Page 2 of 2 FirstFirst 12
Results 11 to 18 of 18
  1. #11
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    “Ceannaire! Ceannaire Banrion!” called a chirpy cricketoid character as they barreled through the crowd. Other Fae glanced to their plum-colored scarf and quickly scampered out of their way.

    “Messenger,” the Chancellor hissed quickly to Fenn. “This cannot be pleasant… Nuacht dom?” she greeted the newcomer, switching easily back into her own language. A rapid conversation passed between the two. Fenn watched the chatter passively and wiped seadir juice off his chin, not understanding a lick of it.

    “Uimh! Taimid tuirseach,” Banrion snapped through a slight snarl.

    The messenger clasped their hands shyly in front of their chest. “Caithfidh tu… D'ordaigh Rialoir Morrighna e.”

    Her mane flared, Banrion reluctantly nodded and dismissed them. “Go raibh maith agat, Emer.”

    With a fluttering bow, the cricket scampered off through the snow. As soon as they vanished amid the market, Fenn tugged Banrion’s sleeve curiously. “My regrets, Pigwidgeon,” she said through sighs, nearly patting him on the head again. “Morrighna has summoned -- rather, demanded -- me to attend a ball she scheduled for this evening. As always, I helped her organize the event. I did not, however, agree to attend. She is fully aware that I dislike her gatherings. I suppose she simply wanted to subject you to them as well.”

    Fenn frowned and wrung his hands together. He liked parties, but he didn't like the idea of attending one thrown by Morrighna.

    “Cease your worry. All will be well so long as you stick by me.” She gestured back toward the palace. “Come along now. Our dear, glorious Regent will have toothy words for me if we aren't quick enough for her taste.”

  2. #12
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Under the darkening sky, Banrion lead Fenn back through the winding houses, back to the central hub of the settlement. Other Fae darted playfully between the shadows and the waning sunlight, reveling in the turning of day to night. One could catch sight of creatures slinking into houses to rest, and others coming out bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

    A flurry of activity was centered around the palace doors. They were wide open and coyly inviting, music and chatter drifting out from within. At the entrance stood a few burly guards, who had brief words with those who wanted in. Fenn timidly stepped over the threshold ahead of Banrion. Suddenly, a mound of fur in leather armor shifted, blocking Fenn’s way with a bulky arm. “This is no place for an outsider, nor a child,” a rocky voice stated from underneath the fluff.

    A cold hand gripped Fenn’s shoulder in a clear show of ownership; Banrion. “Allow him entrance,” she said coolly. “He is under my care.”

    The mound immediately withdrew its arm and stepped aside. “As you wish, Ceannaire.”

    Letting go of Fenn, the Chancellor waved him in.

    First, they passed a table heaping high with treasures. Except for Fenn and the Chancellor watching over him, each Fae had come bearing a gift. Most were as simple as a pinecone. Others were far more extravagant. His fingers twitched their way onto the table, seemingly of their own accord. A lump of bright amber found its way into Fenn’s hands. He gasped and turned it over curiously in his hands as he wondered how much such a rarity would sell for in Radasanth’s underbelly. It was tempting to just casually slip the hunk of rock into his pocket. Yet, Banrion’s keen crimson gaze dug into him as he inspected the present, her watch a pointed reminder that maybe it was best not to breach boundaries around here. He smiled back sheepishly. Everything on this table belonged to Morrighna, and she seemed to hate him enough without being given a proper reason.

    With a causality that fooled no-one, Fenn dropped the amber back where he had found it and forced himself to take a few steps back from the table of goodies.

    “Stay by my side, child, and touch nothing.” Banrion spoke closely to Fenn’s ears as they entered the source of the clamour -- a glittering ballroom. She seemed to know where she was going. “You will find no friends in these halls.”

    He believed her.

    Creatures spun across the earthen floor, some with lithe-limbed liquid grace, others stomping, tromping, and gamboling under glowing white crystals. Pale sprites flitted through on glassy battered wings. One nearly bumped into Fenn, hissing and baring black fangs at the inconvenience. He reached instinctively to swat it as it flew away. In one corner of the room, folk stood at delicate tables, playing dice games and gulping deeply from ornate cups of… well, Fenn wasn’t sure what all they were drinking. None of the colors matched any drink he knew from Althanas.

    For a while, Fenn did as he was bid stayed close to Banrion’s side, studying the odd creatures around him. There was music playing in the background, but the melody was smothered by the henpeck gossip many fae whispered between each other. It made his head ache. They passed close to a table of food. Fenn pricked up. His stomach growled disagreeably; his hunger was sharp enough, it almost hurt. For the briefest moment, the boy stepped away to see if he could grab a bite of something palatable; just a moment, he intended. Just for a bite.

    Three stilt-like pairs of legs surrounded him as soon as he left the Chancellor’s side. Boney hands spirited him away by his upper arms before he thought to look up at their owners.

    The three were tall and supple as aspens, shining through the gloom as if lit from within. Fuck no! Fenn wriggled and glared up at them as they jabbered away in their native language. The lady holding onto him, her arms wrapped around his chest as one might coddle a doll, had a grip that was shockingly firm. All peered at him with long masks half-hidden behind messy braids speckled with fir needles, their eyes bright as the shell of a polished beetle.

    “Oh, I recognize this one,” the one with stark white hair burst out, abruptly switching to Tradespeak. She seemed to be addressing Fenn himself. “It is the foreign one our Rialoir decided to spare earlier. I was not aware that she let children into our revels!”

    All three threw their heads back and tittered like drunken birds.

    “Of us, but also of the human lands. How could such a tiny scrap survive all the way out there?” one with a sharp nose cooed. He reached out and ruffled Fenn’s hair, sending shivers down the boy’s spine. All three giggled as Fenn snapped his teeth and pushed away the intrusive, bony touch with his comparatively small hands.

    The one holding Fenn twirling one of the boy’s silky locks daringly between her fingers. With a hiss, he brushed her hand off as well. “Aw, look at you struggle! I think I may ask Chancellor Banrion if we may borrow you sometime,” she mused. “Whenever the Rialoir decides to let you back in our lands. She can be generous, when she feels like it.”

    Great, Fenn thought as he glared at his captors. They seemed to regard him much as he might a stray kitten.

    “Oh, good, there you three are. What have we here?”

    All three captors looked down, and so did Fenn. The willowy fae’s expressions went flat on sight of Regent Morrighna herself standing before them in all her coy glory. Fenn, on the other hand, greeted her with a scowl, bared teeth, and a strong hiss. He was not in the mood for this.

    Morrighna ignored his fit. “Well, I was going to ask you three about the cost of the nectar... but that can wait. Could I see the outsider child a moment?” she asked willowy fae, her hands clasped together. “I want a word with him.”

    Muttering words in their native language that sounded suspiciously like apologies and platitudes, the three dropped Fenn in from of her and skittered away. He wasn’t sure if they were being reverent towards the Regent, or absolutely terrified of her. She stepped forward and took Fenn by the arm -- and unlike Banrion, she didn’t let go when he flinched away.

    These days, Fenn could use a snap of frost break the grip of those who snared him. It was a happy discovery. Sometimes it occurred out of anxious accident, sometimes out of pure spite. But, that only worked if his grabber minded the cold.

    The Regent barely noticed the lace of tiny ice crystals that had slithered their way up her pale fingers as she dug her nails into Fenn’s forearm. The sharp points piercing his cloak left five dots of black blood seeping through the fabric. He gasped and fell to one knee, not prepared for the sudden pain. “I’m not sure how much information your tiny brain can handle, so let me put this in a very simple way,” Morrighna said sweetly. “You are in my land, at my ball, only alive because my Chancellor decided she wanted you for herself. You will treat me with all the respect I deserve, or I might find the motivation to devise a clever end to you. Can you get that through your thick skull?”

    Fenn grit his teeth and gave her a jittering wobble of his head back, looking away from her hard grey eyes.

    “Good boy.” She snatched her hand away, and twitched her lip in disgust. “Next time, greet me more kindly. I knew something was wrong with you the first time I laid eyes on you. You’ve seen me before -- in a dream. You remember, right?”

    Massaging his arm, Fenn confirmed this with a shudder.

    An ugly look crossed the Regent’s face, one that was hard to gauge. “I saw you in a dream far before that, and it was not a favorable encounter. Keep yourself in check, outsider.” With a haughty turn of her head, the Regent started back into the crowd.

  3. #13
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Morrighna was gone, but Fenn’s discomfort and fear still clung close to his side. The night spun out around him. Shrieking hosts of chatter and gossip nipped at his ears in the foreign language he was becoming accustomed to hearing.

    Nil si cliste. Ba mhaith liom nios mo a ol! B'fheidir go bhfeadfadh si cairdeas a n-uachtair uachtair a thaispeaint do?

    Fenn, was lost.

    The boy ambled breathlessly through the crowd, taking care to avoid getting caught underfoot of the larger guests. Most ignored the small child-creature ducking through the crowds. They were all too caught up in their drunken revelry and their conversations, too busy whirling from distracted to distraction to take note of him. Fenn was glad for this; the next person to bother him was going to get socked over the noggin with a sharp clod of ice. Where was Banrion? Peering through the thick of the fae, a nervous twinge shivered his spine. There were so many people here. Fenn wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself as an impossibly tall deer-man glided around him. Was she going to be angry with him for losing her?

    As little as he knew her, Fenn had felt much safer with the Chancellor there to defend him. Any moment now, he expected a malevolent eye to catch sight of him and whisk him away for… well, he didn’t know what. He just knew that he couldn’t trust anyone except maybe her.

    There was a little elevated stage that Fenn passed by, fashioned out of several wide, polished tree trunks. This was the source of the music; flutes, strings, and sweet voices. Some of the singers were glassy-eyed Salvarian mortals. Fenn could tell, because they were devoid of any freakish features; no odd ears, no leaves growing out of their skin, no animal features, nothing. No masks. They had beautiful voices, even if their vapid smiles sent shivers through one’s very soul. Fenn took off in the opposite direction, but not before he took a moment to wonder why there were humans here, and why they didn't seem quite right; add that to the list of things he had to figure out.

    Forget his hunger. After all this, he needed a frigging drink.

    Thankfully, that was easy to find -- as disoriented as he was, Fenn nearly bumped straight into the crystalline goodie table. The banquet was heaped high with otherworldly delights, otherworldly being the main descriptor. Fenn gripped tightly onto a silver tablecloth and peered into the selection with dismay, not recognizing half of the food displayed. Sliced seadir fruit -- no thank you -- was skewered delicately with chunks of raw greyish meat. A tray of foul-smelling mushrooms tied lovingly with bows of bark rested before his sight. White beetles writhed within a slick ice bowl, crawling halfway up the sides only to lose their grip and slip into the main mass below. Their wings had been neatly trimmed off and collected in a smaller bowl nearby. Ick.

    Fenn resentfully glowered at the selection. His stomach gurgled. A lot went wrong today, but awful food was one of the most tragic things he could think of. Mostly because, well, he was still starving. No honey? No cake? Nothing here was even cooked. What was wrong with this place?

    A pale, amphibious arm darted past Fenn to snatch a beetle from the bowl. “You’re that -- hic -- Changeling? From the courtroom?” a feminine voice said in thick tradespeak.

    The boy startled and scooted away from this new stranger, a froggish gangle of a creature who leaned a bit too heavily on the table.

    It seened this stranger had a bit too much liquor in them, for they didn't seem to notice Fenn’s hard glare, nor how his hands shook. They just gave him a gummy grin and waved. “Looking for something special to celebrate with?”

    Fenn glanced uneasily at the unappealing food.

    “Well, if you’re new -- hic -- to our food, I would recommend that am- the ambrasi nectar over there. Good drink, very strong. If you can handle the sedative effect, you’ll, uh, you’ll enjoy it immensely! It loosens a body up,” the creature slurred gesturing to a murky drink in little bark cups. It squinted at him through bulbous eyelids. “Not sure it's good for children though…”

    Children, schmildren! Defiantly, Fenn grabbed for an open cup. Strong drinks were no stranger to him! He was certain that, if he could go eight pints of beer without getting too crazy, he’d be fine to down a single fae drink. Maybe it’d even be better than the food -- or at least help him forget his hunger. Rolling his eyes, the boy ducked underneath the table so he could nurse his nectar without any more prying eyes saying dumb things to him.

    The party was much more subdued from under the dark of the table cloth, damped to flashes of light and a murk of incomprehensible noise. That was much better, Fenn thought. He curled up and took a gulp of his furtively-stolen drin- wait, what was this?

    Uh-oh.

    That spicy-gross, magic-touched flavor -- it was all too familiar. Fenn poured out a bit of the liquid into his palm so he could see its hue more clearly. Yep. It was a bright, shimmering blue. This was the same kind of drink Aengus had given him. His fingertips were already tingling.

    Fuck this, fuck that, fuck all the things! Before Fenn knew it, the cup had sailed out of his numbing hands and through the veil of the tablecloth. A thud was heard, and someone exclaimed rather indignantly. The boy realized that he had done quite a bit of angry object-flinging today. But frankly, he didn't care. This was the last time he was going to trust a stranger’s drink.

    There wasn't much left on Fenn’s mind as he passed out on the ballroom floor. He was just tired.

  4. #14
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    These days, Fenn liked it better when falling asleep meant oblivion rather than dreaming. There was a growing list of nightmares that clawed at his eyes when they closed for the day.

    But, this dream wasn’t so bad.

    Leafy green hills stretched out before him, swaddled in a blanket of trees and flowers. Above were clear blue skies. He knew this place; its earthy smell, littered acorns, and delicate mushrooms. This was how he remembered Concordia’s forest.

    Fenn absently squished his toes in the grass and took a deep breath of the clear air. Why... was he here? He wasn’t certain. Maybe it was just because it was nice here. Yes, that was a good reason. The boy had a faint impression of what had happened before he fell asleep. A whirling ball, awful creatures whom he was (kind of) one of, and a lost feeling. It didn't bother him much though. In fact, it made him more at ease -- sweet relief was all he felt. Fenn flopped over into the grass and grinned blissfully. Coronian winds whistled through the branches above, sending speckles of sunlight dancing over his eyelids.


    “You, my child, are a handful,” two simultaneous matronly voices stated. “Do you have any idea how long it took me figure out where you’d gone?”

    This intruder snapped Fenn out of his reverie and into lucidity. The events of the ball came back to him full-force. Fuck! Cracking open an eyelid, Fenn glanced up nervously. Ceannaire Banrion loomed over him in all her glory, one face smiling wryly, the other furrowed in concern.

    “A quaint place you’ve taken us, very green,” Banrion noted quietly, turning her heads this way and that to take in the view. “Is this how your homeland looks?”

    Stretching up into a sitting position, Fenn deigned to answer her question with a limp nod. He supposed that, if he were to call any continent his “home”, it would have to be Corone. Snow was lacking, so the forests were its most becoming feature.

    “This is a dream, you know. Reality is malleable here. Just as you have summoned these green hills, you can summon yourself a voice and speak if you will it to be so,” said Banrion as she stepped closer to him.

    Fenn shook his head uncertainly. Making words with his mouth felt foreign, and flapping his lips felt foolish. When he was younger, Fenn had tried very hard to do so, but the memories of his attempts were fuzzy. A better way of communicating sprang to mind. <A friend of mine introduced me to the idea of telepathy a while back! So, I could just kind of think at you, I guess?>

    A pair of measured smiles stretched across the Chancellor’s faces, and she nodded. “If you would like to do it that way.”

    Relaxed silence filled the air. Fenn squished his feet in the grass again and stared into the sun. He felt a little detached, a little out-of-it, but Banrion seemed content to wait for him to say something else.

    <So where am I now? In Sidhe, I mean. Since you found me.> Fenn rested his head in one hand, thinking. <And, if you're here in my dream, does that mean you're asleep too?>

    “Your physical form is safe. I took us to a secure area while you slept. And no, I am not quite asleep; but, neither am I quite conscious. I entered a trance in order to glimpse your dream. Here, we can speak a bit more freely than in the physical realm. Since we have a bit of time to ourselves, why don't we talk?,” the elder fae suggested. “One can practically see the questions dancing over your face. Ask anything that comes to mind.”

    <Anything?>

    “Within reason.”

    Fenn puffed out his cheeks. <I saw humans at the revel. They were singing. Why were they there?>

    “Those? What a pitiful first question,” Banrion mused. “Morrighna considers the lower realm a waste and a hazard, but when we do venture down, we take vassals every so often. Some offered themselves willingly. Others, we found talented or endearing, and spirited them away lest their loveliness be squandered by their fellow mortals.”

    <What if they didn't want to be here?> Fenn protested. <Stealing people isn't very nice.> He knew, certainly, that he was tired of being stolen himself.

    Banrion shrugged, indifference seeping into her tone. “Fennik, is it much different than your poor control over the wanderings of your hands over other’s belongings? Do not think I missed your roving fingers at the gift table.”

    <Belongings don't miss their home, or their freedom,> he retorted.

    “That’s alright,” she assured him. Fenn crossed his arms together tightly as the Chancellor moved to take a seat in the grass beside him. Her demeanor remained unruffled by his pinched expression. “Our vassels quickly come to see the splendor that Sidhe has to offer them. And if not, we have ways of showing them. You may become used to our ways... eventually. Now, what is your next question?”

    <Ways of showing them?> he asked.

    “Ahh. You are a aware that stronger fae such as myself can dreamwalk. Some of us have other talents, such as -- well, we call it bewitchment. They can, for lack of a better word, enthrall a weaker mind in a spell of complacency. Sciathan has such a talent. Pity, his will is so flaccid. I doubt he would be capable of using his talent on another fae. Mmm… Chulainn and Morrighna have prophetic dreams at times. The days where the Regent screams in her sleep are very disconcerting,” the Chancellor said with a grimace.

    There was something else that had been nagging at him. Fenn flopped back over into the grassy, staring blankly at the sky. <Morrighna. Why does she hate me?>

    “Agh. Ask me why the little fribble does anything. Whim, likely.” A disgusted shudder ran through the elder fae, from the tips of her snouts right down to her tail. “Though she may be a scarce century older than I, I would consider Morrighna as much a child as you are. She never quite grew out of her youngness, and it shows. All the same, Morrighna is cunning when she bothers to put the effort in. Our Regent before her loved the little not-child. She doted miserably on the ‘precious’ dear.”

    Though he protested that nagging, persistent idea of him being a ‘child’, Fenn’s ears flicked up in traitorous interest. <She did?>

    Banrion laughed, a sound as bitter as oak gall. “Only until the Regent mysteriously fell to her death from a high cliff.”

    <Oh.> He winced.

    “You see, when a Regent falls, their title goes to the eldest Chancellor,” Banrion explained. “Morrighna was the first in line at the time, after Chulainn that is, whom is… intentionally detached from our game of politics. He had, and will never have, any interest in the crown. I was the youngest at the time.”

    <So Morrighna killed the old Regent. How did she do it?>

    Dainty azure claws plucked and picked at the grass. The action seemed a little odd for a figure as regal as the Chancellor. Fenn wondered if she was upset by this line of conversation. If so, she was hiding it fairly well. “How? Too easily. Only Morrighna’s servant Knarl was witness to the -- ahh, what did he call it? -- accident. Morrighna herself was not present. One needs definitive proof to convict one for something so serious as regicide, and we had none.”

    Fenn sat up and shook his head, grind his teeth in frustration. <No, I mean, how could anyone let her get away with it? She walks like she could kill with her pinky finger, but… wouldn't people get mad about the old Regent’s death?>

    “Oh, pigwidgeon. You really don't understand us, do you?” There was a newfound tightness to the Chancellor’s voice that ill-matched her words. “There are more slavering hounds hidden in our decadent court than you could imagine. We shed few tears for dead monarchs. If they fell to the sword of man or the passage of time, then they died fulfilled. But to be silenced by a dagger to the back..? Then we deem them unfit. She... should not have let infatuation cloud her sight.” A cloud of gloom passed over Banrion, only for her to shake her heads and continue. Her eyes stared off into space. “Just as well, you have heard Morrighna speak. Her tongue is as silver as the dual moons on the heaviest crest of their cycle.”

    <I dunno. She didn’t seem that convincing to me. Maybe that’s just because she wanted to kill me though.>

    The two looked up as a thick cloud passed overhead, casting a dark shadow upon them.

    “Pidgewidgeon.”

    <Yes?>

    “I do not really have to keep an eye on you after you leave Sidhe. But, I would like to. There are plans I would like to set into motion, and… they would go far smoother with an outside hand. Could I convince you to serve under me?” she asked, intently brushing grass clippings off of her robes.

    <I already have a guy I take orders from. Vincent Cain.> Not that Fenn had contacted him for a few months. There was a reason for that. <Heard of him?>

    “No,” she told him simply, holding her heads high. “I cannot be expected to. Unlike you, I rarely meddle with mortal affairs.” Seeing Fenn’s dour stare, she cleared her throat and clarified. “Not because they have no importance, but moreso because my reach simply does not extend from Sidhe into Althanas. Not yet. And that, little one, is a good reason as to why I saved you.”

    Fenn straightened up, his mouth open curiously.

    “On rare days, I leave Faerie to see how the mortals are doing-”

    <But you’re a reptile! Won’t people look at you funny?> he burst out.

    Amused, Banrion held a hand to one of her mouths, as if holding back a laugh. “Dear child, I have the same magics as you, and daresay a little more. You do know you can shroud your appearance in glamour, don’t you?”

    Oh. Right, that. Fenn brushed a leaf out of his hair, feeling sheepish. <I forget sometimes.>

    “You should try to not forget that,” the Chancellor said seriously. “Forgetting your Glamour could get you killed. Now, where was I before you called me a reptile… Ahh. I leave Faerie from time to time, but the trek is not easy, and Morrighna takes it upon herself to dip her claws into all sorts of trouble when I leave. I dare not consider what our Court might descend into if there were none to hold back her hedonistic urges. So, would you serve under me?”

    <I’ve been given that offer before,> Fenn told her. The dream’s sun was starting to set. <The dragon, um, Nip? She tried to make me her servant, her ‘eyes in the world’. Why should I accept that from you?>

    Banrion snorted. “How about this? You’ve had little greater than yourself to fight for. You seek material goods, but do naught with them. You protect the wellbeing of you and your mount when it is needed, and you seek to prevent further harm to yourself, but that is all. You are without direction.”

    Fenn stiffened. <You shouldn't be able to know stuff like that.>

    “Little one, I have been watching you carefully today. I have much practice in reading people,” she explained.

    A moment of tight silence passed over them like a stiff breeze.

    <...if I did join you,> Fenn said, <what would I get out of it?>

    “I could give you guidance and advice, perhaps even purpose, should you need it.” There was a span of time stretching between her words as she waited for some reply, but all Fenn could think to do was stare at the dirt. He didn’t have an answer for her -- yet. ”If you have worries that I will fashion you into a personal slave, or that what I will ask of you might conflict with those you already serve, I reassure you that I will try to remain unobtrusive. And if you dislike what I ask of you, what stops you from refusing?” she suggested gently. “I have no method to force your hand from afar. In a world this dangerous, one needs all the allies they can gather.” Her hands closed in on themselves, as if she were cupping a baby bird. “I understand if you do not accept my offer.”

    He was painfully aware of how out of his element he was. But, he was finding himself drawn in. So far, the Chancellor had been the only fae to treat him with anything above dismissal or disgust. And if she did turn out to be an Amari or and Aengus later… he could drop her. <What if I did accept your offer? What would you ask of me?>

    Her eyes lit up hopefully. “Later? Many things. Now? Naught but a simple pledge. Pledge your loyalty to me. Pledge it, as a binding contract, and I will gift you with what you crave most; purpose.”

    ...

    <Alright,> Fenn said thoughtfully. The words came out haltingly; he still felt a little lost. <I swear my loyalty to you, so long as you prove yourself to be worthy of following. Does that work?>

    She scrunched her noses at his phrasing, amused. Perhaps, at his phrasing. “Yes, and I will hold you to your word. You may consider yourself my herald.” Fenn ducked as Banrion bestowed two dry, motherly kisses to his forehead. “Wake, child. Go forth into the lands of Althanas, of lower creatures, and carry out my will. I promise that great things will come of our alliance.”

  5. #15
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Fenn blinked and rubbed the crust out of his eyes.

    Woolen blankets had been swaddled carefully around him, hiding him from sight. They were soft. Pleasant to the touch. But, at the same time, a little stifling. Fenn poked his head out and peered around. He was now in a hide-roofed structure that largely resembled a stable; all around were pens holding a menagerie of odd creatures. Some seemed as ordinary beasts, if a bit larger than one would expect. A pony-sized jackrabbit lifted its ears and stared at him. Others were far more exotic, such as a grey-feathered serpent labeled “Pryderi”.

    The air was musky with animals-scent and broken with their noises. Fenn sneezed.

    “Good. You wake. Before you ask, we are in the stables,” Banrion spoke up. She stood with one hand on the wooden clasp lock of a pen, and the other playing absently with her mane. “I considered bringing you to my chambers while you slept off your nectar, but that felt inappropriate. Even if we are allies, we’ve hardly met.” She shook her heads. “In any case, it is time for you to leave our realm now, Fennik. The sun has set. I’ll show you out, and then you will be on your own in the mortal realm again. Does this please you?”

    Stretching and rubbing his eyes, he gave a short nod back. He’d be relieved to be back in his own world again.

    The Chancellor reached quietly into her robes, grasping something unseen. “There is something I must give you before you set off. But, I would like a fair trade for it; I cannot simply hand it off to you as if it were a paltry street-trinket. You need to understand the value of this object. What do you have to offer?”

    A trade? That was intriguing. Fenn’s ears flicked as he pondered what he had on him. Flipping open his bag greeted him with a good deal of things that most people would pass off for trash. Bottlecaps, wrappers, cheap jewelry, emptied wallets… None of them seemed as if they’d be of any worth to a fae Chancellor. After a moment of sifting through the clutter, a thought struck him. Fenn reached into the collar of his cloak and pulled out a golden, heart-shaped locket. With absolute certainty, he unclipped it from his neck and held it forth in offering.

    Both heads tilted to the side, Banrion eyed his offering shrewdly. “This? A curious trinket, my pigwidgeon. Care to explain what makes it so special to you?”

    WAS ONCE SIGN OF FRIENDSHIP FROM NICE LADY. NOW, NOT, Fenn wrote in the dirt. He stared down at the locket, blinking back a brief watering in his eyes. SHE NOT SO NICE NOW. MY WRISTS...

    “Ahh. Besides sentimental value, what might makes it worth giving to me?” the Chancellor prompted gingerly.

    Fenn popped open the locket, spilling out half a dozen of shiny pebbles across the stable floor. Sheepishly, he gathered them up and shoved them into his satchel -- all except one. A green stone, softly glowing, remained. Banrion stooped to to inspect it. Hushed, secretive whispers filled the air in its presence.

    HIT GHOST WITH SPELL, GOT THIS FUNNY ROCK? Fenn explained as she picked it up. He handed her the locket too.

    “Odd circumstances result in odd creations,” Banrion murmured, locking the rock in the locket and slipping it into her robes. “Very well then. A stone and a necklace make a fair trade for a stone necklace, do they not?”

    She pulled out a thick silver-chained necklace and tossed to Fenn. He caught it with a start. Its silvery-green pendant felt heavy in his hands. Heavy, and warm with magic, like a fallen star resting in his palm. Fenn moved it from side to side, watching as little cracks inside the stone shifted color.

    “This is enchanted malachite. Call it suan gadai, a dreamstone.” She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a bracelet with a similar stone inset. “I have the matching half. It will allow me to delve into your sleeping mind and waking memories so long as you wear yours. And if you require privacy… You may remove it from your person for as long as you need.”

    Fenn half smiled up at her from under his wispy bangs. THANKS.

  6. #16
    Sweet Cinnamoth

    EXP: 37,766, Level: 8
    Level completed: 31%, EXP required for next Level: 6,234
    Level completed: 31%,
    EXP required for next Level: 6,234


    FennWenn's Avatar

    GP
    2,300

    Name
    Fennik Glenwey
    Age
    Looks eight. He's definitely older.
    Race
    Frost Fae
    Gender
    More or less male.
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    As Fenn stretched and gathered himself up -- wondering if maybe he could take one of those soft blankets with him when he left -- Banrion unlatched the pen she stood by. She whispered something comforting inside and swung open the door.

    “Wuff!”

    Out of the door rushed a black-furred blur. It leapt forward to tackle Fenn to the ground. He gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs. A warm, soppy tongue slathered his forehead in drool. Ick! Daugi! The wolf whined as he wiped off his face and reached up to hug her around her neck. It was a relief to see her safe.

    “Mmm, so this is your beast? She is a lovely creature.” Banrion crouched by the direwolf, hopefully holding out a scaled hand to her. “Ta tu ag an Cu Dorcha?” The direwolf gave a deep growl of mistrust in return and shrank away from the reaching Fae. “No, I suppose not.”

    Finally, Fenn foisted Daugi off of him and sat up. The wolf rested her head on top of his protectively, eying Banrion uncertainly. LEAVE NOW?

    “Yes. Where do you want to go? There are many ways which one may enter or leave Sidhe by. One is the entrance in our mountains, where you came from. Another leads to the Althanian domain of the Sleepless court, and another to that of the Frostbitten,” Banrion noted wryly. “Several to the south, reach into into a humid, snowless forest much like that which you showed me in your dreams.”

    FOREST. GO HOME, Fenn answered immediately in the dirt.

    The Chancellor dipped her heads and glided over to the pen of the serpent Pryderi. “Then south we ride.”

  7. #17
    Legend

    EXP: 127,650, Level: 15
    Level completed: 55%, EXP required for next Level: 7,350
    Level completed: 55%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,350


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    14,025

    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    Name of Thread: Kindred Folk: Into Sidhe
    Judgement Type: Full Rubric

    Plot - 18

    Story
    - 7

    The story altogether was enchanting and very lovely to read. It was a gentle tale in seeming fairy-tale like qualities, but with dark undertones. The fact you never discover what the “Chasm” actually is is a very good way of keeping suspense in the tale. There were points that seemed a bit too rushed, as if you had a great idea and simply just wanted to get it down. Your passion for the story is clear in it, and that is great to see, and the entire tale is exciting. The friendship in the end made between Fenn and Banrion was enchanting, and opens up a wide world of stories I look forwards to reading.

    Setting - 6

    You open with a powerful, if simple, description of the landscape and atmosphere of your story, setting the scene clearly with remark on colour, cityscape and direction. This sets the tone for a very setting heavy story, with such things as the ice make-up of Sidhe being important, as well as the fact everyone wears masks. It was nice to see that many of the masks of important individuals were described, and though perhaps more detail could have been added onwards into the thread as a whole, you have a good hold of it. What I did really like was the description of the green sky.

    Pacing - 5

    Pacing was done well, with a good amount of posts between all the important scenes, and the length of the journey that Fenn was tied to the sled for. It seemed at a good, constant pace, though picked up a little with the mass of communication at the court scene. This maybe could have done with a more lengthy amount, with more description in it to add to the reader's perception of what was going on and Banrion's importance to the story. From this point the thread continues at a steady pace, rising only near the end, and it is good to see but perhaps could have seen some more rises and falls. The scene with Morrighna could have done with more time, being one example. Overall good in basics, with room for improvement.

    Character - 20

    Communication
    - 7

    Your communication at its base is unusual, for the purposes that Fenn is a mute. That being said, you still use communication well, adding more emphasis than might be usual into gestures and subtler things such as emotions: “He lifted his hands into wolf’s view, exchanging few curt gestures she couldn’t ignore. Safe people? Free me.” Post 2. Also communication is done well in terms of styling of phrase and fitting the situation, with phrasing by Knarl being more official than others, and that of Sir Aengus friendlier, and Banrion's formality. Though with being a mute you did tend to take a couple of liberties (such as not mentioning the fact that snow is cold when touched, and Fenn would need gloves or other), but overall communication is a strong for you.

    Action - 6

    Action for Fenn is littered with child-like joy and curiosity that accentuates his appearance as a child. Things such as sticking out his tongue in 4 adds to this personality that Fenn has, as well as adding to the elements of the story. It leads him in certain paths, and though you do use an intense description of his actions later on in the story, you have others take his place. A further use of smaller actions to help build character could be suggested for figure like Banrion, who I would have liked to see more developed slightly, because of her importance. There are various things that potentially could be looked at with her two heads, for instance, that I would have liked to see, but overall actions were decisive and purposeful.

    Persona
    - 7

    You use persona well to demonstrate something very particular about Fenn, that identifies him as an animal lover: that being his devotion to Daugi. In post 5 there is written, “Wait- no! / No! No! / They couldn’t him away from Daugi!” with marked thoughts and paragraphing that extenuates his passion for the wolf. You continue to use internal thought – though one suggestion could be to italicise this or find some particular other way to define it from other general prose. There could also be more profound use, such as more detail as to Fenn's reactions to things, but overall done well.

    Prose - 23

    Mechanics
    - 8

    No clear mechanical issues came up when reading this, so for that well done. There were no obvious spelling mistakes, even with a secondary and tertiary read. Perhaps one thing to think of in future is developing more mechanical devices to add tension, though there was a great use of punctuation already, with many uses of hyphenation and some colons. This is something that people rarely use and was exceptionally well done by yourself.

    Clarity - 8

    For the most part your thread was clear and concise, with very little to mar the general story. It was a good, clear one, and is generally a good read. There were only points where pacing put off the reading steadiness at points, and this can effect clarity, but well done for the most part.

    Technique - 7

    You have a method of writing that has a beautiful quality to it. In post 4 you write that, “There was a spot in his chest that felt heavy with betrayal,” that shows excellent of metaphor. The use of a language also that is written out in words, but that Fenn cannot understand cleverly hints at his connection and the memories. It establishes a connection that you could use in future threads, which this one perhaps looks at. You have a good strength in technique, with a strong description, though perhaps think a bit more in terms of imagery etc in future.

    Wildcard - 6

    The pure use of the Fae, and adding this side of the mythology into Althanas is amazing to use. You genuinely seem to know your myths, and this adds to your skill as a write.

    Final Score: 67


    Rewards:

    FennWenn receives:
    6004 EXP
    344 GP

    Spoils Request: granted. Rewarded at the cost of 300 GP. GP taken from spoils. Description below.
    "Suan Gadai, The Dreamstone - A smooth, silver-green rock fashioned out of machalite and traded for Fenn’s Ethereal Crystal and Amari’s Locket (sorry Amari) by none other than Chancellor Banrion of the Winter Court. It allows Fenn to communicate with her in his dreams, and she to access to his memories during his waking hours -- so long as he wears it around his neck. It also faintly glows in the dark! Hooray for shiny!"

    Inclusive of Althanas Day 3x Rewards. Cost of 5 AP taken for cost of Full Judgement.

    “Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
    For I would ride with you upon the wind,
    Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
    And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
    ― W.B. Yeats, The Land of Heart's Desire

  8. #18
    Legend

    EXP: 127,650, Level: 15
    Level completed: 55%, EXP required for next Level: 7,350
    Level completed: 55%,
    EXP required for next Level: 7,350


    Philomel's Avatar

    GP
    14,025

    Name
    Philomel van der Aart (+ Veridian)
    Age
    30 (+10)
    Race
    Faun (+ Fox/Earth Spirit)
    Gender
    Female (+ Male)
    Location
    Corone

    View Profile
    All rewards have been added. AP amounts for cost taken away.

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •