinks for several moments. "I can see that you're both keeping your bargain. A ring oath, was it?"

Loki says, "So it t'was. But thou hast not answered to my satisfaction. Honest he is, through coercion, but WHY hast thou chosen him as your mate?"

Ithunn answers with defiance in her voice. "I /like/ the man. He's interesting, he's clever. He's Kitezh, but he's more. How do /you/ choose your mates?" she challenges.

Loki laughs, "/My/ mates? My dear, Loki has no peer. I have only dalliances. Though often I have considered granting thee eternal life and claiming thee as my queen." He says this as though it were common knowledge.

Ithunn chokes back a gasp. "What?!" she cries, stunned. "But...I'm the Heart. Blood Thane.."

Loki's eyebrows lift. "Aye, and the fairest of mortals. The most courageous. And always hast thou been loyal to me." He leans over bent legs, "I favor thee, Ithunn. There will come a day when the final death will be thine. On that day you will be judged. The fates have deemed that Valhalla will be denied to thee, and thou wilst have to choose: Hel, or ascension to my side for all days."

"How do you know this?" Ithunn says angrily. "Who told you this? And why is my fate set that way, when I've just begun to fight? Most of all, how do I know this isn't just your idea of a joke?"

Loki says, "You don't know. But fear not. Many death wilst thou see before the final. Mayhap you will discover my words a lie before then. Perhaps not. Either way, be comforted that mine favor shines upon thee and thine."

Ithunn stares at Loki. "Why? Surely there are other women in Kitezh who are prettier or more devoted worshippers?"

Loki rises, taking a pair of steps with his back to Ithunn. He assures, "None are more fair than thee. Such matters go deeper than skin, though thou art certainly beautiful, and become matters of the soul. Thine shines bright indeed."

Ithunn sighs. "Will I have a say in this, Loki? I don't know you. You're distant, a god who answers my prayers. I don't get to see your soul or hear it calling to me. I am mortal, and mortal men and their hearts attract me."

Loki turns, "Though the three hags claim to know the destiny of all mortals, tis a fleeting thing. Thy destiny is yours, and certainly complicated by thy attachment to the Amberite wizard. It is but one possibility."

Ithunn frowns. "Well, I'm glad to hear that much at least. So..." She clasps her hands in her lap. "What else do you have to ask me?"

Loki gazes at Ithunn with intense eyes, "Nothing. It is time for us to bargain."

Ithunn returns the look without showing any fear. "Fine. We bargain," she nods.

Loki assures, "I will trick Mjolnir from my dullard brother, but thy payment must be threefold. My first request is a minor matter. I do my finest to answer thy prayers, dear Ithunn; thy various summonings and conjurations. Yet I see no outward tribute." Loki steps forward and opens a closed palm. There lies a signet ring depicting a snake coiled around a staff. "I would have thee display your worship openly, for all to see."

Ithunn looks first to the ring, then up to Loki. "You want me to wear this ring? And show my worship that way?"

Loki inclines his head. "Aye."

Ithunn says, "And it's just a plain ring? No tricks or magic attached to it? Because if that's the case--no magic--I'd be happy to wear it. But if it has magic, I want to know what it is.""

Loki comments "There is no magic about it, beyond the means that I conjured it."

Ithunn reaches to take the ring. "Then I'll wear it proudly."

Loki lifts a long finger to his lips, considering. Finally he says "Upon delivery of the hammer, thou must perform two more requests. The first is a kiss. Thou must grace mine lips with your own, as though I were thy sorcerous lover."

Ithunn rolls her eyes. "I *knew* you were going to ask for something like that. What's the point--do you think you'll make me love you with a kiss? But, fine, I'll kiss you on the lips in return for the hammer. What's the third thing?"

Loki chuckles at Ithunn's assumptions. "The third thing...we shall test Gromph's love of thee. Here lies the meat of our bargain, for after the kiss thou wilst give me the true name of thy sorcerous mate."

"No. Absolutely not," Ithunn says flatly. "I'm not betraying Gromph. I'm not giving you that sort of power over him."

Loki tsks, "I am not asking thee to betray him. You have between now and my delivery of Mjolnir to state to Gromph the nature of our bargain. If he loves thee, and would see thee with the mallet, he will grant thee his permission."

Ithunn shakes her head. "I'm not making that bargain. I'll tell Gromph about it, but I don't see that the hammer is that important to him. I want to know, though: Why do you want his true name so badly that you'll risk your brother's anger to get it to us?"

Loki drips "My dearest." in a loving tone of ambiguity. "Already you forget my words. '...be comforted that my favor shines upon thee and thine.' Thine...this includes Gromph. As well as thy brothers, thy hired Valkyrie Sol, and thy children. Thou hath mine word that the true name of Gromph will ever be mine secret, and never be used against him."

Ithunn leans forward, her voice dropping. "Then tell me why you want his true name?"

Loki says, "Tis simple. I want to know the depths of Gromph's love of thee."

Ithunn sighs a very long exhalation of breath, sitting back. "Why?" she asks quietly. "If the man loves me deeply or it's--as you like to indulge in--just a dalliance, does it really matter? I'm mortal, as you said. One day I will die the final death. And perhaps things will go as you say, and if so, for certain I'll choose an eternity with you....oh.." she frowns, puzzling over something.

Loki smiles as Ithunn understands. "Thy mutual love could very well be the foil of my desires for your soul. I would know what my competition is." He moves to pick up his horned hat and chuckles, "I also like to test mortals for my own amusement. Our conversation is at its end, Ithunn. Look for me when the moon is just past full, and I will find your presence with Mjolnir in my clutches."

Ithunn blows out the candle, which is nearly out at this point, fluttering its last. "Good night, Loki. I will wear your ring once our deal is sealed."

Loki wears his head-dress, and then the god is just gone.

Ithunn sighs, shaking her head. "Dammit."

Irritable Idle Chatter in the Coffeeshop

Tue, 27 Nov 2007 12:36:29 GMT

Vosah and Ithunn run into each other.

Vosah sits at the table near the hearth - he holds a cup of coffee, and he studies the flame, as if something might be seen in them.

Ithunn comes in, finding an open chair and Vosah's table and just taking it without asking--perhaps not the way things are done here in Amber, but she doesn't seem to care. She seems even a bit grumpy perhaps. Though she gives Vosah a glance.

Vosah looks over at Ithunn - his smile shows some amusement as he says, "Long day, I take it?"

"Quite," Ithunn quips. She draws a coin out of a leather pouch she wears, waving it at a passing server and then ordering tea. "I've had better. You sir?"

Vosah replies, "I've had worse." He lifts a hand and says, "You've had a bad enough day - no need to pay for respite. It is on me." He takes a drink of coffee, studying Ithunn for a moment, as if attempting to identify something. He offers, then, "Vosah Karm, of Amber."

"Oh, you don't have to," Ithunn says. "Thank you, but I can pay for my own." She nods once to him. "I'm Thane Blood."

Vosah says, "Good to meet you. . . Thane. Is there another name that you go by?"

Ithunn smiles a thin smile as her tea is set in front of her. "Thane Blood is my full title. Or Heart of Kitezh. I tend not to be familiar with those...who aren't familiar to me, Lord Karm. A pleasure to meet you, of course. I haven't met any of your house."

Vosah's slight smile still stays as he says, "You are familiar with me, however, to know that I am Lord Karm than merely of Karm. Your education is noted." He takes a drink of coffee and says, "These are dark times. Sometimes we must look for the light that avoided us rather than stay in the shadows that loom."

Ithunn answers in a vague kind of way, "I suppose so, yes. So...how are things with House Karm?" She seems mildly amused, expression buried in a sip of tea.

Vosah replies, "Well enough. Karm is strong, and we are preparing to strike at the heart of the enemy momentum. To protect the realm is the noblest goal one may have."

Ithunn purses her lips, this mention of the enemy sobering her. "Where will you strike?"

"Where the general tells us, nominally." Vosah's tone indicates that is not the final answer, but he seems content to leave it at that for now.

Ithunn frowns once more. "I see. And your men are experienced in combat?" she asks, apparently not caring if this is an insult or not.

Vosah says, "Experienced enough - the recent skirmishes have seen much. But there is something far more important than experience, my dear Thane."
Vosah taps his chest. "And that is heart. Which we have in abundance."

"Thane Blood," Ithunn corrects, her lips gone thin. "Heart, you say. And exactly how much fighting experience have you had again?"

Vosah replies, "Enough. You would not be able to harm me were we to meet on the field of battle." His eyes sparkling at that.

"Are you challenging me to a duel, sir?" Ithunn asks, setting her tea down--her eyes meeting that challenge in his, though there's no real sparkle in them. In fact, there's a certain weight of the world in them, mixed with some humor--she's not taking this as a personal insult, that's clear.

Vosah thinks for a moment - it's clear he wasn't, from the surprised look on his face. He does smile, after a moment, as he says, a sparkle very much in his eyes, "Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ithunn replies. Just picks up her tea and holds the glass delicately, pinkies just extended gracefully, like a proper lady. "People have a nasty tendency to die in duels."

Vosah tsks, lightly. "And you seemed so brave."
(Scene fade out due to RL...)

Demonic Excursion

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 04:13:37 GMT

Gromph and Ithunn go to Kitezh to check on its defenses

One city becomes another in an endless string of streets, once Gromph has shifted shadow enough to find an urban area. First the cobbled streets change. Then buildings slowly shift in arcitecture. People grow taller, blonder, and less presentable. Then there's that familiar aroma of the Heart's harbor: fish, salt, and a lust for treasure. Another turn of the well-stocked horses, and the market looks all-too familiar.

Ithunn takes in a deep breath as they turn, arriving at the harbor, drawing rein on her horse and pausing to check it all carefully--including another deep breath of the air. "It smells like home. Looks like home. How do you ever know for sure, though?"

Gromph guides his horse through the throng of the market with skill. Today he rides a white & brown striped mustang named Clown; a short and charismatic male. "I spent twenty years of my life here, I can always steer my steps this way."

Ithunn doesn't answer, though. Her eyes have narrowed slightly as they slowly ride through the harbor's winding streets. "Gromph....you're sure, right? There can be no mistake, right? It seems...different." There is, in fact, a subtle difference here, one that has gradually built. There's a tension in the air, an anxiety that hadn't been there before. People hurrying about their business, but looking over their shoulders frequently or nervously up at the skies.

Gromph brings Clown to a stop. "It's Kitezh all right, I'm not sure what's going on though." He looks around with his customary squint. "...we're under attack..."

"Yes, yes I think you're right," Ithunn says, turning in her saddle to peer at the passing crowds. "We are. What do we do?"

Gromph heels Clown and pivots the mustang in the direction that people are fleeing from. "Come on Princess, these people are fleeing from something. They may need us to hold off some enemy to give them time to escape."

Ithunn turns her Kitezh pony around to follow. "Some homecoming," she mutters to herself.

Gromph gallops Clown through some tight spots, steering the horse against the flow of people.

Ithunn's pony is slower to follow but holds its own with a steady pace. The crowds continue, getting thicker near the marketplace, crowds of refugees coming down from the north and heading toward the fortress.

Gromph guesses the source, knowing exactly where the black road is from here. Once clear of the city, Clown breaks into a full-on run.

Kitezhka ponies can gallop, and Ithunn's seems determined to prove it as it follows stubbornly after Gromph's closing the distance though slowly.

There are indeed people under threat, in a trade-route village not far from the city. Black and demonic monsters, slightly larger than a man, terrorize and kill those unable to flee. They light the village structures with fire, so the smoke was easy for Gromph to follow. He pulls reigns and stops clown , hopping off, at the perimeter of the madness.

Ithunn draws her pony to a stop, the animal dancing with nerves for a moment or so before she gains control of it and is able to dismount. She's not dressed for war--though she wears her sword, her armor and weapons are packed on the horses. So now she runs to fetch what she can--spear, axe. She'll fight in a dress.

Gromph is already running into the mess, unarmed. With the smoke as thick as it is, its not hard for Ithunn to lose sight of him.

"Gromph! Dammit! Gromph!" Ithunn calls, breaking into a run after him. She pauses, smoke swirling around her, then charges forward again with her spear at hand--thrusting it forward and stabbing at the demons that have suddenly surrounded her. The axe is hooked onto her sword belt.

Gromph isn't far. He's holding crude stakes in each hand, icicles, to deadly effect. He likes to stick them into soft spots - necks, armpits, cheeks. When he imbeds one of the weapons into an enemy, he leaves it there, and another one appears into his hand to replace it. He tears into the demons surrounding Ithunn, screaming some curse in a strange language.

Ithunn fights like one possessed, and in a way, she is. Her eyes have gone red and she is attacking the demons around her with seemingly no regard for her personal safety--nor does she seem to recognize Gromph, except, perhaps, for the fact that she refrains from attacking him. She lunges forward with the spear, trying to stab at a demon--but the thing manages instead to grab hold of the spear and swing it around, Ithunn stumbling clumsily as a result.

Gromph summons an ice sword to parry a lance. The ice shatters, but does its job. Gromph smashes a mace of ice into the demon's nose, shattering the weapon and splattering blood and bone fragments. When Ithunn stumbles, Gromph tosses her a hand-axe of ice.

Ithunn manages to stop herself from outright falling, but not before the demon's sword slices at the back of her leg, hobbling her. Gromph's ice axe is caught, and she whirls around, taking off the demon's head. She turns her fury to an onrush of new attackers, slicing through them with the axe until it melts in her hands and she drops it in favor of her sword. Limping, not moving well, but it hasn't seemed to slow her fury or the blind killing spree she's on.

A few of the demons flee for the forest, and the black road. Any able villagers have fled for the city, during the melee. But Ithunn took the bulk of them on, Gromph doing his best to fit in, but she suddenly finds herself faced with a final group of five. Wounded and out-numbered, Ithunn must seem easy pickings. That's when a snowball splashes against one of their faces. Gromph smiles and waves, several paces away, his hands holding sleek throwing knives.

The demons distracted for an instant by Gromph's snowball, Ithunn charges forward with a roar of rage, running her sword through first one, then another of them, then falling as the third demon slashes at her. She blocks the blow, but topples to the ground.

The two ice daggers bury themselves in the third, as Ithunn falls. Gromph follows closely, hollering something arcane. The last two run in terror, not ready to face the final death at the hands of a wizard. Gromph doesn't follow, skidding to a stop and dropping to one knee at Ithunn.

The third demon crumples, Gromph's ice daggers killing him before he can finish off Ithunn. "We finished them all off, right?" Ithunn asks, gasping in pain as Gromph comes up besides her. Perhaps she knows the answer already, since her eyes have cleared of bloodshot, the rage of battle fading.

Gromph says, "More or less." He squints down at Ithunn's wound as he takes off his hoody, balling it up to put under the princesses head.

Ithunn closes her eyes for an instant, then reaches with one hand to grab at Gromph's t-shirt and pull him near. "Kill me, Gromph. Kill me here or at the castle, only do it before dawn so that I can rise, healed with the sunlight." She's covered in blood, and though much of it is demonic, she also bears open wounds on her arms, legs and torso, all bleeding copiously.

Gromph's eyes widen, but only briefly, at that request. He settles to the ground, gathering Ithunn so that she sits up into his arms, her chin over his shoulder. "I'll be here when you wake up." he whispers.
Then an icy dagger drives through Ithunn's back, into her heart. As swift as Gromph can make it.

One gasp, a small exhalation of breath--then Ithunn's body slumps in Gromph's arms, her eyes staring blankly at nothing at all.

Gromph pulls away, looking at Ithunn's expression. His lips take a turn down, "That's fuckin unnatural." He lets out a breath, sitting there below the smoke with a corpse in his lap. Nobody is left but him and corpses. "Close one, Gromph. That one got a little hairy."

Kitezh In-fighting

Sun, 18 Nov 2007 23:38:31 GMT

"Discussion" between Gabriel and Ithunn in the sitting room of the Kitezh Embassy, with Sol and Anae standing by to mop up the mess.

Sol stands near Gabriel who has one arm wrapped about Sol and stands intimately close, who is smiling serenely, "Boon?" Another amused laugh, "You have heard many stories." her eyes glimmer with good natured mirth, "The stories say I am a creature born of fire." perhaps a warning, perhaps an enticement.

Ithunn opens the door to her room, takes a step out, and freezes on the spot, cheeks going red like the firelight is setting them aglow. "Oh.." She coughs.

"It would be a flame I would welcome whether it consume me and send me to the gods or blinded me to the women of the world." Gabriel chuckles softly. "It would be a sacrifice worthy of a grandson of a king."

Sol laughs softly, "The gods and fortune do favor the bold." she admits and then turns, utterly unabashed to Ithunn, "Hello, Ithunn." she gives the woman a sunshine smile.

Ithunn doesn't take more than a second or two to assess the situation. "By the gods, Gabriel. Swearing to someone else now?" she snorts.

"No what I had in mind has little to do with swearing." Gabe pauses a moment. "Then again it might. You may be thane woman but who I take to my bed is none of your concern if she is willing." He looks at ithunn than turns back to Sol. "Pardon my words Sunshine."

Sol sighs softly and shakes her head, "I am no dainty flower, though you should have care with words you are so willing to shed blood for." She takes a further step back, seemingly unwilling to intervene between the two countrymen.

Ithunn glares at Gabriel--she's standing just outside the door to her room, having just come into the sitting room. When she speaks, her voice is low and angry. "I am Blood Thane. And The Heart. *You* will not speak to me that way," she hisses at him.

Anae walks in bearing straight and even. A few wisps of hair have escaped from her bun and hang with uncharacteristic disarray to the side, but otherwise she's bland expressioned and even as she ventures up from the Grand Salon. She slows, gaze drawn between the speakers in this seemingly tense scene.

"When we are discussing my personal affairs then I will speak as I damned well please Ithunn." Gabriel stands a few steps from Sol. "I would die for you or Kitezh. I would kill who you asked. But this is between myself and Sol." He seems a bit heated himself. "I will not raise hand against you in word or deed in Amber Thane Heart. You've had one chance to take my head today already."

Sol mutters softly with a shake of her head, "Why are they always so eager to /die/?" her tone perhaps a touch exasperated. She turns then and smiles easily to Anae, not seeming troubled at all, "Hello Anae."

Ithunn continues in a low voice, threatening. "I don't care what you do, with whom, or where. But you *will* treat me and my brothers with respect and deference at all times," she says, closing the distance to the man with a few quick steps. "You *will* call me by my proper titles. You *will* treat me as your sworn leader at all times and never as your familiar. As you did my father. Do you understand?" She jabs a finger at Gabriel's chest, getting in the man's face if she is able to.

"Because dying for someone is easier than living for someone," Anae says smoothly, "I fear I've interrupted?" She looks to Sol, "Are you upsetted, my lady?" Apparently there is no need to ask this of Ithunn or Gabriel. The tall woman's hand rests lightly on her sword hilt.

Sol shakes her head, "They must sort this out amoungst themselves, I imagine they seem of a mind to plan my evening for me." She lifts an eyebrow and politely reminds, "In the future, unless your corpse is likely to rise in the morning, you may wish to reconsider letting your hand near your weapon in our home, Anae." Her words firm, but not unkind.

"When you stop acting like a woman and start acting like a Thane I will have no problems with that ~Thane Heart~" Gabriel looks down at the woman in fornt of him. "Your father and I were friends and ~he~ didn't require titles in private. He didn't need them and neither do you. You and your brothers are better than that."

"It seems this is a situation where offenses are given and taken and interpreted easily, my lady," Anae says, "I'll assume you've never worn a sword so do not realize how easy it is to let ones hand rest upon it. The danger is in drawing or even in wrapping ones hands around it. I'll not take offense at your words, my lady. Though, I'll admit, I am a little surprised at your interpretation of my movements. I'll keep it in mind for our future interactions." Her gaze remains on Ithunn and Gabriel, however. Apparently she doesn't think that this last statement of Gabriel will go well and her weight shifts.

"Aye..titles," Ithunn answers. "But you *earned* the right to call my father by his first name by your loyal service to him. I've not forgotten that service, but you still must earn the right here, for me and my brothers. It seems to me that your disdain for me as a woman and a leader is a problem, is it not?"

Sol says, "You may assume as it pleases you, I only reflect it may be tempting your fate given the often rash choices those around here make. The suggestion is made with your safety, rather than our own, in mind."
Sol afford Anae an easy smile.

"You are scratching the wrong hound there Thane Heart. I have met some very worthy women warriors. Such does not detract from your ability or rights. I have no troble with you being female. I have trouble with the way you let these Amberites get to you. You are above their insults. If they don't appreciate this then if is they who are wrong." Gabriel pauses and continues to look down at the woman. "If I earned it from your father then you might wish to consider his wisdom in the matter. If not I will give you your full titles and not skip a beat. Earlier I tried to sooth your mood by showing I stood with Kitezh. You however thought to bind me to only you. You are learning their games it would seem."

Anae's gaze flicks towards Sol, her expression absolutely impassive. A beat, then she looks back to Ithunn and Gabriel.

Sol smiles easily to Anae, "Would you be more comfortable having a drink in the Salon? Or do wish wish to witnesses..." She turns for the stairs and looks over shoulders and wrinkles her nose delicately, "This?"

Ithunn snorts, then laughs and backs away from Gabriel. "Their games? Do you think that Kitezh doesn't have its own games and schemes? You're sadly mistaken if you think otherwise. My father was king and not a triumvirate. Yet even he--yes, even he--had schemes and plots and tricks."

Ithunn says, "Naming his three children as rulers--this isn't a trick? Setting us against each other and with each other in an uneasy balance--this isn't a game?""

"I think that my comfort right now, my lady, is hardly the issue." Anae's tone remains flat. She watches Ithunn for a moment later and then inclines her head. "But? I've no intention of getting involved in such a scenario unless heartily begged." She almost smiles, clearly not expecting a response from Ithunn or Gabriel. She turns and heads for the salon without further statement.

Sol laughs suddenly, "Begging.." She shakes her head and smiles, "You're a funny woman, Anae." she herself already is descending.

As Ithunn steps back Gabriel relaxes a bit as the tension leaves his muscles. "Thane Heart, daughter of Aubric, ruler of the heart of Kitezh, woman of beauty and grace your father had many schemes going and trusted me to keep things here in order and to serve him loyally. I will do this for you and your brothers gladly. Why he split things I do not know, but your grandfather was the only man to pull the clans together. They were both great men. I expect no less from their heirs." He moves back to reclaim his mug of coffee from the table and drinks from it. "I do have respect for you, and your brothers. I love Kitezh and you three are a big part of it. If you knew what you were doing with that oath then I am saddened somewhat. You are right though in that I need to do it with the three of you. All together or separate you are Kitezh."

Ithunn spins about on her heel. "Blood Thane. Heart of Kitezh," she says angrily. I am the blood of Kitezh. I control it and I rule it, and without me the other two won't survive. And they know it. This is why I wanted you to swear to me and to me only. Because if you swear to th other two alone, the kingdom will fall. Mark my words."

"Humor is one of my lesser known virtues, my lady," Anae says, tone still dry and deliberately modest. "Right above dress design." She slips below to the salon.

Gabriel stands there a moment and sighs. "As you wish Ithunn, Blood Thane, Heart of Kitezh, daughter of Aubric." He bows slightly to the young woman. "You are truly the Heart of Kitezh. How can you not see the needs of your brothers and that their cooperation is necessary. I do not mean to argue my post or loyalties with you. I know them. I just wish you trusted me."

Ithunn lets her breath out in a slow sigh and, with it, her anger. "You will," she says calmly, civilly, with a nod to Gabriel. "I believe we now have a basis of understanding from which to work. And I believe we have a guest downstairs who is perhaps insulted."

Gabriel nods politely. "So it would seem if they haven't run for cover Ithunn, Blood Thane, Heart of Kitezh, daughter of Aubric." He refills the mug of coffee and fixes it to taste. "I will escort you down if you feel that is suitable. If not I will retire, alone."

Ithunn gestures for Gabriel to follow her. "It's settled. Our quarrel is done," she says before she heads down the stairs.

Overheard at the Jack of Hearts

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 03:47:10 GMT

Heavily edited from the full RP

Gerard says, "Gromph has your blood, right? In all the proper ways?"

Ithunn considers that, then shakes her head. "You know...I don't know... He could of course, but not necessarily."

Gerard makes a flat palm then angles it up as if to indicate something rising.
Gerard says, "You'll want to make sure if it comes to that."
Gerard says, "I'd hate to have to drown your brother."

Ithunn winces. "There's only one way to know for sure. And I'm not about to test it out."

Gerard says, "You could ask him."

Sol notes to Ithunn, "I can confirm if he has been gifted by the gods such as the rest of your kinsmen."

Ithunn blinks between Sol and Ris. "You can tell?" to Sol.

Sol tilts her head curiously to Gerard, "I am not attempting to be clever, Highness." She nods once to Ithunn, "Without requiring him to shed his mortal coil even briefly, yes."

Ithunn looks puzzled at Ris, but even more puzzled and startled by Sol. "What?" she asks slowly. "How can you do this?"

Sol considers the answer and notes, "The souls of the blessed shine to me, like beacons in the night. There is an unamed force which draws me to them, and them to I."

Gerard says, "Wait."

Gerard says, "You mean everyone with the blood of Kitezh has the hots for you?"
Gerard says, "That's the worst power ever."

Visitors at the Kitezh Embassy

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 04:58:36 GMT

When Gerard and Anae come to play...

Ithunn is standing by one of the bookcases, putting a book back on the shelf and taking her time about it. At the moment, there is a 'receptionist' in the form of a Kitezh warrior not at all happy to be doing women's work by announcing guests into the embassy.

For a moment, it seems the door to the embassy hasn't been opened at all, so little light manages to make it past the bulk of the man in the doorway. But autumn air does rush in, and a moment later, Gerard enters the embassy and the door thuds shut behind him. He looks around, whistles low, and strides amiably over to the berserkertary.

Whatever the warrior secretary is about to say is cut short as Ithunn steps toward the newcomer, the Kitezha man falling silent witha look from her. "Yes?" she asks, gaze taking in Gerard's coat and weapon.

Gerard, for his part, seems like he's about to announce himself to the secretary when Ithunn steps in. He considers Ithunn a moment. "Tits and horn I always forget what a small people you are." He shakes his head. "I'm looking for a Kitezha man named Gromph, and, failing that, one of the three monarchs of Kitezh in residence."

Ithunn is silent a moment, still taking in Gerard's appearance. "That'd be me," she says at last. "The latter. Blood Thane," she says, offering her hand.

Gerard clasps the hand in a firm grip. "Gerard. Your people have another name for me, as well."
Gerard allows, after a moment, "Perhaps more than one."

Ithunn coughs, obviously startled. "Yes," she says, slowly. "So you're the man who killed our former king and set up my father as king. I don't know whether to thank you or curse you. But...well, come have a seat. I'll have tea brought out or warmed mare's milk if you prefer."

Gerard nods. "That'd be me," he says genially enough. "In all fairness, your former king had it coming." He can't quite keep from making a face at mention of tea. "I don't suppose you have any of that fermented milk sludge you people drink? Kicks like a mule, that milk. Love it."

"I didn't know him...obviously," Ithunn smirks--after all, she looks to be only somewhere in her 20s. "But I've heard stories one way or another. Of our former glory days. The good ol' days that I, of course, missed." She nods, her expression changing to a smile. "Yes, of course we have that," she continues, gesturing for the berserkertary to go into the back room and have the refreshments brought. The man does not look happy about it.

Gerard looks almost boyishly pleased in anticipation of the drink. He wanders around the wide hall, taking a moment to fix eyes on the painting of Aubric. He seems to assume Ithunn will walk with him. "Oh, I don't know much about Mikhail as a man save that he was fierce and cunning and driven."
Gerard says, "But he attacked us. That was a mistake."

Ithunn hesitates only for a second or two before she follows Gerard, though she has to work to keep up with his stride. "It's our way. Well, it was," she says, her lips thin. "Follow the song, make the land ours. I wish I could have been part of it."

Gerard glances down at her. "I'd have been sorry to kill you."

Ithunn chokes on whatever words she was about to say. Good timing, perhaps, as a dark-haired woman comes out of a back room, setting down a tray of glasses and mares milk on a table by the hearth. Ithunn grimaces and heads that way.

Gerard claps his hands and rubs them together, delightedly. "Ahh, yes, there's the stuff." He follows Ithunn. "Got a bit of a cough there, do you?"

Ithunn clears her throat, busying herself with pouring two glasses of the stuff and then turning to offer one to Gerard. "Not at all," she grins. She holds her glass up, thinking, and then grins. "To...the old ways.." she toasts. "May we find Valhalla at the final death."

Gerard raises his own glass and rumbles, "To those who fall, and those who rise, and those who linger in the shadows between." He tosses back the entire glass of mare's milk with nary a wince before slamming it down for a refill. "Damn but that's good!"

Ithunn watches, wide-eyed, then picks up the pitcher of mare's milk and refills Gerard's glass. "No," she says, though, not drinking to that toast. "I won't drink to lingering in between. That's...the work of demons. The road."

Gerard says, "Those between are already consigned to hell. Can we not give them the kindness of our thoughts, at least?"
Gerard says, "My brother lingers."

Ithunn sets her glass down. "Your brother is taken by the road, then?" she asks, suddenly gone very grave.

There is a murmur at the door to the city and the straight-backed figure of Anae is shown in. Gray eyes skim the area, finding much to draw their temporary attention. Her expression remains almost aggressively nuetral though and her goal is not the furnishings but people. Her boots send echoing footsteps across the hall as she crosses in.

Gerard considers. "There's a weight in your voice that implies something specific. So, perhaps not as you mean it. But after a fashion, yes. He's not dead, but he's not well."

Ithunn frowns, brows knitting together. "We lost many of our men to the road..before we came to Amber. Those of Kitezh blood who fall on the road rise..." She breaks off, turning as Anae comes in. "Yes?" she asks the woman.

Anae looks from Gerard and Ithunn both and inclines her head, eyes never truly dropping. "My lady. My lord. Forgive the intrusion. I was simply looking for Thane North. He'd mentioned sparring on some occasion and it seemed today might indeed be some occasion." Her voice is smooth, lacking tonal highs or lows.

Gerard shrugs, simply, as if to imply that he doesn't mind intrusions. It's Ithunn's embassy, however, so he stays silent and, instead, savors the deliciously foul concoction before him.

Ithunn shakes her head. "He's not here. Maybe he is. You could check upstairs if you want," she says casually. "He won't mind if ...you.. wake him up," she says, giving Anae the once-over.

Gerard's expression shifts. "Oho! Lucky fellow, North, hm!" He winks at Anae, cheerily.
Ithunn turns back to Gerard. "Why are you looking for Gromph? or one of us?" she asks flatly.

"Unfortunately, he's not that quite lucky," Anae says easily. Then she pauses, "Though? It would certainly give me an advantage in the sparring, would it not? Or it could backfire horribly if it should startle him too much. No, I think I'll remain polite and not invade privacy. Though thank you for the option, my lady." She glances to Gerard as he's asked that question.

Gerard finishes his second glass of mare's milk and reaches over, unabashedly, to pour himself a third. "I was looking for you in the absence of finding him, in the hopes you'd point me in the right direction. As for Gromph." He takes a gulp of the fermented milk. "He's my son."

Ithunn frowns some. "Good point," she says to Anae. "He's as likely to run you through with a sword if he's in a foul mood. I can tell him you came looking if you leave your name?" She shrugs, turning back to Gerard as he speaks. "Right," she says, but the smirk on her face as she answers changes into a snort of laughter. "I'm sorry, but he seems nothing at all like you. He's uh...short. Well, just not very imposing..." She chuckles again.

"A process which I've heard is not very fun," Anae agrees mildly, "And, yes, if you please. My name is Anae."

Gerard grins at that, broadly. "Well, you're all short, aren't you. The frosty bitch who was his mother was short, too. Tough as nails though, that one, and fierce as a snow-cat." He shakes his head. "She all but demanded - well, that's another story." He pauses. "He might not be much to look at, but if Julian is right - he might have done a blow against the Road."

"Anae, yes," Ithunn answers, torn between the two conversations and somewhat distracted by the last from Gerard. "Uh...sit..have some fermented mares milk. Seb loves it..." She gestures to a chair, then asks Gerard, "What?? That little squirt? I mean..how?"

Gerard shrugs helplessly, and makes room for Anae. "You'll love it," he asides to the woman. "Julian says there is a crossing of white stones across one part of the road. He thinks Gromph might have done it, though I just learned of this moments ago. I came looking for him for - something else."

"You are very gracious, my lady, my lord," Anae murmurs. She moves to sit, balance kept forward as if moving in a moment is not an option to be dismissed. She makes no move to take a glass for herself however. Not yet at any rate.

Still distracted, Ithunn pours Anae a glass of the stuff and offers it to the woman without ever actually looking at her. "We do pride ourselves on being hospitable to our guests," she says--and then not even pausing for breath, "How and why would Gromph do that? He keeps boasting of magic, but beyond some parlor tricks with ice sculptures, I haven't seen anything particular impressive."

Gerard looks at Ithunn squarely, now. "He's my son. They danced around Ymir's jawbone and lined up for a chance to touch Ymir's heart on the night that his mother and I made him."

"A pride well deserved," Anae responds in that same don't-break-main-conversation-flow murmur as she takes the glass to hand.

More than anything else, this somehow impresses Ithunn, and she nods slowly, looking with Gerard (finally) with something like awe. Or respect. Well, at least not utter disdain anymore. "It's just...well, he doesn't seem to be like you. At all." She glances to Anae. "You don't know the extent of it, even. Ymir...well...let's just say it's good he no longer exists."

Gerard shrugs, equably. "I've never been the most devoted of fathers, and all my get are bastards. What's he's learned, he's taught himself, and what he's earned he's won himself." That weight, the timbre of the legendary that was in his voice a moment ago is gone, now. "But I know he's learned a bit of," and he wiggles his fingers, "wizardry. And my brother has-"

Gerard says, "... Disappeared."

Anae's brows raise slightly for that.

"Yes, so he keeps saying to me," Ithunn says, adding quickly, "about the wizardry. And," she frowns, "I can tell you he's not a showoff with it, which is a good thing. But he's certainly full of himself and not always in a good way. It seems to me, though, there are weightier matters to discuss than your son's lack of manners. Which Prince has disappeared? There's certainly no lack of those who can and are willing to fight, if that's what it comes to." Her gaze takes in Anae's garb as she says this.

Gerard finishes off the third glass, starts making headway into the fourth. "In order, Corwin, Brand and, most topically, Eric. The first two have been returned. But Eric." He shakes his head. "I can't figure it out."

Ithunn pushes her half-finished glass toward Gerard. "Eric? I heard from his own sons that he lies dying in the castle. What's there to figure out?"

Gerard takes Ithunn's glass, happily enough. "He lies there no longer."

"And no one knows where he went?" Anae raises a brow.

Gerard says, "Or how."

Ithunn blinks. "He just...disappeared? One minute he's in bed and dying..the next he's gone?"

Gerard says, "Just so."

Ithunn says, "Has anything been done about it?"

Gerard waves a hand in the air. "We're searching high and low, we're looking for experts. I'm seeking out my son who might know some wizardry and offer advice."
Gerard says, "And Corwin is regent."

Anae sets her full wine glass on her knee, one hand kept there to ensure it does not fall.

Ithunn takes a few steps, pacing back and forth. "I don't know of such thngs. I know the gods of Kitezh and the help they can offer, but they'll be of little use. As for Gromph...I haven't seen him in days. I can...find him. If you wish."

Gerard nods. "I'd like that." He switches subjects, abruptly. "I was told your men joined us in our efforts against the Road, here."

Anae seems quite content to placidly listen, head tilted slightly and expression still nuetral.

Ithunn pauses in her pacing. "It will take some time, but I can see what happens. One way or another I'll find him," she shrugs, continuing, "We held the pass. And my brother fought his way to and confronted the enemy general."

Gerard says, "How much has that weakened your defenses back home?"

Ithunn's face darkens. "I have men on rely on back home. And I am hoping not at all. But the road runs through our lands, corrupting all that it touches. My brothers and I decided it's better to fight the thing here, where it led. I pray we made the right choice."

"And do you remain by choice, my lady?" Anae asks smoothly.

Ithunn laughs. "Of course it is," she answers. "I've chosen to stay here while my brothers are here as well."

Gerard muses, "If it weren't for your father, and for mine, I'd have been Regent of your lands."

"There are few 'of courses', my lady," Anae says, but her lips lift slightly in an almost return smile. She glances back to Gerard at his musing.

Gerard says, "I don't think I would like them to come to harm. Not after you helped us."

Ithunn's smile to Anae is strained, her eyes narrowing as Gerard speaks. "I think that if anyone not of Kitezh blood is ever appointed regent of our lands.." she says slowly, struggling to keep her tone light, "that blood will rain from the skies and the waters and rivers will boil and the crops will burn. We will die--to the last of us--before we submit."

Gerard nods, equably. "I imagine. But what good would that do anyone? My point, simply, is that I feel a little - obligated - to your lands. And in good faith, you came to our aid."

Gerard says, "I don't intend to see that go unanswered."

Anae raises her glass to her lips, still watching, and then lowers it once more.

Ithunn watches Gerard, her eyes--which had gone a shade or more of red--clearing. "Good. I'm glad that's at least acknowledged, and by you of all people. As for the point, there is none. Other than that we are a proud people and will go to our deaths without fear for whatever it is we believe in. It's wise for outsiders to remember that," she says, then in a completely different tone, "But I neglect my guests. Perhaps you'd care for some mead? and food?" Not waiting for an answer, she rings a small bell on the table, calling for a servant.

Gerard pats his belly. "I can't rightly say no." He seems content that more food and drink will soon arrive. "The fighting's going to get worse before it gets better, I think. We've given the Road pause, but only this part of it. And hesitation is not defeat."

"For myself, my lady, I am fine. But the gesture is appreciated," Anae says.

Ithunn instructs a servant to bring out food, and soon trays of flat breads, heated in an oven, meats and vegetables on skewers, and bowls of yogurt and sauces to dip it all in are brought out, along with more mares milk, mead, and mugs. "Please..help yourselves and ask for anything more you'd like," she tells the two. "I'm going to see if I can rouse Gromph. I suspect he's in his rooms."

Conversation in the Music Parlor--Amber Castle

Sat, 03 Nov 2007 17:05:31 GMT

Gromph says, "Thanks bud." to a friendly servant, then enters the parlor with Ithunn.

Corwin is just setting aside some paperwork and standing to stretch. He looks to those who enter, giving them a nod, and a once-over.

Corwin says, "So, who are you guys?"

Gromph levels a pointing finger, "You Corwin?"

Ithunn is taken up for a moment by the harpsichord, her eyes going there first and lighting up. Then she blinks and turns to Corwin, looking over him. "Heart of Kitezh," she says, introducing herself plainly. "And.." a small frown to Gromph, "Gromph. One of my subjects." She tries to elbow him in the ribs.

Corwin glances at Gromph very briefly and then turns his attention to Ithunn. He says, "Greetings, m'lady. And," another quick glance, "Gromph. It's been a long day, and I'm going to have a drink. You are welcome to join me." He walks over to a table serving as a small bar, and begins pouring glasses of what look to be scotch.

Ithunn squints a little to see what Corwin is pouring. "Certainly, yes. We'll join you in a drink." She finds herself a seat, not waiting to be asked.

Gromph gets elbowed and looks to Ithunn. He frowns, then folds his arms across his chest after gesturing towards Corwin. His expression tells the woman 'go ahead'. He doesn't join her for a seat though.

Corwin pours three and brings them over, two in one hand. He offers one, in turn, to Ithunn and Gromph. "What brings you here?"

Gromph lifts his chin in thanks.

"Thank you," Ithunn says as she takes the glass. She holds it in both hands on her lap. "Gromph of Kitezh had some questions to ask of you regarding the road of black that has cut through my lands."
Ithunn turns to nod to Gromph.

Corwin reclaims his seat on one of the benches and rubs a bit at one temple before taking a gulp from his glass. "Shoot."

Ithunn still looks to Gromph, waiting for him to speak. She hasn't had a sip of her drink, though.

Gromph rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Gromph of Kitezh." he repeats, but then adds "Son of Gerard, and your nephew. I just came in from shadow, after having fought a war against the influence of the demonic road. I'd like to know more about it, and see if there is any way that me...and my /liege/ here...can do to help combat it."

Corwin looks at Gromph more closely now. Obviously for proof of his claim in resemblance. Eventually he says, "Does Gerard know of your claim?"

Ithunn rolls her glass between the palm of her hands, gently. She watches Gromph.

Gromph says, "What fucking claim. That's a fact, cool-breeze."

Corwin looks to Ithunn. "Is he always like this?"

Ithunn laughs quietly. "Unfortunately, yes. My brother nearly killed him yesterday. He'll learn..."

Corwin looks back to Gromph. "Is Gerard aware of this _fact_ then?"

Gromph looks like he just swallowed a bug, as he looks at Corwin and Ithunn.
Gromph says, "Unless he's gotten a case of amnesia."

Corwin says, "And has he shown you a certain room in the basement of this Palace?"

Ithunn tilts her head. "A room? Huh?"

Gromph stares at Corwin. "Thirteen years ago. That final bend is a bitch."

Corwin nods. He says, "That is your best weapon against the road itself."

Ithunn speaks up, a bit annoyed. "Can one of you tell me what you're talking about?"

Gromph now grows interested. He downs half his drink, and slowly moves to sit near Ithunn.

Corwin looks to Ithunn. "It's a family thing. I'll leave it to your subject to explain to you." Corwin glances, meaningfully, at Gromph, as he says this.

Gromph says, "Where does it come from."

Corwin says, "We are not entirely certain where it comes from."

Ithunn glances between Corwin and Gromph, looking a touch more annoyed, even. Still, she asks Corwin, "is it possible to follow it somehow?"

Gromph swallows the rest of his drink, licking his teeth and making a weird sound. He's curious to the answer for Ithunn's question.

Corwin says, "If one is willing to face what might be at the other end... I see no reason why not."

Muttering to Gromph, Ithunn frowns. "Did you grow... barn? "

Gromph gives Ithunn an irritated squint, then looks to Corwin. "I'll go."

"Wait a minute," Ithunn says to Gromph. "I don't care what kind of monsters you've fought before--don't go into things blindly. What could be at the other end?" she asks Corwin.

Corwin says, "I wouldn't advise it. Not alone." He looks to Ithunn. "I'd imagine more of the same monstrosities we have already seen here. But, to be honest, I haven't any real idea."

Ithunn states flatly, "I'm not afraid of monsters and I'm not afraid of death."

Gromph gets up to pour himself another drink.

Corwin says, "Those are good starting points. But, I'm not sure what good a person, or two people, however fearless, would do."

Corwin glances at Gromph. "Make yourself at home, nephew."

Ithunn bites her lip. "Good point. If there's anything like the armies we encountered--we'd be dead before we could do anything at all."
Ithunn still hasn't touched her drink.

Gromph recorks the bottle. "It's not a good point."

"Why not?" Ithunn challenges Gromph.

Gromph says, "What the fuck is your plan, sit around and wait for more attacks? I'm not talking about wading into certain death. I'm talking about following the road, seeing what is behind this."

Corwin sets down his drink. "Okay, it was amusing once or twice, but keep talking like that and I'm going to throw your ass out of here or run you though."

Ithunn seems amused by this, for some reason. "My plan," she answers, is to gather information first. "Not rush to who knows where and hope for the best."

Gromph watches Corwin over the rim of his glass, swallowing, then sets it down too. He's about to reply to Corwin, likely something bad for his health, when Ithunn speaks and interrupts.

Corwin looks to Ithunn and says, "I appreciate that your Realm has suffered from this blight, as we have. And there is no doubt that a scouting mission could provide useful information. Certainly, I can't tell you what to do with your own subjects; conversely, I'd appreciate knowing anything you can pass on. Or, are you offering aid of a more official nature?"

Ithunn answers carefully. "My brother and I, plus 100 Kitezh warriors from the Heart have already fought here in this realm because we believed that the problem of the road began and ended here. Fought and fell gruesome deaths, I might add. I don't know how much more official we would want to get," she says. "I've a kingdom to run and a road of destruction running through it--and I can't be wasting my time with aid to Amber, no matter how things stand between our kingdoms. On the other hand, if aiding Amber eliminates the road from Kitezh, then I'm all for it."

Gromph sniffs. His bluster dissolves, mostly, as he listens to Ithunn. His short beard hides most of the pride on his expression.

Ithunn turns to Gromph, a little confused, a little surprised. "What?"

Corwin, in turn, listens carefully. He says, "Well, for this you have my thanks. As for aid to Amber, I meant specifically with regard to any expedition to find the source of this road."

Gromph shakes his head a little to Ithunn, then addresses Corwin. "I've fought creatures under the influence of this road, an entire war that resulted in the destruction of my home. I'm not some snot-nosed nephew, uncle, I'm a damn monster-slayer and a wizard without peer. I'll go alone, but if you want to recommend anything else I'm all ears."

Ithunn smirks a little at Gromph, then answers Corwin. "If it's not a brash decision, made as an idle boast, then yes, I'd support that. And go on it. I can't speak for my brothers."

Corwin looks to Gromph again. "Tomorrow I think I finally might have a chance to can get out for a ride. If I can, come with me, and I will see if I can show you a bit of what I have learned, about how to deal with the road." Then, to Ithunn, "Of course. I understand."

Ithunn says, "On the other hand, you may need me. To keep my "subjects" under control." The quotes are in her tone of voice.

Gromph licks his lips. He steps forward, towards Corwin, and offers his hand. "Let's do it."

Corwin stands and offers his hand to Gromph.

Corwin says to Ithunn, "If you mean tomorrow, I'll take my chances." He gives her his first smile.

Gromph shakes firmly, then asks "Anything else, princess? Otherwise we should leave the regent alone before he changes his mind and runs me through."

Ithunn sets her glass aside, whiskey untouched, and stands up. "No," she smiles. "I didn't mean tomorrow. I meant on brash expeditions based on idle boasting." She shakes her head to Gromph.

Corwin says, "Oh. Well." Another smile. "Yeah... I guess I'll just say thanks for coming, and I look forward to seeing you both again soon."

Gromph says, "See you tomorrow, appreciate the time."

Ithunn smiles, then leaves.

**************
Hallway outside the music parlor:

Gromph pauses outside, in the hall. "Listen here, Princess."

Ithunn folds her arms across her chest. "What?"

Gromph says, "I'm not your fucking subject. You want the fealty of Gromph? Earn it, then ask for it."

Ithunn snorts. "I don't care about your fucking fealty. I care about getting back what you stole from me. What rightfully belongs to me and mine. Not you."

Gromph leans, face close and intent on Ithunn's eyes.

Ithunn glares back, not blinking, though her eyes are now shot through with red.

Gromph whispers, "You'll get your damn rock. Don't underestimate me, Princess, you sounded pretty close to a queen in there." He pauses, eyes softening. "Pretty impressive." He starts away, as though to leave the castle. "And we were talking about the Pattern. The source of my magic."

Ithunn stands very still as Gromph walks away, her bloodshot, angry eyes starting to clear as a look of confusion replaces the anger--though Gromph wouldn't see that. She gives him more than a few seconds head start before she follows him, frowning and puzzled. And silent.

How to Win Friends and Influence People

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 03:15:04 GMT

Grand Salon, Kitezh Embassy, Amber

Viktor is considering the harp, a large cat standing next to him.

When Gromph walks into the embassy from outside, he doesn't look entirely familiar with where he is. He does a quick look-over of the decor to verify that he is in the right place, then sees Viktor and his cat.

A great cat often accompanies Viktor, shoulder coming up past his knees...and Viktor is a tall man. The blue-grey direcat has the general lythe form of a muscular panther, but the slit jade eyes hold a sort of intelligence that speaks of higher thought than the brute cleverness found in a jungle cat, and something about his body language suggests a personality that extends beyond that of a predator. Another difference would be the multitude of toes this creature has, seven on the hind paws and six on the fore...and the spread suggests the possiblity of opposible thumbs.

Viktor reaches out with a tuning wrench and gives one of the strings a twist at the neck. He's not sitting in a playing position, mind.

Gromph starts towards Viktor, "Hey. Uh, is your cat there going to bite me?"

Ithunn comes down the stairs at this point, curious about the voices she hears there, perhaps.

Viktor doesn't look up from the harp he's standing in front of, tunning wrench at the ready. "Depends on what you do, really."
Said cat looks up at Gromph and half closes one eye.

Gromph's tone is dry, "I was considering pissing myself. How would it feel about that."

Ithunn grins briefly at Viktor and at the huge cat, too, then turns her attention to Gromph. "Can I help you?" she asks, moving toward him. "You lost?"

Viktor hits another string with a quarter turn. "Oh, he'd probably complain about the smell." The cat's tail swishes, then he sits down on his haunches.

Ithunn snorts at Gromph. "The cat has a sensitive nose. Easily offended," she says, eyeing Gromph up and down. "Can I help you?" she repeats.

Gromph eyeballs the cat a moment longer, then squints at Ithunn.
Gromph says, "I need a place to stay for a while."

Viktor doesn't actually play a note, he just hits another string with the tuner and tightens it. The cat watches Gromph, tail swishing lazily.

Ithunn turns to Viktor to gauge his reaction to this, and when he says nothing, she answers Gromph. "There are inns in the city. We're an embassy." She's curt about it, her lips a thin line.

Gromph wipes a palm over his beard and mouth. "All right." he accepts without fuss. "Who's in charge of this joint?"

Viktor looks up from the harp, sideways at Ithunn.

Ithunn stares back at Viktor. "We all are. Why?"

Gromph looks between Ithunn and Viktor. "We all...the cat too?"

Viktor says, "Lokesh is in charge of himself. Everything else is a toy to him."

Ithunn laughs. "If the cat likes you, you can have lodgings. Maybe. If not...well, the cat is looking a bit thin in the ribs lately." She grins. "My brothers and I are in charge. Why?"

The cat looks sideways at Ithunn, head cocked slightly.

Gromph says, "My name is Gromph." He continues to stand and regard the siblings. "I'm a native of the soil this embassy represents. I'd like to have a little chat about the road that brought me here."

Ithunn smiles to the cat, giggling a little, but Gromph's statement brings her up short. "Kitezh?" she looks at his garb, frowning. "Where? What town? What thane?"

Viktor turns and looks Gromph over. "Your dress is....strange."

Gromph gives Viktor a dirty look and slips his hands into the bulky pockets of his hoody. "My name is Gromph." he repeats, "Grandson of Berthgar, Master of the Utgard Tower."

Viktor grunts. "Seb's."

Gromph is standing, alone, facing Ithunn and Viktor from some paces.

Viktor is by the harp, a tuning wrench in his hand...although he's standing. The great cat is sitting on his haunches near him, tail flicking lazily.

Isabelle walks into the room, her gait laiassez-faire -- casual. Hands deep in the pockets of a calf-length red coat.

Ithunn looks up sharply at that, her eyes narrowing at Gromph. "Your name isn't particularly Kitezhka," she says, leery of him still. "But those aren't exactly towns that would be...." She stops, clearing her throat as Isabelle walks in. "Seems to be the night for visitors...well, come in both of you. Sit down. I'll have tea brought in. I'm not about to be rude to guests." She gestures to the chairs near the harp and Viktor and the oversized cat, not even bothering to ask for names or introductions as yet.

Gromph looks aside at Isabelle, as though annoyed by her presence as well.

Isabelle keeps an eye on the cat, but hangs back a little, saying, "Princess Ithunn. I can come back some other time if you're busy."
Isabelle's benign glance just touches Gromph and Viktor.

Said cat licks his lips, idly. Viktor blinks at Isabelle. He may have straightened a little, even. His face remains neutral.

Gromph loses his annoyance when he gets a better look at Isabelle. He lifts his chin. "Hi."
Gromph says, "I'm Gromph."

Ithunn waves a hand at Isabelle. "No, no, not at all. Come in. Sit..." she glances at the cat, then continues, "Lokesh won't hurt you." She gestures again to the chairs near the hearth, then picks up and rings a small bell.

Shortly thereafter, a big burly man emerges from a back room, sour look on his face.

Isabelle's dare devil smile to Gromph, "Isabelle." A glance at Viktor, with the same lingering smile.

Viktor still hasn't moved. The cat gets up and rubs against his knees with the THONK way that cats have. Viktor blinks again, gives a quarter bow, and says, "Storm Thane. Viktor."

Ithunn ignores the servant and turns sharply. "Isabelle?! Then we owe you a debt of gratitude," she says. "This..I mean, Isabelle guarded our bodies when we fell in battle. Guarded all night. Kept Seb and I from the funeral pyres," she explains to Viktor.

Gromph says to Ithunn "Look lady, I don't really feel like tea. I need to..." his sentence trails off when he sees the burly man Ithunn summons.

Isabelle walks a few more feet toward the chairs the hands in her deep coat pockets weighting the collar and shoulders. "Oh, it was no trouble." She does not look like the sort of woman who could guard anything. Maybe throw rocks.

Viktor says, "Ahhhh. Then I am in your debt as well, lady."

The servant does not look at all happy to be a butler. In fact, when Gromph stares at him, he positively lights up--as if he'd rather be fighting to the death any day than pouring tea.

Isabelle claims, "It was the least I could do. But I came on other business, though this man," a long eyed glance at Gromph, "Seems in a hurry."

Gromph steps up to the burly man and looks _up_, tall as the butlers chest. He looks challenging, then says "Two sugars." and moves to sit.

The butler looks all but ready to kill Gromph with his bare hands, but Ithunn steps hurriedly up to him and has a small but whispered argument with him. The man then disappears into the back room. She turns with a sigh to Gromph. "Right. The road. Which one? The foul one of black ice? Does it run through your home?"

Isabelle can hardly help herself and laughs quietly.

Gromph says, "I told you, Kitezh is my home. Yeah, that demonic road. What the hell is it?"

The cat curls around the back of Viktor's legs, like a normal sized one wanting skritches. Viktor idly reaches down and scratches behind an ear. "Hell would be a good description."

Isabelle takes a seat, the hem of her coat brushing the floor. A turn of her head washes dark hair behind her shoulder.

In a few moments, the servant returns with tea on a tray. He sets it out for everyone, glares at Gromph, then disappears again, muttering curses in the native language of Kitezh.

Ithunn answers Gromph. "I have no idea. Except that it brought an army of demons and beasts here into Amber. And we fought them and won, but only by sheer luck. And the road apparently goes...places. Where the world is far different and more dangerous. Some sort of place that would make you mad."

Isabelle's expressive eyes track the cat, but she seems more curious than concerned. Ithunn's comment about the road compels, "Did you follow it? I'm curious. I came about the Arden Pass."

Gromph interupts, "I followed it."
Gromph says, "From a lot farther away than Kitezh."

Isabelle considers Gromph in a new way.

Viktor nods. "It threw some of us off course."

Ithunn gives Gromph the same look. "What do you mean? I thought you said you're from Kitezh."

Isabelle glances at Viktor. "Did you come along the black road too?"

Gromph slouches in his seat, lifting his tea for a sniff. "I am, but I'm a bit of a roamer, know what I mean?"

Viktor says, "Sailed for Amber, hit it crossing the water. Wound up in some bad...places. Lost two ships and half of my own crew....not to mention getting here a tad later than intended."

Ithunn tells Isabelle, "My other brother and I--Sebastopol--followed the road from Kitezh to here. And the Arden Pass...yes, we can get to that," she nods. Gromph's words make her give him another look.

Gromph seems suprised, "It's in the seas, too?"

Isabelle watches the others, one at a time, noticing the way Ithunn regards Gromph, noticing Viktor, or looking at him with a new interest, too.

Viktor says, "That's questionable. There was a reef where there was supposed to be none, and it crossed that."

Isabelle, plaint in the tone of her voice, "I really would like to know where that road goes to. And if there are any," uncomfortably, her mouth wry, "Gods and so forth."

Ithunn shakes her head. "The road goes to Amber, doesn't it? It ends here. Though...well, today, I was told it can be used to get to some place...the place that drives you mad."

Gromph's face sours at the scent of the tea and he sets it back down.

Viktor says, "I have no problem with that concept."

The cat sits.

Gromph mutters, "I came to the wrong end."

Isabelle wonders, "Madness?"
Isabelle glances at Gromph and laughs warmly.

Ithunn shrugs. "Not my words. Just what I was told. Went looking into what's on the other side of that blocked pass. There's nothing--no army, no enemy. They all just vanished, seems like."

Gromph stands, repeating "I came to the wrong end." in confirmation. "Just my fucking luck, you know? I'm looking for the source, I end up at the destination. I thought it was strange that Amber would spawn the road."

Ithunn stretches out a hand to scratch behind the cat's ears as she watches Gromph. "Follow it the other way? Is that possible?"

Isabelle, suddenly so curious her dark blue eyes rest intent on Gromph, "Are you going to the source?"

Viktor says, "My question is, has Amber simply stopped it, or is it after something here?"

Gromph answers, "Who knows. Probably, somebody's got to stop this shit. That road came through a shadow I was staying in. We fought the demons and beasts. Some of them foreign. Most of them were beings of shadow, twisted by its evil."
Gromph says, "We lost."

Isabelle says, "I think we almost did."

Viktor grunts.

Gromph looks to Viktor, "What's your father doing about all this?"

Ithunn nods to Isabelle. "We almost did. There were weapons. New weapons. And Prince Benedict had reserves."

Isabelle says, "Guns."

Viktor looks at Gromph. "Floating about. Possibly seeking the advice of fish."

Isabelle's brows soften to curiosity.

Gromph says, "No shit. Sorry to hear that."

Viktor nods, once.

Gromph looks between Ithunn and Viktor, "So you two really are in charge."

"Viktor!" Ithunn hisses. "We /are/ doing something about it. We're here to fight it."

Ithunn says, "Three. Sebastopol is Thane of the North. I'm the Heart.""

Isabelle glances between the three.

Gromph nods, then peers at Isabelle. "Now that I've figured out I'm insulting my lieges, who the hell are you."

Isabelle rises, but only to incling her head formally, almost a bow but not quite. "I am Isabelle of Amber, youngest daughter of Her Highness, Princess Flora. Architect."

Isabelle says, "And in return. Who are you? Another brother?"

Ithunn snorts. "No. He claims to be from our lands, though I've never seen anyone quite dressed like him there."

Ithunn nods to Isabelle at her formal introduction, though. "I'm delighted to meet you. Tristan speaks highly of you."

Viktor says, "Tristan?"

Gromph looks annoyed again, "I'm Gromph." he sits back down, then adds "Son of the Giant-Slayer." as though that meant something.

Isabelle also retakes her seat, dark eyes lifted to Ithunn, "Tristan is my cousin. I'm delighted to meet you all too. Though I feel like I must know you having seen you, well," a hand brushes her hair behind her shoulders, "well you were dead."

Viktor says, "That can happen. We try not to let it slow us down."

Ithunn starts to grin at Viktor and say something else, but turns instead to Gromph. "What? Son of the Giant Slayer?" She's frowning.

Isabelle's shoulders draw together as if the idea of Dead makes her uncomfortable still.

Gromph says, "Right. Locally known as Gerard. Look, it's been a while since I was in Kitezh. Dozen years or more. So I may not look the part, but half of my blood is pure Viking. I followed the demonic road in from shadow, after its denizens invaded a place I was fond of. I came right here to the embassy, hoping to communicate with the king."

Gromph says, "Instead I find you two, his children."
Gromph says, "So."
Gromph says, "Here I am."
Gromph says, "How can I help."

Viktor says, "...and son of Gerard."

Isabelle says, "A cousin."

Ithunn stares at Gromph, like he is someone out of legend. She falls silent to listen.

Gromph explains, "I know these things. I've hunted and smited them. Is Kitezh under attack?"

Isabelle clears her throat, "I'm going to go," motions with a hand, "Rebuild the Arden Pass, and other pass too recently collapsed with the Prince called your gods down. So we can get down to the Oisen and thence to the road.

Viktor says, "Aye." He half bows to Isabelle. "Lady. Safe travels.""

Gromph squints at Isabelle.

Isabelle says, "And then I hope there will be some kind of expedition on that road. And if you know how to smite them, you'll be needed."

Gromph says, "No offense lady, but you look like you'd have a tough time rebuilding a bathroom, much less a mountain pass."

Viktor mutters, "Definitely one of Seb's."

Isabelle flashes an amused smile at Gromph, "I'm just redesigning the foundation and so on." Her head canted to the side, as if amused at herself, too, "Being bossed around but His Old Highness Benedict."

Gromph says, "Benedict is in charge?"

Isabelle says, "Corwin is in charge. Eric is ill." Uncertain, "I think. But Benedict seems to be in charge of the efforts to get through the passes."

Isabelle glances at Viktor.

Gromph comments "Amber's safe enough, then." then he looks at Viktor too. "But what about Kitezh."

Viktor says, "Not. But the answer to fighting them is here. I...keen it.""

Isabelle's blue eyes glance at Gromph. She may be trying to parse 'keen'.

Gromph shrugs at Isabelle.

Viktor says, "I believe the expression is....feel it in my bones?"

Isabelle says, "Ah."
Isabelle rises, "Perhaps now is the time for me to leave you two gentlemen alone. I came to talk about the pass. The Kitezh Gods. But clearly you have business with home."

Gromph says, "Wait."
Gromph says, "What about the gods, exactly?"

Viktor cocks an eyebrow.

Isabelle says, "I wonder if they're still here. They brought down a second pass. Recently."

Isabelle, reasonably, "I thought they were Kitezh Gods."

Gromph looks to Viktor straight away, marking his reaction.

Viktor says, "I just arrived. This is news to me."

Isabelle explains, "Apparently during the battle, The Prince Sebastopol summoned their aid."

Gromph looks back to Isabelle, "Was Thor there? I'm looking for that guy."

Viktor does his eyebrow trick again.

Isabelle says, "I don't know. I wish I knew. I'm trying to design the pass for any lingering Gods if they happen to be around. So if you three do not know," she lifts her slender shoulders in a casually elegant shrug.

Isabelle says, "I'll send the Prince a letter."

Viktor says, "How would you design such a pass?"

Gromph says, "Yeah, what do you mean 'for the gods'?"

Isabelle replies, still standing, "I'd need to know if the Gods were, well, predictable. Doing the same thing every time they were called upon. Of course, they might not be predictable." To Gromph, "Design it to withstand some shuddering and shaking. It might be hopeless, but I have to at least find out."

Viktor chuckles. "They are only predictible in their unpredictability. Some are capricious, some are proud, some like to trick."

Gromph says, "And some of them are real assholes. If you see a big red-headed guy with a hammer, tell him Gromph is looking for him."

Isabelle looks between the pair, then laughs quietly again.

Isabelle says, "Well I just like to find out if they're still in town."
Isabelle, still smiling.

Viktor says, "Has there been a destruction of buildings and some highly annoyed fathers?"

Isabelle lifts a hand to cover her eyes, to laugh again.

Gromph takes up his tea and smells at it again, this time sipping.

Viktor looks at Gromph. "She thinks I'm making a jest."

Isabelle's hand lowers, and she says in a voice of falling humor, "I imagine you're trying to tell me this is hopeless."

Ithunn smiles a little. "Sebastopol called on those gods. They're not predictable. Well, to some extent."

Isabelle asks Ithunn, "Should I just speak to him about this?"
Isabelle's hands go into her coat pockets again.

Ithunn watches Isabelle's hands then blink. "If you choose to. I don't see where it will do any good. The gods bring down lightning and thunder when he calls on them."

Viktor says, "Most like. Expect him to try to get you into his chambers."

Isabelle, surprised by Viktor, "Pardon me?"

Gromph says, "He means the Prince will try and dig in your pants."
Gromph sips again.

Ithunn snickers. "Oh, and don't buy the line about women in Kitezh are much freer. That women of the Northlands prove their worthiness for marriage by producing a child first. Though..they do."

Isabelle's face flashes with warmth. "Oh dear."
Isabelle looks up at the three, each in turn, "Oh look at the time."

Ithunn leans to Isabelle. "Though Seb needs a wife. If you're interested."

Gromph laughs at that, for some reason, setting his cup down.

Isabelle, alarmed, "No! Oh no. An honor of course, but I'm not into... That."

Isabelle turns around, and with an over-cheerful wave, wanders off.

Viktor says, "It's a character flaw. Please pardon it."

Ithunn nods to Isabelle. "Don't worry, then," she says, standing as the woman leaves. "Do come and visit again. I'll protect you from my brothers."

Isabelle lifts a hand again toward Ithunn and, a few moments later, has managed to get the hell out of Dodge.

Gromph sniffs and rubs a finger against the hair under his nose. He looks at Viktor and Ithunn a moment, after Isabelle leaves, then tells them "I think she thought you two were weirdos."

Ithunn shrugs. "Does it matter? The customs here are so odd anyhow. Now...what did you need to know?"

Viktor says, "Odd does not cover it."

Gromph says, "I need to know how bad it is in Kitezh."

Ithunn frowns. "The road of black ice runs through the lands, corrupting everything it touches. Everyone and everything. But the army that marched upon it--Seb and I followed them to here."

Viktor says, "And I eventually found them."

Gromph says, "So our home is not under attack?"

Ithunn says, "I don't know. It may very well be, but we came here and fought here, thinking that because the road stopped here, that it was best to fight it here. Plus, there's no easy way to get back home. It's a journey."

Viktor grunts.

Ithunn frowns, "it's what we decided, isn't it?"

Gromph says, "I think I can get you home, when you need to. I'll probably head that way in a couple days."

Viktor's eyes narrow at Gromph.

Ithunn says, "I can get there. It just takes time. Days or more.""
Ithunn adds, with a look at Viktor, "And I need a boat."

Gromph says, "Right." He looks back to Viktor. "What."

Viktor says, "Did you have other methods of traveling?"

Gromph boasts blandly, "I'm a powerful wizard. I can do all kinds of crazy shit."

Viktor says, "I've heard about the plumbing, yes. That does not answer the question."

Ithunn looks a little confused by the discussion.

Gromph says, "I can work the shadows." He stands, rubbing his beard. "I guess I better find an inn, until I can find the regent. If you two need me...send that big guy looking for me or something."

Viktor says, "Ithunn? Are there rooms?"

Ithunn shrugs. "There's not much room here, but we wouldn't turn a countryman away. You're welcome to find yourself quarters here, such as they are."
Ithunn nods to Viktor. "Yes, there are. Father had this built to Amber's standards, mind you."

Gromph snorts out a laugh. "Shit. You two don't believe me."

Viktor says, "You are Gerard's son. Gerard can bend shadow to his will. What's not to believe?"

Ithunn nods. "Why would you lie to us, either? Especially here in Amber, where it would be so easy to just go ask Gerard. No, I believe you are who you say you are."

Gromph speaks in the native tongue of Kitezh, the old language of chieftans "Very good." His use of it is very formal. "I am no braggart, and evidently your vassal." He clears his throat, and returns to slang-filled Thari. "And I'll take that room."

Viktor nods, once.

Ithunn picks up a small bell and rings it to summon the surly servant. "He can show you where it is. Try not to kill each other."

Viktor says, "Much."

Ithunn grins wickedly at Viktor. "You think he has the gift of our fathers?"

Gromph nods, and walks off with the brute of a butler. Gromph can be heard asking him "What do they feed you...?"

Viktor says, "He has the attitude."

Ithunn tilts her head, listening. "We'll find out. I'm assuming he won't last the night." She seems unconcerned.

Viktor says, "If he has Gerard's blood....maybe."

Ithunn shrugs. "Guess we'll know by the morning by which body we find."

Let Them Use Peasants

Tue, 30 Oct 2007 23:38:53 GMT

Ithunn is astride a shaggy pony of Kitezh, short and sturdy. The others are on normal size horses. They are at the bottom of the pass to ARden, which is blocked by rocks and mud. All about are engineers and army types, trying to figure out how to unblock the pass, theoretically.

Surayya is on her own grey horse, sidesaddle, which is currently taking a few more backwards steps away from Ithunn and Jaeger. Surayya's a little wide-eyed and nervous looking, though the horse seems blissfully calm.

Kynan is walking back to the group, having gone away for a short while. His horse by the others.

A new group of riders approaches, accompanied by some wagons bringing more engineering equipment. Somewhat conspicuous among them, mostly because of her lack of height, is Princess Fiona. She breaks off her conversation with the officer in charge of the group as they near and directs her attention towards the blocked pass.

Jaeger, marked by his continued proximity to Ithunn, returns his hand to the reins of his horse. "I did. That's why I'm an officer. I figure out how best to handle resources. And while I would not turn away your brother's help from a fight. The description fits even if it hurts your feelings."

"My feelings are not hurt," Ithunn says curtly. "I just don't appreciate it that you..." she cuts off whatever she was saying, turning to take in the arriving wagons. "More nobles?" she asks Jaeger, her tone suddenly dry.

Surayya looks towards Kynan as he approaches, thankfully. The group of riders also catches her attention, her eyes narrowing as if to get a better look.

The new arrivals mostly seem to be soldiers and engineers, with perhaps the one notable exception. As they arrive, the engineers quickly get going to their business of unpacking their gear, and Fiona rides a little to the side to give them space. At least two of the soldiers seem to be tasked to guarding her, but they don't hover - staying back a discreet distance.

Jaeger speaks even before he's turned to look. "More nobles? I hope not. I don't need another bunch of useless..." His likely invective dies away before it is uttered. "No, not a noble. A royal."

Kynan turns to the new arrivals, pulling down the hood of his cloak, smiling somewhat. His path shifts towards them, and he approaches. "Good day, Aunt Fiona. I trust you are well?"

Ithunn turns to watch Fiona's arrival, her expression not shifting from before, though surprise crosses her face momentarily as Kynan calls her his aunt.

Fiona breaks her attention away from looking at the pass, and directs a smile towards Kynan. "Well enough, thank you. And yourself, Kynan?" she asks, even while dismounting from her horse. She has quite sensibly chosen footwear suited to muddy ground (or even muddy ground possibly littered with demonic remains). "Here to see what can be done about the pass?" she asks Kynan, not waiting to be helped down from her steed.

Surayya is, yet again, arching a brow. She doesn't seem to be willing to be abandoned once more, and so slides down from her horse's back, taking the reigns to lead it along with her.

Jaeger takes the time to give Kynan a second visual examination during the exchange of pleasantries.

Kynan nods. "I am well, also. I am contemplating if I might be of asssistance." He turns towards his companions. "Have you met?"

Muttering to Jaeger, Ithunn shakes her head to reply to Kynan, even as she nudges her pony sideways and closer to Jaeger. "... of royal blood... Kynan's... or... related... was Queen..."

Fiona glances at Kynan's companions. Jaeger seems the most familiar to her and gets a warm nod of greeting, but she doesn't seem to recognize the other two - and thus allows Kynan to continue with the introductions.

Muttering to Ithunn, Jaeger speaks sidewise to Ithunn, "... doesn't..." before directing a respectful bow of his head towards Fiona.

Ithunn looks at Jaeger with sudden surprise, but keeps her mouth shut and turns to Fiona and Kynan.

Kynan watches Fiona's response for a moment then says, "May I introduce Princess Ithunn of Kitezh, and her Eminence, Surayya of Alhambra. If I'm not mistaken, you already know Lord Jaeger?" He seems to perhaps be a little unclear on his title. He then turns fully to them. "Ithunn, Surayya, the Princess Fiona of Amber."

Surayya bows, deep and respectful, towards Fiona. "Lovely to meet you, your Highness," she offers before straightening once more. She glances, briefly, back to Ithunn and Jaeger.

"Yes, we know each other," answers Fiona to Kynan's question regarding Jaeger, giving the man a smile, "I rather expected to find you here," she tells Jaeger. Then, to Ithunn and Surayya, she inclines her head politely, and says, "Very pleased to meet you both, though I wish it was in better circumstances than these."

Ithunn inclines her head. "Likewise, Princess Fiona. I'm honored." She glances at the pass. "You've come to see about clearing the landslide? My brother called on the old gods."

Jaeger's answer is simply, "I'd rather be in Arden but there's a blocked pass in the way."

Fiona nods, and asks, "What progress has been made so far? I've asked some others to evaluate the destroyed bridge as well."

Kynan steps aside, going to stand by Surayya's side. He inclines his head towards Fiona. "I haven't had a chance to inspect the bridge that fell. I thought I might on my way back."

Ithunn laughs, glancing back up toward the pass. "Progress?" she asks, sounding doubtful. "They haven't yet figured out how to move the tons of rock and mud."

Fiona admits, "Traditionally, tons of rock and mud are moved with peasants. Actually, peasants with oxen and horses. Aided by rope and rollers. It takes a ridiculously long time."

Jaeger shifts to look towards the mess. "Last I checked the army was assigning the Feldane girl to the task. Though it's going to be more like mining than clearing given the instability of the whole thing thanks to the mud."

Ithunn looks at Jaeger. "The Feldane girl? Taleyn?"

Taleyn rides in on a chestnut gelding with a Sergeant-major escort on a dapple-grey mare. She pulls up at the sight of the others, and dismounts.

Kynan, Surayya, and Fiona, are standing in a group off to the side of the growing encampment here at the base of the blocked pass. Jaeger is still on his horse, and Ithunn on her Kitezh pony.
Jaeger gestures at Taleyn. "That Feldane."

Fiona glances over at Taleyn, taking in her reasonably youthful appearance and rank insignia. "Could you introduce us?" she asks Jaeger, then follows up quietly with, "Has house Feldane been tasked with providing labor for the clearance, or is she acting in her capacity as a...sublieutenant?"

Surayya stays by Kynan's side, the reins of her grey horse on one hand. The stallion paws at the ground lightly, like he'd rather be running than standing around. She clucks at him softly, and he goes back to stillness.

Ithunn gives Taleyn a sympathetic look, but only shifts a little in her saddle as her horse lowers its head to chomp at some clover. Clearly, this is not her political squabble.

Taleyn leaves her mount in the care of the Sergeant, and her eyes widen as she approaches. She bows to Royalty and salutes Jaeger, standing at attention.

Jaeger clears his throat before barking out, "Ensign Taleyn. Front, center, and at attention!" As the sound is dying down he answer Fiona's question. "In her official military capacity she volunteered to the general to manage the project."

Taleyn steps forward and resumes attention stance as Jaeger speaks to Fiona.

Ithunn's look changes from sympathy to mild amusement. "Oh my... volunteered?"

Fiona gives Taleyn a gracious nod, then comments, "I trust she's thus been given sufficient authority by my brother to commandeer what she needs to carry it out." Turning to Taleyn, she asks, "How are things going so far, Ensign?"

Kynan gives Taleyn a glimmer of recognition, having seen her at the coffeeshop once, though they did not converse.

Jaeger says firmly. "At ease, Ensign. Then report on your level of authority to procure resources and the status of your planning and acquisition."

Taleyn at-eases and says to Fiona, "In fact, the General has appointed Lady Cyndre to managing the project, and she has asked me to serve as her assistant. It goes well, Your Highness. I can give a full report, Sir," she adds to Jaeger, "But more immediately, I have come to announce that the General is on his way to inspect the Pass and will arrive shortly."

Ithunn seems even more amused by this, as she glances at the Pass repeatedly and then at Jaeger and Taleyn.

"Ah, the smith," says Fiona, apparently familiar with Cyndre's name, "I thought he would have her see to the bridge rather than the rock hauling. When will he be here?"

Jaeger notes. "The lady is a skilled ditch digger and good with a shovel. Cyndre, not the Ensign."

Ithunn says, "You would think that instead of having all these engineers running around measuring things and designing fancy plans, that someone would just have peasants come in. With ox and wagons." She doesn't seem to be speakign to anyone in particular. "Then again, maybe they are afraid of the wrath of the gods. That moving one stone will flood the whole valley with a rock and a mudslide."

Kynan nods, "Unless we attribute the avalanche to coincidence, it was brought down by an a call to the Kitezhka gods. I do not sense any active magicks, but if they wish the pass to remain closed, I would not rule out another should clearing happen in earnest. Caution is to be advised as I do not know them... all but one to some small extent, that is."

Taleyn replies to Fiona, "Lady Cyndre is due here soon as well, Highness." She chances a glance at Ithunn and Kynan.

Ithunn gives Kynan a small smile and a nod at his words. "My brother is needed, as I said. He alone can call down the god responsible for this."

Surayya's gaze moves between between everyone, and while she's largely silent for the most part, she at least seems interested in what's being talked about.

Fiona glances over at Ithunn and grins for a moment, hearing some of her own words return to her. "Well then, let us arrange for both oxen-driving peasants to do the hauling and your brother to keep it from falling down again after all their hard work. When is the labor arriving? Or is the area not yet secure enough for that?" she asks.

Ithunn shakes her head, turning her smile to Fiona. "Oh, no--he can't prevent that from happening. He can only call the gods ni the first place, not direct their actions. But I will call him in any case." She frowns. "Perhaps by messenger.."

Jaeger turns away from this talk of gods to address Taleyn. "And how about that other resource. Did you manage to convince him to help?"

Kynan turns to Ithunn. "I can call him, perhaps." He turns to Fiona and Taleyn. "If their gods have no objection, I would be willing to offer my assistance as well."

"We have plenty of those," says Fiona to Ithunn, waving one of her uniformed guards/minions over and informing him, "Princess Ithunn requires a messenger." The guard goes off to find someone. "Unless," Fiona adds, "Kynan has something faster in mind."

Taleyn replies to Jaeger. "He has been sitting vigil over... at the Palace, Sir. I've not been able to see him yet. But there should be machines arriving from Begma at this timetable," and she gives Jaeger a report.

Ithunn shrugs to Kynan. "Call him if you don't think he would..." she glances at Jaeger and smiles before she continues, "turn into a raging psychopath because of it."

Kynan nods towards Fiona. "I do... if he is opportunely placed at the moment." He asides to Surayya, softly, "I need something from my pack, I shall return shortly." He starts for his horse.

Jaeger takes the report while sparing a glance to Ithunn. "I knew I should have brought my bow along."

A messenger comes running over, and salutes crisply before standing by to wait for Ithunn's instructions, should she have any. Or if she should need him. Fiona, meanwhile, enquires of Taleyn and Jaeger, "Who do you have coming to operate your machinery? Or haul rocks?"

Ithunn sets her mouth. "I'll handle him," she tells Jaeger. "You know I can." She glances to the messenger. "Hold for a moment until we determine if you're needed."

Surayya manages not to give Kynan a 'don't abandon me!' look, simply nodding her head.

Jaeger skims the report quickly and then hands it back to Taleyn. "Show the Princess your estimates."

Kynan takes out a large shallow bowl from his saddlebags, and with a murmur, it fills with water that starts to mist over. He leans over it, looking onto its surface.

Surayya smiles, almost shyly, to Fiona. "I just came out here for the ride," she offers softly.

Taleyn takes the report from Jaeger and passes it to the Princess Fiona. "The report contains a full list of personnell, Your Highness. We've many volunteers from Amber, and machinists from Begma." The report, of course, contains names, lists, machines, and timetables.

"And you came with Kynan, yes?" Fiona asks Surayya, "I welcome any suggestions or input you have regarding the situation, even if you only came along for the ride." Then she begins perusing the report.

Ithunn watches Kynan for some time, then sighs. She instructs the messenger on how to find the Kitezh embassy, then adds something whispered about checking the local bars and houses of ill repute after that.

Kynan looks up finally, shaking his head at Ithunn. "It appears he is not somewhere I can contact at the moment." He empties the bowl, and puts it away, walking back to Surayya.

Surayya nods. "It was Kynan that invited me out here, yes," she says, voice soft but carrying despite that. "Scouting parties were mentioned, to check the other side of the pass before it is opened up. I think this a wise idea, as your enemy does not seem the type to simply turn tail and go home."

The messenger salutes again, and listens carefully for Ithunn to finish the instructions and the message before running off to find a fast horse.

Ithunn looks at Jaeger for a moment, then to Fiona, says, "I am to go with Jaeger tomorrow to scout the other side of this pass."

Fiona finishes looking over the report and hands it back to Taleyn with her thanks. Then she raises her eyebrow at Ithunn's comment. "Be careful out there," she says, "How many men are you bringing along?"

Jaeger says. "I'm bringing me and one stubborn woman."

Ithunn starts laughing at Fiona's question.

Fiona says wryly, "Well, I assume you can handle yourselves, and that we won't be stuck with Princess's brother arriving in a fine temper because we've lost his sister or allowed her to come to harm. Good luck out there. I think I shall do a little looking around here myself, before my brother arrives." She nod to Surayya's comment, apparently agreeing with it.

Ithunn just laughs some more, though she manages a "thank you" to Fiona. "Looks like you're stuck with me now," she tells Jaeger. "The princess with the psychopath for a brother."

Surayya inclines her head. "Be well, your Highness," she says with a sliver of a smile, a warmth to it despite its size.

Taleyn bows to Fiona.

Jaeger says, "I've had worse assignments."

Kynan nods to Fiona. "Take care. I expect to be here for a while longer, so perhaps we can talk later."

Fiona nods again to those present, then departs, mounting up on her horse again and riding off a ways with her guards still discreetly following, more closely now that Fiona is not engaged in conversation.
Ithunn says, "Docks? Crack of dawn?" to Jaeger.

Kynan turns to Surayya, with a smile. "I think I will find myself some lunch, if you would like to join me."

Surayya beams a smile to Kynan. "Lunch sounds a glorious idea to me," she says with a quick bob of her head.

Taleyn stays in her at-ease stance and looks to Jaeger as if for further orders.

Ithunn is still highly amused by it all.

The Gods Moon Benedict

Tue, 30 Oct 2007 23:30:56 GMT

This is part 2 of the "Let Them Use Peasants" log

Ithunn is sitting upon her pony, watching Taleyn and Jaeger talk. They are near the pass where Sebastopol called on the gods--the pass is blocked by mud and rocks, though there is lots of activity (engineers and soldiers) working on thigns. Thinking about things. Noone is actually moving rocks and stones yet.

Jaeger nods to Ithunn. "Docks at the crack of dawn. Yes." He looks down to Taleyn. "If your CO is going to be here shortly you'd best make ready for him." He draws on his reins and begins to guide his horse into turning around. "And I need to go make preparations for tomorrow."

Taleyn salutes Jaeger.

Sebastopol comes riding in on a dark gray pony with a splash of white on its face and chest. Its mane and tail are thick and heavy and it looks too small for the man, but goes willingly anyway.

Jaeger starts his horse to a trot, heading back towards the city as Seb approaches. "At ease, Ensign."

"Until tomorrow," Ithunn tells Jaeger as he leaves. She turns, spots Sebastopol, and laughs.

Taleyn at-eases. She smiles warmly at Ithunn and waves cheerily to Sebastopol.

Ithunn snorts. "Nasty thing, being under someone's command like that. Don't know how you manage it."

Taleyn had been talking to Ithunn and Sebastopol, but snaps to attention once more as Benedict comes riding up.

Benedict comes along the road, his horse stepping high despite what must have been a long journey. Given the heights of their respective mounts, if he wants to talk as equals, he's going to have to walk. "As you were," he tells Taleyn as he gets there.

Taleyn says, "Yes, Sir!" and at-eases.

"General," Ithunn nods to Benedict. "Princess Fiona was just here. She was wondering about the feasibility of carts and peasants to haul the rocks out. And about calling on the gods once more," she says with a glance in the direction of Sebastopol.

Benedict dismounts like a cavalry officer, all flash over efficiency. Still, it looks pretty. He takes that time to think, apparently, and his answer is, "I had thought that the gods did not undo their handiwork?"

Ithunn shrugs. "I can't ask them to. Seb might be able to. It's not something we've ever tried. As far as I know."

Sebastopol dismounts about the time Benedict does. He puts the pony's reins in Taleyn's hand.

Benedict does the same with his horse, although in his case he just holds them out in the air before the Ensign and leaves her to catch them as they are dropped.

Sebastopol grunts. As useful, informative answers go, it isn't.

Taleyn blinks in surprise, then she beams at Sebastopol. Just enough time for the General's reins to nearly smack her in the head, but catch them she does.

Ithunn smiles to Taleyn. "A thank you from Kitezh."

Benedict says, "Without insulting them, can you inquire?"

Sebastopol says, "Ask the Gods to clear it. Huh. You know they don't talk to me. Not like...talking."

Ithunn shrugs again. "Seb? Can you ask the gods?" She sounds one note short of sarcastic. Or maybe it's dubious. "You could try at least. Loki...wouldn't help."

Benedict gives a half-grimace to show he understands Sebastopol's problem.

Taleyn just stands and lets the others discuss gods.

The big horse isn't particularly pleased to be held, but makes the best of it, trying for Taleyn's hair.

Ithunn notes quietly, as she waits for Sebastopol to call on the gods, "He..." gesturing to the pony, "is good for breeding."

Benedict says, "He?" and turns to look at the horses, realisation of something dawning.

Taleyn is bobbing and weaving her head to keep the big horse from munching on her hair.

Sebastopol steps away from the people, toward the foot of the slide. He mutters, "Be easier if I were angry. But perhaps I can make myself angry." Really, it's not that difficult. Because....there was battle here. He fought here, died here. He lifts his arms and makes gestures with them, imperious and focused. There is an answering FLASH and CRACK of lightning and thunder. And an answering rumble, at first a patter and then a growing roar, and suddenly he is running *away* from the
foot of the slide, bellowing "RUN!"

The second rock-slide is nowhere near as big as the first, because most of the loose matter on the mountainside slid before. But it certainly does not improve the situation.

"Seb!" Ithunn yells, setting her pony to run after her brother and reaching down an arm to try to pull him up and into the saddle with her in one of those impossible moves you only see in the movies.

Benedict is already reaching out for his horse as Seb walks forward, and taking him away from Taleyn's pony, so again, it is nothing to him to gain the saddle and spur forwards. However, he spares a glance backwards for Taleyn.

Sebastopol manages to mount behind Ithunn. The sturdy little pony looks dwarfed by two adult humans, but surges forward into a valiant gallop.

Taleyn swings onto the pony's back and sets him running from the rockslide. She looks to the Sergeant, making sure he does the same.

Ithunn steers the pony perpendicular to the slide, trying to get to the side of it and not necessarily outrun it on their heavily burdened horse.

With the biggest horse there, and probably the fastest, Benedict has time to think. He jags back at the reins, pulling his horse around almost by main force, and spurs it again, on an intersect course with Ithunn's pony, the slowest-moving. He's still behind, and still for the moment clear of danger, but it looks like the Prince is heading into it.

The pony carrying Ithunn and Sebastopol is stubborn and hard-working, if nothing else, and is used to the rigors of Kitezh. So though it is slow, it shows no signs of failing. Still, they're not exactly out of danger yet. Ithunn, watchign Benedict head back into things, yells at the General. "What are you doing?!"

Benedict pulls up as Ithunn yells that, and even has time to shrug at her as if he considers his help is now un-needed.
Ithunn looks confused by Benedict's actions and now his response. She concentrates on trying to head their pony out of danger.

The landslide comes rumbling slowly to a halt, dust and dirt clouding the air. Ithunn and Sebastopol appear to be caught in a cloud of dust and maybe by the rocks for a moment, but then they ride out of it, coughing and Ithunn muttering curses. "Told you the gods wouldn't like it," she says to anyone still alive to listen.

Benedict seems unworried by the failure, and turns again. With his turn of speed, there was seldom any worry of him getting caught, and his tiger-striped horse is sure-footed, if not of Kitezh stock. As soon as he is out of danger he checks not for his Ensign, but to see if he has damaged his horse's mouth. That's a double-speed dismount with none of the flash. However, a spur of new-fallen dirt has extended between him and at least one pony, and for the moment he is cut off.

Ithunn turns her horse toward the nearby campsite which--fortunately--was not in the line of the landslide. "I'll be back later!" she calls to Benedict and Taleyn. Then, her tone very dry, "Tell Princess Fiona what the gods said." She rides off with her brother.

Taleyn rides to the others and waits for the rockslide to settle down. Realizing after a bit that Benedict isn't with them, she calls out, "General?"

Benedict lifts a hand to Ithunn, in farewell.

Of Fops and Fools

Sat, 27 Oct 2007 13:55:56 GMT

Just another night at Bloody Someone's

Manuwa is seated at a table. Well, seated is a kind assessment. Legs are akimbo and atop a chair beside him.

Ithunn is sitting at the bar, nursing a mead. Of all things.

Through the door walks the Feldane brothers, Errol and Addison, in to the same dive they were in the night before. Addison is not entirely clear why he is being dragged back to Bloody Mac's, but he heard some kind of interesting rumor and wanted to come and, at least, laugh. The bar is not so charming when one is sober, since the place a foul low-life bar and not a Gentleman's Club. And the floor is sticky.

Manuwa slips his feet to the floor, straightening his posture. "My, my, my. Gentrification in action."

Muttering to Manuwa, Ithunn shoots a quick look to Manuwa, smiles, and lifts her glass to him. "... said, Sir.... have... with..."
Ithunn does, also, glance at the Feldane brothers as they enter. She looks amused.

Errol casts a glance about as he enters, as his boots squench along the floorboards. "Ah, here we are again, Addison." He breathes deeply. "The smell of adventure."

Addison's boots squelch in the muck on the floor. "Errol, adventure smells of piss and fecundity. Is this absolutely necessary?"

With a glance that lingers on the bar, Errol replies, "Ah, yes. Absolutely. For there is Her Highness. And friend." His smile is small and favors one side. "Good evening, Your Highness," he calls.

Manuwa sniffs experimentally and noisily.

"Addison. Errol," Ithunn says, replying to both brothers. She smiles, maybe in spite of herself. "Has Taleyn found you yet?"

Addison gives Ithunn a polite smile and a doffing of his hat. It is always polite to doff one's hat, even in a dive like Bloody's. "Absolutely, your Highness. I saw her yesterday morning."

Errol blinks a bit, from the northerner to his brother. "And I...two days ago, I suppose. She has been busy with her comrades in arms." A narrowing of eyes. "Why?

Muttering to Manuwa, Ithunn turns and gives Manuwa a quick look. "... this." Then she turns back to the brothers. 'Oh, she's recruiting people to open the pass to Arden and fight the enemy that remains to still threaten us. I figured you could finally get your chance. You so seemed to want it last night.'

Manuwa quirks a brow and crosses his arms looking from one to the other.

Addison blinks and then brightens. "Is this about the rocks blocking the pass? She mentioned something to me. I suggested she looked in to some of the military equipment through House Dare. The military engineers at the House have some interesting equipment that may be of help, but it might take too long to deliver. We do have a library full of plans so if she can find a good engineer, they can build something pnuematic to help move the rocks at a faster pace. Phsyics and natural philosophy is marvelous."

Addison adds, "And, if you will, ah, excuse me. Nature calls." He bows politely and parts with his brother to head to the small passage behind the bar.

Errol begins moving toward a nearby table. "Always a sensible solution from you, Addy. But I suspect the princess, here, to be honing a finer point." He lifts a dove grey glove in a wave as the other man takes his leave.

Ithunn takes up her glass and turns from the bar to watch Errol. "Exactly my point. Will you fight? Or..." She pauses, her eyes going to the fancy hilt of Errol's sword, and she shrugs.

Manuwa says, "Interesting foreplay."

Errol stops before a chairback. Frowning, canting his head faintly, and studying Ithunn, he explains, "I must choose my battles, as befits my place here. I realize it is a world apart from your ways, and so I have extended every bit of goodwill." Perhaps a bit of worn patience in his tone. "For example, when being called a fop." His eyes drift to Manuwa, then back to Ithunn.

Ithunn gives Manuwa a sharp glance. "Never assume anything," she hisses at him as she turns back to Errol. "Don't put words in my mouth. I didn't call you a fop. Not per se. You're the one who suggested it. I am willing to listen to your side of the story, of course," she says, folding her arms across her chest.

Manuwa chuckles softly and settles back into his seat.

"You readily agreed to it, then?" Errol replies, seeming to take in her stance with one sweep of his gaze. "Were you not a lady, and a potential diplomatic crisis, you might have tasted my glove." A pause, a breath. "My side is quite simple. I am not expendable to my house."

Ithunn's tone softens and she looks into her drink. "Yes, I understand that and you do have my sincere sympathies." She takes a drink, then looks up to meet Errol's eyes. "But for the rest, I fought in Arden, sir. I fought my way out of my lands, too and fought for our lands. Your lands...you have strange restrictions on your women. But, suit yourself."

Manuwa glances from one to the other.

"And I extended my thanks, if you recall," Errol states, his chin jutting out by the smallest amount. "It may be well for the family royal to wade into battle from where you hail. And given your particular...skills, it is of little matter, for the price is negligible." He glances about. "Here, I have certain obligations, despite my own wishes for battle and glory. I must set them aside - it is as much as price as that which our women pay for their relative comfort."

Ithunn perhaps doesn't believe this--as evidenced by the flat tone which she answers in--but she nods. "I see. Well..." she hesitates, then bites her lip to continue, "my apologies, then, if I offended you. It was perhaps uncalled for."

Errol inclines his head even as it cants. "Unnecessary, but accepted. Still, I sense your doubt." He seems to sigh and consider all at once. "I propose this, then - your blade against mine to first blood. Not a duel, not a contest, but a friendly spar between acquaintances." With a lift of brows, he asks, "What do you say?"

Ithunn's eyes actually light up for half a second, but then she laughs. "Here? Now? And you trust me knowing full well what my people are famed for? It's not controllable, I warn you....."

"To first blood, only," Errol replies, a small, unbalanced smile forming. "And why not here? Chances are a bit of knife appears on any given night. If it carries on too long, we shall call it a draw before the watch arrives." A backward glance at the door. "If they even patrol *these* streets..."

For an answer, Ithunn draws her sword, turning it over a few times in her hands to examine the blade and then grinning up at Errol. "Perfectly reasonable terms." She stands up.

Manuwa clears his throat. "Your pardon, but what is the point again?"

Ithunn glances back to Manuwa. "Honor, of course. I've implied that Errol is a fop, and...well, ..." She grins.

Errol draws his side-sword with an audible scrape of blade on scabbard. With his eyes firmly afixed to Ithunn he replies, from the side of his mouth. "Just a bit of a spar, my good man. Keeping fit and trim - like that."

Manuwa grunts. "Well enough, but if either of you fall I will be stealing your purse. Just to be clear."

Errol snatches what passes for a tablecloth from an empty booth and winds it about his offarm. Knees flexing, he waits.

Ithunn snarls, suddenly angry as she answers Manuwa. "You so much as touch either of us and I won't rest until you're skewered on the end of a spear. Even.." she adds, with a dark smile, "if I'm dead." That said, she turns back to Errol, snorting as the man takes a tablecloth for a weapon, seemingly. Then she lunges forward, not attending to the niceties of dueling, just lunging as if she is looking to slice Errol in half for real, her eyes suddenly and dangerously redshot from anger.

Manuwa chuckles. "Ah, you are just as unlikeable as the first. Better not fall then."
Manuwa wrinkles his nose at the thrust. "Testy."

There's a sudden scattering of patrons from barstools and tables and a rush to the doors as the fight begins.

Errol stands his ground as if awaiting a charging bull, makeshift cape waving before him, sword an arc of polished steel reflecting the scant light as he holds it out to one side. As her swordpoint lowers, his boots pivot then dance to one side; the sound of rending fabric is perhaps drowned out by the noise of the exodus.

There's also the sound of a curse in a foreign language as Ithunn completely misses the target that is Errol. She snarls as she turns to regain her footing and renew her attack, her blade sweeping crosswise. First blood, hell--it's more like first chance at slicing Errol in half. "That's not fighting!" she snarls, her temper flaring. "That's waving around your bed clothes at me!"
Manuwa moves to the table's top and offers an approving whistle.

There's a spark as Errol parries the cross cut - if parry is the right word: he manages to *just* deflect the raging swordstroke enough that his nimble sidestep averts his premature demise. "How do they taste, then?" he retorts, making full use of the opening to slap a bit of cloth at her face with his offarm.

Manuwa slaps his knee. "I knew it was foreplay!"

Ithunn shrieks a little as the cloth winds up in her mouth and she stumbles forward blindly a step or so at the unexpected distraction. She whirls around, laughing again--a bit less derisively than before--but then Manuwa opens his mouth with his comment, and her laugh changes suddenly into a snarl. "It's *not* foreplay!" she sneers loudly--anger clearly in her eyes and also in her next attack, which unfortunately involves her trying to cleave Errol's head in half with her sword.

Manuwa slips from his perch, "I think the lady doth protest too much." My, is that a chair in his hand?

Steel flickers, and - perhaps thankful for his gloves - Errol grips his swordpoint, makeshift cloak hanging low to one side, and quickly crosschecks the next killing blow. A boot toe flickers out toward her shin before he seeks his next escape. "My good man," he calls to Manuwa as he ducks away, "Please, don't interfere."

Addison stumbles out of the bathroom after a mighty fight with his revulsion and then a mighty fight with the bathroom into a, uh, swordfight. Dear Lord. Blimey.

"Stay out of it!" Ithunn growls to Manua, even as she winces as Errol kicks her in the shin. She withdraws a few steps, limping, even, but growling again, this time to Errol. She pauses to circle him slowly.

Errol circles Ithunn in return, any trace of smarmy lordly irony gone from his eyes, gone from his mouth - leaving in its stead an expression of wary alertness. Wide brown eyes regard her, and his shoulders lift and fall with his breath. The side-sword before him wavers like a contented cat's tail.

Manuwa steps forward quickly and deftly whips the chair about, bringing it down in the direction of the lady's head.

Addison stays way far back out of the way of what is clearly a terrible fight in the middle of the pub with the rest of the people who are trapped far back out of the way of the terrible fight.

There seems to be some sort of internal struggle going on in Ithunn, if Errol could deduce that from the expression in her eyes--trying to keep it to the first blood only, trying not to let Manuwa's sneers get her angry and her anger get the best of her. She nods once to Errol, takes a step forward to try to duel with him in a proper way--instead of like a madwoman--and then SMACK!--the chair comes down on her head and she sways, in danger of passing out perhaps.

Errol moves in, perhaps instinctively - perhaps before he can even sense the squinch squench of booted feet - and takes this clear opening only to slap the side of his blade to the woman's shoulder in a silent blow. "Enough!" he calls, stepping back to sheathe his sword.
Errol lifts the tablecloth to wipe his brow.

Addison reaches into his waistcoat and feels around for a very small silver bell. He rings it, and it makes a tiny 'ding ding' sound and then he slips it back in his waistcoat.

Manuwa dances back when he notes his pearl harbor attack does not sink the Kitezhi fleet. "Hard headed she is!"

Peabody emerges from the door leading to the jakes, and looks around with dawning horror. He looks at Addison. "/Sir/."

Muttering to Peabody, Addison scoots around to the door leading to the outside and says to Peabody, "I do not... was otherwise... and... was up to... looks to... a... knock..."

Muttering to Errol, Ithunn freezes, looking at her shoulder where Errol hit it, and then back at the man. Then her eyes clear and she nods ever so slightly. "Aye. You've proved... make... as soon... I..." She turns to Manuwa and scowls. 'This isn't your fight or your business.'

Muttering to Ithunn, Errol inclines his head deeply. "Your apology... now... thanks..."

Manuwa wags a finger. "Once you were done with him, you would have torn up Manuwa’s bar!"

"Done? With me?" Errol bristles a bit, arms crossing before him and sheared tablecloth blocking his trousers.

Addison simply gives Peabody this look of 'I have absolutely no idea but someone is going to end up trouserless, I just know it.'

Muttering to Errol, Ithunn starts laughing. "... you... enjoy that?" She is grinning broadly and that expresssion holds as she reacts to Manuwa. 'What do you mean--you the owner here or something?'

Manuwa shakes his head. "I do not own this place but I claim it all the same."

Errol's bluster turns to a small but lopsided smile. "But of course, Your Highness. It is a matter of similar thoughts, but different languages to speak them." Turning, he finds first Addison, then Peabody in what remains of the crowd and starts to move that way.

Errol untwines the rent fabric from his arm as he goes and tosses it to an empty tabletop.

Addison gives his brother an utterly confused look. "Errol? I missed something. Is there a reason you were fighting in the middle of this bar? Unless you were simply taken up by the ambience and you felt you simply had to punch someone."

Peabody says, "Not an inconceivable situation, sir."

"If by 'punch', you mean 'stab', then..." Errol seems to consider, a dove grey glove lifting to his chin. "...yes, I suppose so. But it was just a spar, Addison. The house tutors are proficient, but do not always represent what we might find outside."

Addison clears his throat and says, "Of course not, Errol. I simply wasn't expecting, well. Honestly, I should have had an expectation of violence and not having one was clearly my mistake."

Ithunn snorts at Manuwa. "Well, then, you have a chair to replace. In *your* bar." She chuckles at her own joke, following a pace or two behind Errol. "This..." she answers Addison slowly, "was not violence. Far from it. It was...a discussion."

Errol glances from Addison to Ithunn, nodding. "She has the long and short of it. We disagreed on a number of points and chose to speak with actions rather than words." He hoists up a grin. "Think of it as a physical argument."

Manuwa begins to laugh, a throaty and deep thing. "Foreplay."

Errol glances sidelong to Ithunn. "Don't. We'd have to explain to the watch. And rinse him off the floor." He winces.

Addison says a very terse little, "Ah. Hmmm." It's a moment where he sounds like Irene. Then he adds, "Well, did all the issues get worked out to satisfaction?"

Ithunn does turn, giving Manuwa a sharp glance, but she holds her words at Errol's suggestion. "It's a pity that the likes of him interfered, or we could have had a more intelligent argument."

Manuwa spews rasberries as he settles into his seat, brown eyes dancing.

Errol's eyes find Peabody first, then Addison. "I am pleased. I have no further issues with Her Highness."

Addison suggests mildly, "Errol, perhaps we should repair home before you have any more issues that need discussing to satisfaction."

Peabody says, "Not for the least reason, sir, that there are more conducive places to rational discourse."

Ithunn seems amused by this from Addison. "But I see you have your manservant tonight to escort you home. So you won't need me to accompany you again? Or perhaps not even Errol? I'm sure he and I could find many more things to talk about." She rolls her eyes at the sounds made by Manuwa.

Manuwa grasps his drink and takes a hearty swig.

Errol turns to sketch a bow to Ithunn. "My brother's idea is splendid. I believe I owe him a go at dominoes, besides. Good evening, Your Highness."

Addison says diplomatically, "I am not three sheets to the wind tonight, your Highness. I thank you for your assistance for the other night."

Ithunn turns briefly to look at the crowd that remains in the bar, then frowns. "I'll take my leave as well, come to think of it," she says, turning to nod at Addison. "Anytime, sir."

Manuwa twiddles his fingers as he sinks lower in his chair. "You all come back now."

Addison turns to Peabody. "I would like to return home."

Errol rests a dove grey glove on the hilt of his side-sword as he swaggers toward the door. "Come, then. Before we find the morrow vacilating."

Peabody says, "Very good, sir."

A Little List

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 18:00:43 GMT

A list written in a careful, feminine hand on a piece of parchment. Quill and parchment left carelessly on a writing desk in the Kitezh embassy, as if the writer was interrupted:

-Tristan....Jaeger??
-Call on Byrony
-Bride prices in Amber
-Ask Taleyn about Fiamme
-Viktor: how strange the songs?

Tristan, Stableboy

Sun, 14 Oct 2007 13:26:21 GMT

Ithunn is outside the ranger outpost, sitting on a log, checking the blade of her sword and frowning at it.

Sebastopol stalks past Ithunn. His hands are at the small of his back, and clenched. He's frustrated and bored again, never a good sign. But he has seemingly deliberately left his blades in his tent, with occasional furtive and irritable glances toward Jaeger's tent.

Off in the distance, the sound of something running fast through the grass - closer to the camp, a large brown and black stallion gallops near the edge. There is yelling off in the distance, as if someone was yelling at the horse - perhaps getting it to stop, from the desperate tone.

Sebastopol glances in the direction of the hoofbeats, then toward the picket lines. But his own pony doesn't have the mass to make those kinds of hoofbeats. He looks back toward the sound, and the shouting.

Ithunn looks up at the sound, giving it no thought for a second, then blinking and looking up once more. "Not again..." She stands up and sheaths her sword. Then takes steps, determined and quick, toward the sound of the yelling, mumbling something to herself.

And the horse is gone, galloping and making a sound strangely close to laughter, green leaves and branches waving and dancing off in the distance. And the young man that is Tristan is seen shortly after, stopping on the outskirts, panting, waving his hand. He says two words, colorful and exhausted: "Fuck it."

Ithunn stands, hands on her hips, watching Tristan approach the group. They are outside the Ranger Outpost, Tristan panting and cursing, but also waving as he approaches. "You..." Ithunn smirks at him. She rolls her eyes.

Taleyn approaches from the direction of the Oisen. Looking around purposefully, she espies Ithunn and walks toward her.

Taleyn hails Ithunn. "Is Jaeger here at present? Knight Commander Kincaid has sent me to retrieve a report.
Taleyn looks at Tristan, her expression suggesting she wonders if he is all right. Her dainty brows arch in concern.

Looking at his horse galloping off in the distance, now a tail, a nicker and a scrambling of a rush, Tristan sighs. He straightens, and looks over at the others, running his hand through his hair.

Ithunn turns to Taleyn, her mouth open and her expression suggesting she's about to answer with some sort of smartass remark. She apparently changes her mind when she recognizes Taleyn, her eyes going over the woman's uniform. "Don't know" she mutters flatly. "I don't spend my days tagging after Jaeger..." She glances back to Tristan. "You have the worst luck with horses."

Sebastopol grunts, leaving Ithunn to talk to Taleyn and Tristan. He goes to the picket line, mounts a pony that looks scarcely big enough to carry him, and heads off after the runaway, much larger, horse.

Taleyn nods to Ithunn in acknowledgement of her words. Then she turns to Tristan and bows with smooth politeness a little more courtly than military. "Milord, I've not had the pleasure. I am Taleyn Feldane. Are you assigned here as a Ranger?"

Ithunn snickers, muttering mostly to herself, "No, he's stableboy here."

Tristan coughs after a moment and looks at Taleyn. "Stableboy?" He squints at her.

Ithunn nods quickly. "Yes, he's learning how to handle the horses. Has a long way to go," she says with a shrug of her shoulder. "But he'll get there," she smiles at Tristan.

Taleyn smiles warmly. "It's good to learn new skills. Welcome to the front."

Ithunn frowns briefly as she watches Sebastopol ride off, but then glances at Taleyn and returns her smile. "Yes, you know these young boys. Fresh out of schooling. Can't find their way around the forest. Pampered all their lives and don't know the first thing about handling horses." She's glancing briefly at Tristan as she speaks, seemingly quite amused at something.

Tristan straightens, coughing and saying, "They've been quite nice to me." He glances at the horse. "I'm sorry about the horse, Mistress."
Rather, he glances at the torn brush the horse left.

Tristan sends Ithunn a glance that could wilt a dead tree.

"I could..." Ithunn begins with only the barest hint of a smile and that only in her eyes, "call your horse back for you. You know how fickle ...animals can be, though..."

Taleyn chuckles at Ithunn's jibe. "Not to worry, Milord, she's talking about me as well, I fear. It builds character. So I hear." She grins good-naturedly. "Rather nice horse, that," she says, looking in the direction of the horse's passage.

"My Lady Telayn." He offers a gloved hand and says, "Tristan of Weirmonken. I've had the pleasure of meeting the Mistress."

Ithunn blinks now, defintely looking confused. "Talking about you?" she says to Taleyn.

Taleyn 's manners switch effortlessly from army to courtly and she extends her hand in said manner. "Delighted to meet you, Milord. Where is Weirmonken? I've not heard of it." She smiles cordially, and her eyes alight with curiosity. To Ithunn, she adds, "I had thought you were referring to our first meeting, at which I dared wear a dress." Her eyes twinkle.

He takes the hand, lowering in a bow politely mimicking the kissing of her hand though he doesn't actually make any contact. "It's here and there. In my case, it's where you choose to bring home to you." Tristan straightens and says, "My horse doesn't like me."

"Oh!" Ithunn grins to Taleyn. "Yes, well...I did make some assumptions based on your dress, didn't I?" She clears her throat and shrugs before Tristan's comment draws her attention. "That, I would say, is quite the understatement. Every time I see you, you seem to be chasing the damned beast through the woods. The thing has a mind of its own, I dare say. Nasty sense of humor."

Sebastopol comes riding back now, his pony looking foolish and shaggy beside the larger horse that trails along behind.

Taleyn grins. "I've a friend who sings to her horses. Works like a charm."
Taleyn adds to Ithunn, "An understandable assumption, really. I think more people judge on exteriors than care to admit it."

Ithunn glances up as Sebastopol comes riding back. "My brother, on the other hand, has a way with animals. Quite sensible, indeed." She smiles to Taleyn. "Oh yes. I sing to my pony sometimes." She hums a bit of a tune quietly to herself, though it's only about four notes long.

Tristan glances over, and blinks. He blinks a lot, and looks at the horse, and then looks at Sebastopol, then Ithunn, then Taleyn. He seems rather stunned that the horse, rather comfortable and trotting along, though it nickers perhaps mockingly at Tristan before trotting to Ithunn.

Taleyn 's smile brightens at Ithunn's tune. "Lovely. I was in the middle of composing a tune for the Knights of the Oisen to stir them for battle." She thinks a moment. "You and your brother are from the North country, yes?" She turns to Sebastopol with a bow. "Nice to meet you. Taleyn Feldane, Ensign."

"Oh right, Feldane, the ones with the armor," Ithunn nods to Taleyn. "May I present my brother, Prince Sebastopol, Thane of the Northlands in Kitezh." She reaches out one hand gently to the horse as it approaches her, talking to it quietly in a soothing voice. "You're a strong-willed thing, aren't you? Stronger than your owner over there, I'd imagine..." She glances at Tristan.

Sebastopol dismounts, although it doesn't make him look any shorter, and leads pony and horse over to the assembly. He hands the horse's rein to Tristan. "I believe you lost something?"

The horse continues to ignore Tristan, biting at Ithunn's hair playfully.

Tristan looks at the horse, and mutters, "Thanks." Though he glances back to Ithunn. Back to freezing fire, with that gaze.

Tristan asks Taleyn, "How is Feldane these days?"

Taleyn brightens at the mention of the armor. "Yes, my team is testing it at the Oisen! We've got a lot of waiting, fighting, and report-writing in front of us before the next design, I think." Her eyes sparkle at the prospect. "Prince Sebastopol, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She smiles. Then, turning to Tristan at his mention of Feldane, her brows go up and she says, "Ah, you keep up with the Houses, Milord? We are well, thanks, but of course quite, er, squeezed by the war effort, to hear the Duchess talk of it." She grins.

Taleyn eyes Tristan's colors suspiciously. "You aren't, perchance, son of the King, are you?" She laughs. "Once again, I am the lowest-ranked individual in the company!"

Ithunn doesn't seem put off by Tristan's icy gaze at all. In fact, she lifts her chin higher and gives a little sniff of disdain, then turns and deliberately begins cooing at his horse, even singing some of the same bit of song again--this time there are hints of words and they're definitely not in Thari. Or in the language of Kitezh. "Jaeger said armor will only clang and give your position away in the woods," she notes offhandedly to Taleyn.

"There are only so many colors in the rainbow, my Lady." Tristan glances at Taleyn, perhaps not wanting to see the horse's continued brand of loyalty to Ithunn.

"Does he have a name? The horse, I mean," Ithunn asks Tristan, still petting the animal's nose softly. "Seeing how unsuited he is to being a stable boy," she continues to Taleyn, "perhaps he should just take care of my pony. To learn on something smaller."

Taleyn nods at Ithunn's words. "Jaeger is quite right. That's why we're testing on the field with the Knights. The plan is-- eventually-- to have barding so we can ride down that Black Road and right down the throats of our Enemy." She suppresses a giggle at the horse and pony antics, then asks Tristan, "Tell me, Milord, what was your major field of study in school?"

Sebastopol nods his head at Taleyn's greeting, but for once in his life stays silent.

"Horse shoe making." He looks at Sebastopol and then Ithunn. "I really feel like I am somewhat. . . out of place here. I need to stable the . . . . horse." He takes the reins, and says to Sebastopol, muttered, "Thanks." And then he goes to stable the horse.

Ithunn watches Tristan go with a small "hmph." "I suppose he'll make a decent stable boy at some point or another," she shrugs. "So," she continues to Taleyn, "just what are you planning to do that will let you ride down the throat of the enemy?"

Sebastopol mutters, "And where exactly is the enemy's throat, in all this wide destruction?"

Taleyn gazes after Tristan. "What an odd lad," she remarks. "Oh, the design of the armor is special-- it shunts the corruptive force of the Road away from the wearer. We need to work out how to get it modified for horses. As to where it is," she shakes her head, "that is up to others with greater expertise than I possess to work out." Her eyes sparkle with the challenge, however, and she looks keen to try.

Ithunn hmms, giving Sebastopol a quick look. "I wonder if it would..." she starts, not finishing her thought. "But of course, Ma'am," she continues to Taleyn, "you'd have to test it out. On all sorts of conditions. To see if it worked."

Taleyn nods. "Indeed. This is only the beginning. But my team and I will see it through to the end."

Ithunn gives Taleyn's uniform the once over. "Where are you enlisted? It's a recent thing? Last I saw, you were in a dress."

Sebastopol says nothing. What Taleyn must think of him...!

Taleyn smiles. "Oh, I had already joined the Army by that time but hadn't been assigned yet. I'm under Knight-Commander Kincaid at the Oisen, though I'm not a member of the order of knights."

Ithunn shakes her head. "Never heard of 'em," she says flatly. She glances at her brother and frowns, but perhaps knows better than to disturb him when he's this quiet.

Taleyn just nods. "A fine band of soldiers. How do you like it here with the Rangers?"

"Oh, they're all right enough," Ithunn answers. "Even if Jaeger is a bit of a grump."

Taleyn smirks good-naturedly. "He is that! But he does his job, and I admire that. Speaking of whom, I must go in search of him to get that report." She bows, military-style, to both Sebastopol and Ithunn in turn. "Pleasant evening to you both." With a warm grin, she continues on her way.

War in Kitezh Part 2

Sun, 23 Sep 2007 14:24:23 GMT

Black Ice Forest
Several hours later, and the group has reached the edge of the battle--or at least what remains of it. The attackers have retreated for the moment, but the injured and half dead are everywhere.

Sebastopol says, "We need to get the bodies away. Did not the men say, of Jenth, that he lay on the ice and awoke there in the morning?"

Ithunn surveys the scene, all the color gone from her face. "He did," she says softly. "If they die on the road itself, they wake up deformed and mad. What do we do, Seb?" she asks, desperation in her tone.

Sebastopol says, "We pull them *off*. If they die off it....maybe they just die. Maybe they don't get deformed. Maybe we *try* it. Can it be worse, really, if we try it?"

Ithunn shakes her head, shivering, but not from the supernatural cold by the road. "All right. We pull them off," she agrees. She dismounts her horse, waving a hand to draw up the men standing behind them. "You heard what we said," she says. "Let's get to it before the sun comes up."

Sebastopol does not disarm himself, but goes to work with his weapon at his side. Even though there are no live enemies in sight, he's clearly uneasy, uncomfortable on the unnatural surface of the black ice, agitated.

There is a particularly thick fog even further north of where the group is working, and as the sun starts to come up, the mists clear. Up ahead in the distance it's clear that the battle still rages--the sounds reaching them only now as the mists part. Men of Kitezh can be seen fighting with lizard-men with dark-blue skin, clad for war in black armored harnesses and bearing strange swords of a triple-blade configuration designed to bind and break swords. The lizard soliders are accompanied by a form of creature that local Kitezh folklore terms "ala": three-headed giant snakes the size of a horse with vestigial wings and a terrible aspect. A figure can be seen fighting one of these things falling back steadily against it, the ala crushing the man with its powerful, poisonous bite, though the man--clearly a bezerker--fights on.

It's strange--the Kitezh warrior has a vaguely familiar aspect to him. His stance, his arrogance in battle, the colors he wears, though they are blood stained. And as the mists clear, this scene becomes clearer as well, until Ithunn--who had paused from her work of dragging bodies off the road to stare at the fight--screams.

Sebastopol pauses in his efforts, labored and exhausting, to look where Ithunn is looking. Then he bellows loudly and begins to run - armor-clad as he still is - toward the distant man and his ala foe. "VIKTOR!" is his battle-cry.

Ithunn is frozen to the spot for only a moment, then she, too, runs, following her brother and drawing her sword as she runs. The ala has gained the upper hand in the fight against this warrior, though. It slashes its tail, dragging the man's feet out from under him, then with a terrible bite, it sinks its teeth into the man, its bite and poison claiming him. The warrior falls, clearly still on the black road--but the mists swirl, closing in upon the scene one last time before dawn, throwing everything into chaos and confusion.

Sebastopol is nearly berzerk himself, by the time the mist swirls up. It's a bad thing to be berzerk in a thick fog, where one cannot see anything, and where anyone coming up - friend or foe - is likely to be attacked.

"Seb! Sebastopol!!" Ithunn screams, repeating her brother's name and lunging to grab him by the arm to try to shake him to his senses. "The sun! The dawn. Find Viktor! Hurry!" She gives her brother a rough shove and plunges into the mist, pulling bodies off the road as fast as she is able to.

Sebastopol can barely process this information. But Ithunn is out of his reach before he can attack her, and then muzzily he grasps what she is doing, and the berzerker energy powers him, and he too is pulling people off the road. Then he finds the body he is looking for, and drags it off the black ice just as the sun's first rays peek over the edge of the mountains.

Ithunn is exhausted, hysterical, pulling bodies off, turning over dead and wounded searching for Viktor. When the sun comes up she is spent, weeping, surrounded by bodies, none of them Viktor. She glances to her brother.

Sebastopol is silent, rocking over the body of someone apparently not blooded enough to revive with the light of day. His anguish is complete, his eyes bloodshot, his emotions torn between a great and utter loss, and the rage that wants to fight and kill but can find no outlet.

Ithunn scrambles toward Sebastopol, half crawling and tripping over bodies in her haste to get to him. "Is it?" she asks, nearly holding her breath as she tries to get a look at the man's face. "Viktor?"

Sebastopol does not reply. Possibly, he doesn't even register her words. But in his rocking, the face of the man whose head rests on Sebastopol's lap may be seen. Lordly indeed he may have fought - if it *was* him they saw - but it is not Viktor.

"Seb. Seb," Ithunn says softly, putting one hand on her brother's shoulder. "It's not him. It's not Viktor," she whispers. "Look."

Sebastopol looks down, eventually. It takes a long time for the information to sink in. Ithunn will *see* it sink in, though. His rocking slows. His eyes begin to lose their bloodshot look. And a long time after that, when the morning sun is casting long, long shadows, he says, "But I saw him."

Ithunn nods and looks to the dead bodies that are strewn across the black road, some starting to rise while groups of armed men struggle to restrain them somehow in the hopes that a cure can be found for the bloodlust sickness and the terrible wounds. "I did, too. He's there somewhere. Maybe..." she frowns, "taken their captive." She gets to her feet. "Seb, we've got to go find him. Follow them. If they have Viktor, or if he's wounded and cursed by this ice?"

Sebastopol staggers to his feet, but he leans down to close the dead man's eyes. "I won't think about that."

Ithunn gets to her feet with Sebastopol, sighing heavily. "And so we follow them?"

Sebastopol says, "We can do no less."

Sebastopol says, "Unless we meet him, or find his remains, before then."

Scouting the Invasion--War in Kitezh Part 1

Sun, 23 Sep 2007 14:22:42 GMT

Black Ice Forest
Deep in the wilds of the White Mountains, the forest suddenly and abruptly ends. The white trees and the blinding snow give way to a wide swath of thick ice, so black and cold that the sun's rays neither melt it nor reflect off it to provide any illumination. There are almost no signs of life in this section of the mountains, save for a few mangled birch trees that poke up from the ice, their bark turned black as if burned, and the carcasses of one or two forest animals, hideously misshapen and blackened. The only sound here is the constant howling of the wind, which serves only to heighten the particularly brutal cold of this area.

It's not long from when Ithunn and Sebastopol arrive in the harbor until they are part of a force traveling into the mountains to assess the situation and fight if need be. The group is large--maybe 100 strong--and travels slowly but steadily, so that they are halfway to their destination by mid-day, high in the mountains. They break for a short meal, and it's at this point that the sound of approaching hoofbeats can be heard.

Sebastopol speaks little, and is a grim companion, a frightening spectre. The group's ponies hear the coming horse first, ears and heads turning toward the sound. One or two whinny.

Swords are drawn and crossbows and weapons readied, several of the men pushing Ithunn and her pony back behind them. But then the riders come into view--two riders, one whose pony drags a pallet with a bloodied and bandaged man behind him.

The riders do appear to be armed, though, and have their weapons drawn.

Sebastopol stands in his stirrups. Unfortunately this doesn't really give the desired effect, as this makes him little taller than if he were not mounted at all - the sturdy Northern ponies really are not very tall. "Hail! Who comes there! Speak friend, or die fighting!"

One of the men spits. "Already halfway dead or near so, and better dead here in the sunlight than on the blasted ice. We're Thane Jenth's men, and there--" he jerks a thumb to the injured man behind him on the pallet, "is Jenth." The man is not only injured, he's bound to the pallet and his hands and feet are bound. "If you can call that hellbeast Jenth anymore."

Sebastopol dismounts. He eyes the men warily as he approaches, his pony trailing obediently after him. "What has happened to him, and would he be better dead than as he is, or can he be healed?"

Ithunn follows behind her brother, but stays on her pony.

The men both eye Sebastopol, answering with a grunt. "Dead he was. Bitten clean through and poisoned by that mystical snake. Fell in the black road, and we didn't get him out of there in time before the sun rose. It's a cursed sun, I tell you. The dead awake like they should, but their wounds are terrible, not healed. Cursed and perverted, still with open wounds and dripping with blood. And the worst..." he shudders, frowning deeply.

Sebastopol says, "Can he speak. Can he tell us anything?"
Sebastopol draws his blade as he asks this. His business is death, and he is all business, now.
"No!" the second man says, shaking his head. "Don't wake him--he's..he can't talk," he says, evasively. "Too injured. He's got to be kept knocked out like this."

Sebastopol says, "Can he *heal*. Does anyone know? Can he come to himself, and *tell* us anything, if not now, then in some few days? If he wakes, does he seek to fight the enemy, or has something else happened?"

The two men look at each other, one finally replying. "Something else," he says darkly. "We don't know if he can heal. The warriors who fall on the black ice and are there when the sun comes up--when the sun rises, they rise, wounds not healed. And...more terrible, the bloodlust is there in them, berserk. But they kill anything and everything in their sight. Friends. Foes. Children. It doesn't matter. That's why we knocked the Thane out. We seek a cure...or we'll kill him again here and see if the sun lets him rise."

Sebastopol grits his teeth audibly, and turns to Ithunn. "It is your call, my Heart. But by my counsel, we kill him now, lest he injure more of our own fighters in his madness."

Ithunn glances at the men, the injured thane, then Sebastopol, and her jaw sets in a stubborn line. "No. Take them to Cosimo's ship, at the docks. Tell Cosimo that I sent them and that he is to do whatever is necessary. Whatever it takes. We'll go on from here and see how bad it really is."

Sebastopol says, "If it comes to that, have him throw the man over the side. What experience have those of Amber with *our* people at the height of the blood-lust?"

Ithunn smiles. "None. But he'll go onto Cosimo's ship and be Cosimo's problem, no, Brother?"

Sebastopol's following laugh has no hint of humor in it. "Then your negotiations with him as an ally went poorly, did they?"

Ithunn snorts and spurs her pony on, causing her guards to curse and jump on their horses to follow her suddenly.

News of War Arrives

Sun, 23 Sep 2007 14:20:51 GMT

Harbor-Kitezh

The trip to the north has lasted a week, possibly more, one blinding white day in the wilderness blurring into the next. Finally, though, brother and sister decide the journey must end--or Sebastopol decides that his sister is however tough he suspected that she was or wasn't--and the pair painstakingly make their way back to the heart city. So it is that they arrive in the city before dawn, intending to make their way to the castle via the entrance from the harbor. As soon as they reach the harbor, though, it's clear that something is amiss. Ships from upriver are docked at nearly every anchorage, men in arms and supplies spilling off of them, the harbor crowded with obvious preparations for war.

Sebastopol mutters fierce obscenities under his breath. Whatever he was hoping for upon arrival - long last and with mild frostbite on previously-injured extremities - this was certainly not it.

Ithunn pulls her horse up short, the shock of coming upon this scene clearly evident on her face. "What is this?" she asks, spurring her pony again to carefully make her way down into the fray in the harbor. She doesn't have to wait long for an answer: Although some of the local thanes may not recognize her, bundled in protection against the northlands as she is still, her own guards and advisors recognize her pony, and soon a small group is thundering up toward Ithunn and her brother. "My lady!" comes the call as they approach.

Sebastopol dismounts, dragging off his hood and loosening the collar of his heavy coat. "What's going on? What's all this about? Under whose authority is this muster?"

The advisors give a brief glance at Sebastopol, and there's the shock of recognition on their faces, but they address Ithunn, one grey bearded man doing the speaking. "Princess," he bows to her, then a bow to Sebastopol as well. "We've had search parties out looking for you for days, but your tracks were erased by the fresh snows. There is trouble right in our lands, Highness. War in your lands."

Sebastopol snarls, "Viktor."

Ithunn snaps her head around to stare at Sebastopol, going white. "What's the situation, Sven?" she asks, dismounting. "Viktor has attacked? Where? How many men?"

Sebastopol snarls, "I'll kill him, this time, and he'll never come back. How DARE he, while we've been gone....!"

Ithunn laughs, a little derisively. "Honestly, Seb--it was the perfect opportunity. If it were you, wouldn't you have done the same? Strike while your siblings are off on some pleasure trip and not thinking of their own defenses, necessarily." She turns back to her advisors, awaiting their explanation.

The one called Sven nods and speaks. "Highness, it's like nothing we've ever seen. It started 4 days ago with a coldness settled over the villages 2 hours to the north in the Mountains. Like nothing in living memory or in the tales of our lands, even, they say. And then a mist--it came with the cold, settling over the mountains, lingering in the dawn. The forest there..." He pauses to shake his head. "Viktor has the Gods behind him. The power of the Gods. The forest has gone to ice. Black ice."

Sebastopol pauses. His eyes are hard, but confusion seems to have stalled him where he stands. "Ice? In the Southlands? Why would he destroy his own in such a way?"

Sven stares at Sebastopol, his voice ice as he replies. "As for as I know, the ice is in the heartland mountains. I have not seen Viktor's lands. Unpleasant ice it is too, Highness," he continues to Ithunn. "Thick, black stuff, reflective like obsidian. It covers everything--the ground, the trees. Slick, and when it melts, greasy. It's cursed, Highness," he whispers, making a sign to ward off evil. "Viktor has aligned with Loki or the Giants."

Sebastopol says, "Viktor's not a fool. It sounds more as though the Gods are against him, not for him. What point would he have in destroying the richness of his own lands, merely for the sake of gaining others?"

Ithunn purses her lips. "No, he's no fool. I could see him burning our crops to starve us out, but freezing the lands with a foul black ice? It sounds like a curse of the Gods, yes."

"Aye, Highness," Sven nods, "but there's more. Our scouts have reports of troops moving through the forest on this ice--quick moving troops. when the sun rises and the mists dissolve, they attack the villages closest to this ice, killing all they come upon. Even warriors with many years of battle upon them. And the ice is spreading, like a river nearly--the land icing over in black as the ice moves. Like a river with a current," he repeats, then spits on the ground. "It's cursed, I tell you."

Sebastopol says, "Then we will fight them. We have ways of our own. And we will call upon the Old Gods, ourselves, and see if they will answer."

"Aye, Lord," Sven says, reflexively responding the way he might have to Aubric, under whom he also served. He clears his throat as he realizes his mistake, and looks at Ithunn. "Highness, there is more. Viktor, for it seems to be him, has called down the ala, the three-headed snakes the size of a horse that the old crones tell of in tales of the winter's fire. And the ala are accompanied by soldiers that are more lizard than men, their skin blue, their swords a triple blade that binds and break swords."

Sebastopol says, "But against whom are they sent? Against whom do they *fight*? Do they fight our own people? or the enemies invading our lands?"

Sven shakes his head. "They don't say, Lord. They invade, they march through our lands. And every morning when the mists clear, the ala and the soldiers invade, the ala terrible to behold. We're mustering to meet them head on, stop the road in its tracks. With your leave of course, Highness," he nods to Ithunn, who nods her agreement to this.

***************************************

It's now some time after Ithunn and Sebastopol first came to the harbor. The two siblings made their way to the castle after being briefed by Ithunn's advisors on what looks to be an impending war. Ithunn spends only a short time in the castle, though, and comes back to the harbor without Sebastopol. At that point, Cosimo's ship docks--a man of war with guns, its gunports closed (though standard gunpowder does not work in Kitezh). Cosimo and his daughter disembark and meet Ithunn, who greets them as honored guests, and offers them guest quarters in her fortress. The three then separate to attend to their own affairs.

Now, it is nearly sunset, and for the third time, Ithunn is back in the harbor. She stands by the docks, discussing the war preparations with several lesser thanes and a few advisors.

Cosimo can be seen walking toward the harbor from the direction of the market, flanked by two men-at-arms in gold and black livery. The dying sun's light darkening the hue of their raiment.

Sebastopol stalks down from the castle. He wears his sword now. And one of those helmets, the kind with horns on. Somehow, it doesn't look laughable on him, not now; maybe not ever. Sven may be seen trying to turn him back for perhaps a third of the distance, but then the man gives up - visibly, even at this distance, with his hands upflung - and retreats to the castle again. But Sebastopol continues toward the docks.

Ithunn has changed her clothing as well, wearing a sword and carrying a helmet helmet, though without horns, and a metal breastplate. "Lord de'Mandrake," she says, nodding and walking toward him as he approaches. But then she sees Sebastopol's approach and her face goes visibly pale.

Cosimo nears Ithunn and stops, presenting a courtly flourish with his right hand as he leans forward on his right leg, bowing slightly forward. His hose and the motion flatters his calves. He says with an amiable, though firm, voice, "Duke, your highness. I am a Duke of Amber, not a lord." His smile seems sincere as he stands upright and turns his regard from Ithunn to Sebastopol's approach. His two men-at-arms stand mutely at remove.

Sebastopol's feet crunch gravel as he approaches. He says "Sister, my Heart. And who might you be, Lord of this boat at the docks?"

Ithunn clears her throat, her eyes a little wider at Cosimo's courtly greeting. "Brother, may I present Duke Cosimo de'Mandrake. Of Amber," she notes, emphasizing that. "He and his daughter, I believe, docked here to reprovision. Duke, my brother, Prince Sebastopol. Thane of the Northlands."

Cosimo turns to face Sebastopol with full regard, and his amiable demeanor does not subside. He mirrors the courtly flourish and the slight bowing motion over his right leg which exposes its calve. He remarks with a seemingly cordial tone, "Your highness."

Sebastopol says, "Duke Cosimo. I'm sure you and your crew are welcome here, to such provisions as we may provide. Though it is my sister here who speaks for Kitezh. She is its Heart."

Privately, to Sebastopol, Ithunn tries to hide an expression of distaste at Cosimo's overly flourished manners.

Ithunn simply nods. "Yes, they are welcome here. Though I'm afraid that with the preparations for war, our hospitality may fall short."

Cosimo pointedly glances at the armor worn by the prince and princess with whom he speaks before glancing to Ithunn. He says, "Your market is rife with such rumors." He once more flourishes his right hand about, this time in an encompassing motion. He smiles wryly, "Though these preparations certainly need no rumors to remark upon them." He then continues, "But I must profess a curiosity about this war, if you are inclined to share such knowledge with my House."

Sebastopol folds his arms across his stocky chest. He says "This is not a thing to discuss here upon the docks. But in the castle, I think, over mead and ale and roast meat."

Ithunn snorts a little as her brother makes this decision, though she is the ruler in these parts. "So be it," she nods, gesturing for the men to follow her to the castle. She sets a brisk pace.

Sebastopol says, "As you are of Amber, and Amber has dealings here in our lands, I see no reason you cannot know. Perhaps you may know some small detail to help us."

Cosimo eyes Ithunn's speedy trek toward the fortress. He spares a glance to Sebastopol as he comments, "What little I know I have gleaned from the rumors in the marketplace, but I shall be happy to share such with you." He then follows Ithunn, though his pace is nowhere near as hurried. One might even call his pace dignified. His two men-at-arms resume their following of his person.

Ithunn spins on her heels at Sebastopol's comment, her eyes flashing. "Brother," she says to him sweetly. "You forget your place. We are in the Heart, and I am effectively Queen here."

Sebastopol mocks Ithunn with a bow not unlike Cosimo's, right down to the calf. "Sister. You have the right of it, and I the wrong."

Cosimo continues to walk forward toward the fortress, if his path is not blocked. He is either oblivious are polite, for he does not deign to regard the byplay between the thanes.

Ithunn brushes by Cosimo, nearly knocking into him in her haste to get to her brother. She reaches out to try to slap him across the face as he stands.

Cosimo does stop to make way for the princess.

Sebastopol does not jerk away in time. Perhaps he means to take the blow; perhaps he means to force her to give it in front of this visitor. Perhaps he just isn't fast enough. There is a resounding *smack*, and only then does he straighten, livid color leaping to outline the shape of Ithunn's hand on his scarred cheek. He does not smile, does not offer apology, does not look away from her. But in a moment, he steps back, drops back, permits Ithunn to lead on, and then Cosimo and his men, and only then himself, last.

Cosimo studies the nails of his left hand. He seems intrigued.

Ithunn steps back as if she expects a response from her brother and when there is none, there's confusion on her face. She shakes her head and leads on, looking back now nad then to her brother. "My apologies," she murmurs to Cosimo as she passes the man.

Cosimo resumes his pace in following Ithunn. His men-at-arms the same, but as to him.

Sebastopol stays back out of slapping-reach, a silent shadow. A silent, heavily-armed, helmed, and violent-looking shadow, but at least a silent one.

--[ Stone Fortress ]--------------------------------------------[ Kitezh ]----

There's fires blazing in the hearth in the castle when the three arrive, and meats roasting and great mugs of mead set out on the tables. Ithunn gestures for Cosimo and Sebastopol to make themselves comfortable and help themselves to food at the largest of the tables, but she sets aside her helmet and breastplate before she herself sits down at one of the long benches to feast. She keeps her sword on.

Cosimo stops some measure of steps in to the hearth room of the castle, his men-at-arms in their gold and black livery standing back near a wall. He looks about and comments with an amiable enough tone, "Your highness, do you know the whereabouts of my dearest? The last I spied her she was accepting your hospitality of this place."
Cosimo looks at Ithunn with a smile.

Sebastopol removes his own helmet, and places it on one of the long tables, then seats himself with mead and meat.

Ithunn waves her hand off in the direction of one of the hallways. "The guest quarters are down that way," she says. "I'll send a servant to fetch her."

Elya enters moments after the Duke finishes his question. Behind her, two of her female guardians trail with hands resting on ornamental swords. The Lady herself is undecorated, but adorns herself with a smile upon the sight of Cosimo. "My Lord," she says, moving to his side to kiss his cheek, "I have been seeing to the disposition of your quarters."

Cosimo places a hand in the air between himself and Elya and comments, "My dearest, you must remember as we return to Amber that I am your Duke." He smiles affectionately to her. "Though I can remain your lord in private, if you wish." He then lowers his hand and presents his cheek to Elya.

Ithunn smiles, her voice smooth as she speaks. "And so you've found each other. I trust that your quarters were to your liking?" she address Elya. "Come, join us for a meal. I believe that the Duke had news from the marketplace. My brother, Prince Sebastopol--" she gestures to him--"and I just arrived back from a trip and were saddened to hear news of a sudden and impending war in our lands."

Privately, to Sebastopol, Ithunn's voice has that flowery, courtly sound that mimics Cosimo's bow, perhaps.

Elya looks suitably abashed. "Of course, my Duke. Forgive me?" She offers him a contrite look that borders on the comical on a face so naturally somber. As added incentive, she gives him another kiss. "But please, don't let me interrupt such important discussion. The quarters are exactly as to be expected, your highness. Prince Sebastopol, it is an honor." She clenches a fist over her heart and gives a quarter bow.

Sebastopol nods to the lady. But there is a certain curt sullen hint to his attitude, and he resumes drinking right away. There are the fading marks of a full-handed slap, on his cheek.

Cosimo smiles a cherishing smile to Elya and says, "Dearest, there is nothing to forgive." He then looks to their hosts and then the tables and then about. Coming to a conclusion of some sort, he walks with decisiveness to a seat at a long table in proximity to Ithunn and Sebastopol.

Ithunn is already sitting and she gestures Elya to do likewise. Her eyes follow Sebastopol, though, and the smile on her face seems increasingly false. "Brother," she says, finally, getting up. "Let me get you some soup."

Elya follows in Cosimo's wake, moving forward to pull out a chair for him. After he is seated, and only then, does she look for a seat to claim as her own. Her guards form up nearby, eyes scanning the room at high alert.

Sebastopol mutters, "Thank you, my Heart." If he didn't sound so gruff, it might be some sort of twisted endearment.

Cosimo looks between Sebastopol and Ithunn, "So I gather that you are worried about spies with regard to your recent conflagration? Or simply adding unduly to the rumors which burden your markets?" He smiles.

Sebastopol says, "No, it's not spies that worry me. Unless they take up arms, I suppose. We're under attack. It seems our brother Viktor has been dabbling in...something.....strange."

Elya finally decides upon a chair and, being as how nobody seems to be doing it for her, seats herself. She politely folds her hands over her lap and studies the room, while lazily half-paying attention to the conversation.

Ithunn looks with dismay at the guards of the two guests. "I assure you, hospitality is a matter of great honor among the Kitezh, and to allow a guest to come to any harm whatsoever while they are under your roof is considered unforgiveable. Indeed, no Thane who deliberately harmed a guest could ever rule the Kingdom. That and you are under my personal protection while you are here."

Cosimo smiles warmly to Ithunn, "I believe my men-at-arms are worried more about whether they will get a warm dinner tonight and a warm bed than if I will be harmed in your desmense, your highness."

"And my Daughters," there is particular emphasis in the way Elya says it, "are simply protective of me. It is not meant as any insult to you, I assure you. But if I did not allow them to treat me as a child, they would never let me hear the end of it."

Sebastopol says, "Of course they will receive proper guest-welcome also. Barbarians we may be, but I think Amber has had quite a civilizing effect on us."

"There's food and mead enough for all and benches for warriors as well," Ithunn says, gesturing to the empty benches in the hall. "And..." She breaks off as an armor-clad man, his helmet off to reveal a head gray hair, enters the hall, hurrying up to her and bowing. "Highness, we must speak now," he says. Ithunn nods to this, giving her apologies to her guests and leaving them in the hands of Sebastopol as she walks off briskly to speak with her advisor in another part of the castle, disappearing for several hours.

Cosimo stands and presents a courtly flourish and calf-displaying bow of sorts at Ithunn's departure, "Your highness."

Elya rises as well, lowering her gaze as Ithunn exits. She gives Sebastopol a hesitant smile before speaking. "I hope you won't be terribly insulted if I don't force my Daughters to join the feast? They take their duties rather seriously. I promise you they will gorge themselves later without any bidding." The two women against the wall only shift slightly at this.

Attack in the Forest--War in Kitezh Part 3

Sun, 23 Sep 2007 13:16:01 GMT

With Jenth sent back to the heart city for healing or final death, the siblings turn to follow the black road and its nightmarish army as it marches through their lands. It's not long before they reach the rearguard of the black road army, though by the time they do, night has fallen. "Up ahead--I think I can see them," Ithunn says, pointing and whispering.

Sebastopol says low, "Shall we attack their rear, night though it is? Or shall we wait until we have light?"

Ithunn stares ahead into the darkness. "If we wait until it's light, we will have all day and all night to get our dead off their cursed road. So I'd say we should bide our time and wait. Maybe make camp and rest?"

Sebastopol says, "Yes. I agree. But we'd be fools to simply sleep. We have to take turns in keeping watch."

Ithunn glances behind her to where the rest of their warriors and her advisors sit mounted on ponies, waiting her advice. "Seb..." she whispers. "Help me out. I haven't....done anything like this before. Commanded men in war."

Sebastopol says low, "You could concede this to me for the time being. Or I can advise you."

Ithunn shakes her head. "Advise me and I'll do what you say. I can't lose face in front of them." She then turns to her advisor, gesturing him forward. "Camp here tonight and set a watch, Sven? Or attack their rear now? Which do you advise?" she asks him.

"Highness," Sven says, with a nod of his head. "I'd advise attacking now, though it is dark. Surely they know we are following them and have sent out scouts. They'll strike when we are weariest, trying to rest." He glances between the two siblings, his expression thoughtful.

Sebastopol says, "On this one condition, then: that we suffer none of our own to lie on the black road when the battle is done. Either we pull them away, or we die trying. There will be no one left to the mercies of that black ice."

"Highness?" Sven says pointedly, looking to Ithunn and not to Sebastopol.

Ithunn hesitates, frowning and staring off into the dark. "I think....we make camp. Or rather, we make it look like we're making camp and that we are tired and defeated. And then we steel ourselves for their attack that will surely come. But if we /look/ like easy pickings, perhaps they'll only dispatch a small unit to deal with us. If we attack outright, we risk having their entire army fall on us."

Sebastopol says "As you will it, then, my Heart." He turns and, extra loud, bellows to the following men that they are to make camp. But then more quietly, he goes around, informing them group by group not to let down their guards, but to appear to make camp, yet to remain armed at every moment.

Ithunn follows her brother's lead, directing the making of camp, speaking quietly to their men as she passes them. It's not long before camp is set up, fires lit here and there, and a watch is set. Ithunn settles in on a rock next to her tent, staying well back from any fires so that she can see into the blackness of the night. All appears to be still.

Sebastopol comes to stand near Ithunn. "The fires are a problem. Our men will be blinded by them. Yet I do not know how to do it, except to order them to cover one eye each."

Ithunn glances behind her and frowns. The fires are scattered, but several of the men /are/ cooking small meals over them. "They do need to eat and rest, Seb. We may be feigning weariness, but they're also weary. But, yes, order that in my name?"

Sebastopol draws back and again makes the rounds. He himself draws a headband over one eye. That eye, at least, will be able to see in the dark, if it comes to a fight. And he believes it will. He paces restlessly from fire to fire.

The night begins quietly enough, the men cooking small meals, checking nad re-checkign their weapons, always with an eye covered against the light. As the hours progress, the tension that filled the camp begins to dissipate, the men actually taking the opportunity to rest and whispered rumors starting to spread that the enemy has passed out of their lands. Ithunn, on the other hand, sits quietly the whole time, looking into the dark and not the fires. She, too, sighs, at last, shaking her head to her brother.

It's then that the noise can be heard--the snap of a twig in the forest, a sound that no animal makes.

Sebastopol's head jerks around. "Ware," he hisses. He pulls his blade free from its scabbard, not quite silently enough.

"What?" Ithunn hisses, one hand going to her sword. But it's too late--from out of the inky blackness of the forest rush men or beasts or lizards--or both. Their armor fierce, their blades raised--frightening things designed to break the blades of the northmen. And behind these lizard-men warriors comes an ala, the snake beast of legend. The enemy, 50-strong, rushes the camp, blades stabbing through the watch at the edge of the camp.

Sebastopol goes from coiled and ready to berzerk and blood-mad in the space of a few seconds. Really, it's a new record for him, not that anybody is counting. Never mind the special blades, he goes for cutting his enemy off at the knee, in half at the belly, and cutting their heads from their torsos, sometimes all three to a single enemy.

The lizard warriors fall upon the camp, kicking over any remaining pots from the night's meals, running their blades through those warriors unfortunate enough to be a hair to slow in getting to their feet or reaching for their helms and shields. Screams and war cries intermingle with the sinister laughter of the lizard men and the blood curdling shriek of the three-headed giant ala snake behind them. Still, the men of Kitezh rally,--this is their lands and the sight of the enemy and the beast of legend, plus the cold of the black road that seeps into the camp with the raid, stirs their bloodlust. Soon the sound of metal meeting shield and swords slicing through the enemy can also be heard.

Ithunn, however is new to battles such as this. She stands, sword drawn, at the front of the invasion, reflexively running her sword through the oncoming enemy, killing in a blind whirl of rage and fear, but not gone berserk somehow. She turns to help Sebastopol, her sword dripping with blood, when the ala approaches her, its tail whipping across the ground, cutting her feet out from under her. Instantly the beast leans down to try to grab her in its jaws, its poison deadly. Half a dozen men now block the way between Ithunn and her brother.

Sebastopol cries aloud to the heavens, and KAPOW! lighting strikes down from the empty sky. If it doesn't actually strike the Ala, it comes close enough to make its hair - if it has any hair - stand on end and singe and frizzle at the tips. The accompanying thunderclap is deafening, stunning.

With a great roar, the snake beasts rears, shaking its heads furiously back and forth as if to clear them. Unfortunately, it has snagged Ithunn in one of its jaws, and as it rears madly about, it flings her violently across the battlefield, her body striking the burnt remnants of a tree. Ithunn lies motionless, but Sebastopol's lightning from the gods serves to confuse the snake beast so that at least the men of Kitezh might have a fighting chance against it.

The lizard warriors also momentarily cower at the lightning, giving the berserkers a chance to rush forward, overwhelming the enemy in a sudden bloodlust.

Sebastopol joins his own men in killing the ala, or trying to. Then he turns his blade and his attention on others of the enemy, hewing them down but leaving them alive to bleed to death, rather than anything faster.

The ala does fall, with great slashing movements of its head and tail that threaten to smash a few of the Kitezh who are less than sharp about where the tail and the heads are moving. Still, the snake beasts smashes to the ground, twitches, then dies, poison oozing from its wounds and its mouths.

"The Queen! The Queen! She said to bring one back alive," some of the men now call, in the heat of battle referring to Ithunn as the queen, despite her status otherwise in the kingdom. As Sebastopol and his group hacks at the invaders, another group of men close in on a lone lizard warrior, trying to corner it and capture it. They finally resort to stabbing it through the gut to bring it down, so furious is the cornered thing's fight. The gods only know if it will live through to the morning, but they at once bind it hand and foot and gag it.

The battle seems to be just be over when, from behind them, at their unprotected rear, comes the pounding of hoofbeats.

Sebastopol goes now, calming, slowing, to find Ithunn where she lies.
Ithunn lies motionless, her body broken and on the black road. The night is quickly edging away, dawn touching the corners of the sky nearly. And behind Sebastopol, the soudn clearly heard now, comes hoofbeats.

Sebastopol finds his sister and pulls her from the black road. But he cannot cradle her, or even stay with her. Instead he rises to his legs, gashed here and there and masked with blood, but his blade comes up to guard her as the hoofbeats near.

The hoofbeats continue, a rider coming into view in the distance, moving closer and closer. And then he is there and can clearly be seen: Jenth, the thane who had awakened from death on the black road to terrible unhealed wounds and a madness in the bloodlust. He seems whole, without wounds, his eyes cleared.

Sebastopol cries aloud, "JENTH! REPORT!"

"Sir!" the man calls reining his horse in. His eyes quickly take in the trampled camp, the bleeding warriors and enemies, and Ithunn's body on the ground behind Sebastopol. He frowns. "Highness, I am healed. I ....I don't know how," he admits, confused.

Sebastopol returns

Fri, 14 Sep 2007 03:17:05 GMT

Sebastopol has been away to the North, away out of Kitezh, and to be more to the point, just away. He has not been in the Heart City for a very long time - long enough to make him a stranger; almost a tourist. He looks around hungrily, anxiously, disappointed, excited. All these things, in a city that has changed from what he remembers. He comes to the fortress, at long last. He is admitted without question, and with a deference he has apparently forgotten, because for a moment it takes him aback. Then he requests to be brought to his sister, the heart of the Heart.

Ithunn sits in a narrow strip of sunlight that one of the slits in the stone fortress lets through. She's intent on the work before her--a needlepoint circlet of flowers and birds in red and gold. She barely looks up when yet another visitor is ushered to her. "Yes?" she asks in a bored voice, eyes on her work and not on Sebastopol.

Sebastopol does not speak. He comes to stand perhaps six, perhaps eight feet away - not within the slice of light favoring Ithunn's work - crosses his arms, and studies her. Waiting.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times," Ithunn says, addressing the guard that has ushered Sebastopol in, not looking up. "Petitioners are only to be ushered in to see me during the prescribed hours. I /must/ have some time to myself during the day." She sighs and ties off a thread, finally looking up, needle in her mouth as she does so. "Now, sir, how can I...." Her eyes come to Sebastopol's face and the needle drops.

Sebastopol says pointedly, "I'm not a petitioner. And you've dropped your needle."

Ithunn lets the needle be and stands up, moving quickly toward Sebastopol, as if to hug him. She stops just short of that, awkwardly. "Brother...how are you?"

Sebastopol completes the embrace, but awkwardly, no closeness in it, more formality. "I've been better. I wasn't missing quite so many pieces when I was here last. They tell me Father did some....unusual division of the realm, when he died. But this is the first I'll have been able to get something like the truth. They say all kinds of things, up North."

Ithunn steps back from the hug to get a better look at Sebastopol, a brief hint of sadness crossing her face at the cold, formal hug. "You are changed," she nods slowly as she eyes him. One finger stretches out toward the frostbite damage on his nose, but she stops again and lets it hang in the air. "He...did." She gestures to the chair she was in. "Sit? I'll have food brought up? What would you like?"

Sebastopol says, "I'd do with a loaf of bread. I'm sick of meat, meat all the time. If I never eat venison again, it will be too soon, but we're grateful enough for it, there. But bread and butter and cheese - things we have a hard time getting there, would be feast enough for me. And I want to hear the truth from your lips, to undo the dozen different tales I've heard from others."

Ithunn gives a slight nod to a servant, who hurries off to fetch the requested food, returning shortly with a tray that he sets on a table near Sebastopol. There's mead, too, which the servant pours out, offering one mug to Ithunn as well. SHe takes it, frowning. "It's hard to know where to begin. But instead of one king to rule the land, there are now the three of us. I have the city...."

Sebastopol's nostrils flare, listening. He does edge around her, leaning to pick up the embroidery and the needle, putting them in his lap as he sits. They look out of place, odd there. "Go on."

Ithunn struggles with this and drinks her mead first. "Viktor rules the south. You.." she might seem to be wincing and hesitant, then she says the words very fast, "have the northlands."

Sebastopol laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Naturally," he says. "It has enough of me now to bind me there. Well, when the Valkyries come for me, I'll look every bit the warrior I am. So you have the City? Or did father do something else?"

Ithunn shakes her head. "Something else? No, I have the city. I haven't spoken to or seen Viktor, though, so I don't know how he feels about it. It seems, though, that we'll have to work together."

Sebastopol makes a noncommittal grunt. He takes a moment to study the embroidery in his lap before handing it over to his sister. "Father always did like his little jokes. Does Viktor even know?"

Ithunn studies the embroidery, one finger tracing the lines of the work. "I don't know. How did you find out? I mean, I was here in the city, and it /has/ been a while..." She frowns.

Sebastopol purses his lips, studying his younger sister. His eyes are a stranger's eyes, implacable. Finally he says, "A little bird told me. They migrate, you know."

Ithunn pales. "Not one of Viktor's was it? I mean, I was right here in the city when father's final edict was read, dividing the Kingdom. Viktor..." she shrugs.

Sebastopol says, "Has not been in touch with you. But that doesn't mean he doesn't know anything."

Ithunn nods. "True. So...how are the northlands?" She sets her glass of mead down and picks up her embroidery again.

Sebastopol says, "I'd hardly think you'd have to ask. Surely you can read it in my face?" His voice isn't bitter, but it is harsh. Then, more fairly, "Rich, sister. Rich. The herds are healthy; we have killed a whole pack of wolves that were preying near village Iskeshka. And I have heard rumors of gold."

"Gold?" Ithunn sets her embroidery down. "That's the first I've heard of such in the north. Do you think the rumors are true?" She leans forward, eagerly.

Sebastopol hedges, "Could be. Whether it's something we could get out of the ground, I don't know. We don't need a mass of would-be Lordlings coming up and like as not dying, and drawing wolves with their dead bodies, all in the name of digging the stuff up."

Ithunn narrows her eyes slightly as she nods to this. "I see, Brother. Yes, you must protect your lands, as I mine." Her voice gone a shade colder than it was a moment ago. "Don't fear--I won't send hordes of lordlings or warriors your way to raid your holdings."

Sebastopol shrugs one shoulder. The effect is near to that of a horse shuddering off a fly. He says "If they died, then they would die. But even if it is true, it is slow and careful we need, not a rush. If I know that there is work for a hundred or a thousand men, I will send word to you, and ask for trained miners and smelters and sledders."

Ithunn seems to accept this, her coldness fading as quickly as it came on. "I'd be happy to provide them to you," she says with a sudden sigh. "I wish..." she stands up, pacing the room, "well, I wish he had /chosen/ someone. Anyone. Just /one/ of us, not the three."

Sebastopol says, "Maybe Viktor will have us both killed in our sleep, and end that problem."

Ithunn coughs. "He wouldn't!" she says, then, with sudden doubt, "would he?"

Sebastopol shrugs again, the same gesture. "We're both still alive."

Ithunn nods, but her eyes narrow again--a sign that Sebastopol might recognize from her childhood that she is up to something. "Yes, true....." She's hesitant, looking at Sebastopol, then away.

Sebastopol says, "And maybe he does not even know."

Ithunn says, "but when he does find out? What then? Who knows how angry he'll be...""

Sebastopol says, "With father. Let him go and beat his fists on the crypt. Maybe he'll break something in his hand."

Ithunn sighs, eyes going wider. "And then he'll come after us, Seb. Mark my words."

Sebastopol says, "Ithunn...." And for the first time he speaks his sister's name, mildly exasperated as she has heard, no doubt, from childhood. "Do you think I fear him? That I have ever feared him, since I was grew near to his size? Do you think he could beat me in a fight, fair or otherwise? And do you really think he would stoop to anything less than a fight? *He*?"

Ithunn's eyes clear as she thinks about this, then shakes her head. "No..you're right. But..well, he can beat *me* in a fight, Seb. I mean, I don't know if he *would* attack and all, but if he does, it's a full-on fight, as you said. And he's bigger and stronger than I am. Hell, if the two of you teamed up, you could get rid of me quite nicely," she smirks.

Sebastopol says, "And then slug it out between us, eh? Well, it's a thought. I'm sure it's not what *you* would prefer though, mm?"

Ithunn laughs. "Well, of course! I don't really want to wind up dead over a political squabble. Do you?"

Sebastopol says laconically, "I doubt I'd enjoy it. Although how I'd know I wasn't enjoying it, if I was dead, I'm not sure."

Ithunn grins at this. "And then there's the problem that we're particularly difficult to kill. There is, of course, poison..." She takes a sip of her mead and looks at Sebastopol's glass.

Sebastopol snorts. "As if you'd stoop to that." But he has not had any of his drink. "You wouldn't want the northlands, little girl. Not unless you want to end up looking like me."

Ithunn shudders. "What happened to you? You didn't say? Why were you up there for so long? It couldn't have been just rumors of gold..."

Sebastopol says, "I don't suppose you'll believe that the lack of change of seasons let time just.....pass?"

Ithunn gestures toward a servant hovering outside the doorway, and the man comes in and takes a generous sip of Sebastopol's wine, then sets it down and walks out again. "My taster," she notes to her brother. "And yes, I suppose so. Time just passes there."

Sebastopol says, "For the record, I think there *is* gold. But I think it's probably going to be hard to get to, hard to get out of the ground. Might be a lot there, though. You never know."

Ithunn nods. "DO you want me to take a sip of your wine for you? You know I'd never resort to poison, don't you?"

Sebastopol says, "I haven't heard your taster collapse in the hallway, just out of sight. But you just never know.....do you?" He holds out his glass. He's enjoying this petty bit of control, maybe. "Go ahead. Have a taste."

Ithunn stretches out her hand, taking the glass. She brings it to her lips, then hesitates. She stares at Sebastopol, those odd grey eyes of hers trying to read into his.

Sebastopol smiles. That alone ought to be frightening.

"You wouldn't...would you?" Ithunn asks him--nearly pleading.

Sebastopol repeats, "I haven't heard your taster collapse in the hallway."

Ithunn stares at the drink once more, then at Sebastopol--then takes a sip, licking her lips after she does so. She hands the glass back to Sebastopol. "I really do need to write a last will and testament," she says dryly to him.

Sebastopol says, "Well, you're nothing if not courageous, I'll give you that. But you'd have to be, raised under Father." He takes his wine now and drinks a generous swallow without stinting or hesitation. His shoulders shake silently, laughing.

Ithunn smirks, shaking her head and going to pick up her own wine, which she seems to gulp down in relief. "Is this how it's going to be now, Sebastopol?" she asks, using his full name--something she rarely, if ever does. "Sneaking poisons into each other's drink? A knife in the dark?"

Sebastopol says, "Why not a knife? We rise with the dawn anyway. But poisons are so.....cowardly."

Ithunn laughs, and there's a note of coldness in it. "Indeed." She sips her wine and smiles at Sebastopol. "And when was the last time you drew steel on anything that did not have fur and serve as that night's dinner, brother? Are your reflexes sharp? Have you practiced your swordsmanship?" There's a challenge in those words.

Sebastopol's response - perhaps expected - is still swift and sudden, shocking - and loud, as he surges abruptly from the previously-offered chair, knocking it back and into the shadow. He's chest to chest with Ithunn just that suddenly, something pressing hard between two of her ribs, through her clothing.

There's the sound of shattering glass as Ithunn's drops her wine to the floor, one hand going up to press against her brother's chest, trying to press him back and away from her. She's white as a ghost, though, and her voice quavers. "By the Gods, Seb. Can't I challenge you to a friendly spar without drawing out the bear in you?"

Sebastopol says, low and maybe with a hint of his earlier laughter, "I didn't draw steel this time either. Why didn't you?"

Ithunn takes her hand off of Sebastopol's chest, turning it palm up. There's a slim knife, shining steel, in it. She smiles at him.

Sebastopol's laughter is loud, this time. He bobs his head approvingly. "That was good. I didn't see it even once."

Ithunn smiles now, laughing some, too. Still, she hasn't moved an inch. "And you? Is that steel against my ribs or not? Are you gonig to kill me today to prove a point? That you can? And then leave me to wake in the morning?"

Sebastopol says, "Should."

She backs up a step then, away from Sebastopol, looking hurt. "Should?" Ithunn says. "You /should/ kill me? But then...what's a little steel between siblings?"

Sebastopol takes the hard thing away from Ithunn and holds it up to her sight: his thumb, tipped with a blunt, thick, slightly ragged thumbnail. He looks like he's giving her the thumbs-up. With one hand.

Ithunn giggles, the sound perhaps bringing with it memories of their childhood. "Now if you were Viktor..." she grins at him.

Sebastopol's unseen hand strikes with steel, piercing fabric, skin, tissue.....lung, heart. The other hand, the one that had been holding Ithunn's attention, snakes out to catch her to his chest.

For Ithunn, at least, it doesn't matter how often steel has ripped through her flesh before or how many times she's awakened from the sleep of death. There's always the knowledge that /this/ time could be her last--this time Sebastopol could burn her body or spread her limbs across the earth and that she is at his mercy. And then there's the pain, which seems to never end. She screams, ear-splitting, falling into Sebastopol's grasp. The thundering sound of footsteps of her guards can be heard coming up the hall.

Sebastopol presses an oddly affectionate kiss to the top of Ithunn's head as he holds her. He shoves the blade in further to staunch blood, to forestall the awkward questions, the arrest, the incarceration that tends to follow.

Ithunn cries out again at the movement of the sword, this time her brother's name, along with a "Why?!" She gasps for air, struggling to not let death take her yet--at least not until the guards can arrive and ensure the safety of her body. And though the footsteps of the guards can still be heard, they are not yet in this remote room in the castle, where Ithunn had come for peace and privacy.

Sebastopol murmurs softly, "For old time's sake." Soft as a lover, soft as a friend. "But you'll sleep well tonight."

That small knife is still in Ithunn's hand, palmed again once she had revealed it to Sebastopol--and as he holds her tight now, the hand with the knife goes up around his neck as if she is trying to embrace him. "Always like this," she says as she struggles to breath, still. Blood is running out of her mouth and nose now--the end drawing nearer quickly. "Keep my body well.'

Sebastopol murmurs, "Always. Blood calls to blood." Perhaps he doesn't expect her to remember this, tomorrow.

"Always.." It's more a gasp of air, the sound of life escaping her body than it is an answer or even a word. Ithunn slips in Sebastopol's arms, her legs giving way under her so that all her weight is suddenly and fully in his arms. And as she does so, that palmed knife is revealed, her hand working its way down and across his neck, the weight of her fall giving her the weight and momentum she needs to cut his throat--the blade eerily sharp.

******

By the time the guards rushed into the room, both the man and the woman lay dead, and the floor was pooled deep in blood, the rushes saturated, Ithunn's hard-worked embroidery sodden and ruined. Sebastopol had lost his grip on Ithunn in that moment between life and death, when he realised he'd taken a mortal wound and yet still clung to consciousness. He had fallen, one arm under himself, trying to catch himself, and there he lay, her head resting on his chest, his hand on her back, and the light of self gone....until morning.