Xanaphia
Evil Midweek Cutie
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2013
A celebration, they had all decided, for old time’s sake. To mark Clara Olgasdottir’s second trip to Faefaeora. Drinking and dancing and love making. The same sort they had when it was time to make the Tribute. A sacrifice that was no longer necessary, because of Clara. Verrier’s gift to her, to go along with the curse he had left in her blood.
Now they were all sprawled in the two large beds they had pushed together to give everyone enough room. Sue on one side of her with William on the other, Thora and Sigurd cuddled up together on the other side of Sue. Clara was the youngest person in the room, but not by much. Only by a few months, not by the decades written on her lovers’ faces. Carefully, she disentangled herself, trying not to wake anyone else. She wasn’t really in the mood for another round of goodbyes.
It had been twelve years since she had last seen the dragon. Twelve years since she had last become the dragon, since she shed her humanity for that taste of power. Since she had pushed the sensation to the back of her mind, when she returned to Monsford. When she was still young and optimistic she could live a normal life as a normal human, beside the men and women she loved.
It was different this time. There was no more pretending she was just like them. Not when she appeared to be the same age as the children she had helped to raise. Not while she watched child after child born to her lovers, while she remained infertile. Time passed for them, things changed and grew and aged. She was stuck in time, hardly moved from the teenage girl who had first made the trek up the mountain, in a desperate bid to protect her hometown. She had been prepared to give her life, at the time. Was it ungrateful for her to admit now, how much she had mourned what she lost?
Lady Ari waited at the eastern gate, taking on the same role Aunt Ingrud had, all those years’ ago. Her once mistress had aged well, but aged without a doubt. It was evident in the fine lines on her face, tight with worry, and the silver streaks in her dark hair. Her proud warrior’s physique, soften by the decades, and the two children she had borne. “I hope you weren’t thinking about leaving without a goodbye?”
“Never,” Clara laughed, wrapping her arms tight around Ari. The older paladin held her just as tight, briefly sparking worry in Clara’s mind. That they wouldn’t see each other again. That she thought she wouldn’t see her again. “Besides, it’s not as if I am going to be gone long,” Clara teased, pushing back against the creeping anxiety.
“Of course,” Ari agreed, pulling back from the embrace, but keeping hands on Clara’s shoulders. “Have everything you need? Not bringing anything with you?” She asked, noting Clara’s equipment.
“Don’t need much,” Clara justified, turning her attention to the mountain, “Won’t take me long to get there.”
“Right, right,” Ari acknowledged, offering a smile. A smile that was kind and perhaps a touch patronizing.
“Any word from Mykel, or the others?” Clara asked, needing to change the subject. Needing to get past the look of sympathy on her mentor’s face.
“Yeah, they were leaving from Porthcawl, heading towards Reeve’s Bluff. Apparently it’s a bustling port town, once more,” Ari explained with a nostalgic laugh.
“Well, maybe we will all have to visit, once I return from the mountain,” Clara declared, putting on a jovial expression. She didn’t really feel it, but she was tired of the bitterness of the morning, already. Wanted something to look forward to, to grasp onto some piece of the past, when everything still seemed so promising. With one last hug, she departed, making her way on foot into the forest. Once she was out of sight, she began to cast off her human skin. Her form becoming sinuous, strange. Appendages thickening and stretching until all that remained of her humanity was subsumed by the draconic shape. Wings flapped, carrying her into the air, and toward Faefaeora.
Following the Redding River as it twisted through the Vale of Scathan, the group of fledgling Paladins traveled through the reclaimed demonlands. Hard to believe that much of this land was uninhabitable just before they had been born. Today they were approaching Reeve’s Bluff, the largest and most populous of the towns that occupied the banks of the river.
The town itself was a thing of wonder. Newly constructed houses of timber and stone lined the streets in neat rows, with fresh coats of paint. Light blues and greens and whites, with darker trimmings. New businesses propped up along the wharf, inviting the visiting sailors to patronize them.
“Welcome to Reeve’s Bluff,” a woman sheathed in a white hooded robe called to the group. She was flanked by half a dozen others, men and women dressed the same way, “Have you come to learn the teachings of liberation and rebirth?”
“The what now?” Eva asked, pulling the reins on her horse as the group drew closer. They all had the same eerie, euphoric smiles on their faces.
“The teachings of Lord Furtan, about liberation and rebirth. Liberation, from that which binds us to our mortal coil, and the suffering that goes along with such bondage. Once we learn to give up our yearnings, we can be reborn into a life of perfect happiness and completion.” The same woman elaborated, reverence in her tone, awe in her eyes.
“Lord Furtan?” Lily repeated, incredulous, glancing over at her brother, before looking back to the gathered group, “The demon?”
“Demons are just angels that descended from the heavens to show us humans the way,” A tall man with bone white blonde hair and crystal blue eyes countered. He smiled at Lily, a confident sort of smirk that seemed at odds with the nigh fanatical elation that seemed to consume his peers.
“We are hosting a baptismal ceremony this evening, under the light of the full moon,” the woman who seemed to be the leader described. She had an almost ethereal beauty, with her dark hair and skin, and light eyes, “All are welcome, to receive the wisdom of Lord Furtan.” The group moved in unison along the wharf, powder white cloaks billowy in the breeze.
“What the hell was that?” Rynne asked, trotting her mare to the front of the group, to share her exasperated look with rest of the group.
Eva just sighed and shrugged, “I have no clue, and no desire to figure out on an empty stomach.” She motioned towards the tavern on the water line, The Welcoming Wench. “Let’s eat, and we can figure out what to make of this.”
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