Play The House Down Ruby Roux

[Ruby]

I.

http://c300221.r21.cf1.rackcdn.com/requiem-1344461527_b.jpg

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

“If she finds out what we’ve done we’re going to discover the fates worse than death.”

Jeren frowned. Lately, it was all he seemed to do in his employer’s company. Though he enjoyed their mutual adventures very much (when they weren’t being threatened with a painful and agonising afternoon), he began to doubt the need to stay in The Winchester Rose Trading Company. The time to develop professionally, sic, to leave damned quick, was approaching.

“Why would she discover where Duffy is, Leopold?” The captain of the guard could only shrug.

“Knowing him as well as I do, he will not want to stay out of the spot light for long.” Leopold bit his lip.

In the back of a wagon in the back of beyond, neither man found a solution. The cold outside seeped in through the thick canvas’s cracks, and in silence, they shivered themselves into a constant state of dreaming awareness. The uncomfortable journey did little to appease their growing anxiety. Leopold’s for his marriage, Jeren’s for his pay check.

“I tell you what. Forget it happened. Forget Duffy is rampaging his merry little six-string-finger smith self across Raiaera.” Whilst easier said than done, Leopold’s silence told Jeren his employer agreed. “Let’s get this delivery done and get back home.” Jeren stared at Leopold, though the merchant stared at the rickety floorboards of the wagon. Through a thin crack in its bottom, he idly watched the white and grey tapestry of the Ahyark tundra pass them by.

[Ruby]

Scara Brae - Market Square

“Is it really that hard to hit C sharp?” Ruby barked. Her eyes, wide as dinner plates, tore through the last of the interviewee’s confidence.

A girl, barely in her twenties, ran from the hobbled together stage crying. She flew down the stairs with her eyes practically closed, driven from Market Square on blind instinct and a growing desire to be anywhere Ruby Winchester was not.

“Well done,” commented the matriarch’s eternally suffering husband.

“Oh, don’t start,” she spat. Turning to lock eyes with Leopold Winchester, she found him turned in the nick of time to look south to the line of potentates to the former Tantalum troupe’s crown.

“I guess you could consider this many young, attractive, and potential talent bound women wanting to be you as a compliment.” Every word in his statement cut like a knife. He practically felt his wife’s anger grow in intensity. “Perhaps we should take a short break for luncheon, before putting you through another exercise in futility.” Now he dared to turn to face her glare.

“I am only growing irritable, husband dear, because I explicitly stated in the flyers that a C sharp to baritone range was required of anyone wishing to audition.”

“I’m not sure half of Scara Brae knows what a note is, never mind the multitude of octaves they have to choose from hitting them.” Leopold only understood musical theory because Ruby had drilled it into him the centuries they had been bonded in not always happy matrimony.

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

“Where are we going, anyway?” Jeren asked, almost an hour after both men gave up fighting amongst themselves. The sound of snow compacting beneath hoof, wheel, and marching guard seemed thunderous to them. Jeren spoke half to break the monotony, and half to get an answer out of Leopold at long last.

Leopold smiled weakly.

“The Ice Henge.”

Jeren wanted to immediately slap Leopold. Though he doubted his place in the company, he knew that wherever it was, it would be better than a demotion to a guard and having to walk all the way back to Salvar.

“Ah. Why?” Jeren folded his arms across his chest and leant back against the side of the wagon. The wood frame took the strain off his back, and the wagon canopy offered a pillow of sorts.

Leopold shuffled under his cloak, trying to get comfortable. Every rise and fall of the tundra loosened him from his perch. He sorely regretted choosing to ‘rise with the boys’. Had he remained in his own wagon, he would be sat at the front, on a cushion, and in the rising glow of the soon-to-shine sun.

“You expect me to just tell you my business, just like that?” the merchant asked playfully.

“You’ve made it my business by including me in your little god-bothering deceptions.” Syrian started to seep into Jeren’s calm face, and the taunt in his voice told Leopold all he needed to know about winding either of the men up. Definitely not now.

[Ruby]

Scara Brae - Market Square

Ruby deigned to ignore her husband. Instead, she walked right at him. He melted to one side and muttered profanities under his breath.

“Next!” the matriarch roared.

She stopped at the top of the stairs. At their bottom, the next candidate awaited a summons. Ruby examined her from head to toe as she walked brazen and defiant onto the stage. Unlike the last thirty interviewees, the woman before Ruby was both familiar, and entirely unafraid of the spell singer’s virulent reputation.

“It’s good to see you, Ruby.”

Standing centre stage was Lisa. Long ago, when Ruby had been the leading lady in a theatre troupe called The Tantalum, Lisa has been the seamstress and set designer. Quite skilled at casting a scene, her acting talents were rudimentary at best. In truth, Ruby’s ego had given the female members of the cast little chance to shine. Without that unwitting tyranny, Lisa had, to say the least, blossomed as woman, writer, and witch. Power oozed from her every pore.

“Well.” Ruby said flatly. “This is quite the surprise.”

By now, it was close to midday. Since dawn, Ruby and Leopold had watched a hundred women warble their way through cruel renditions of Tantalum songs and Scara Breen folk classics. Nobody had impressed the spell singer enough to come close to getting a call back. Though they had a past, Lisa’s presence sparked a bitter self-loathing, and a faint spark of hope.

“What song would you have me sing?” Lisa asked, politeness personified.

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

“That is fair enough,” Leopold replied. He folded his arms across his chest beneath his cloak, and took a moment’s reprieve to put his words in order.

The caravan had rolled out of the ruinous slums of Knife’s Edge three days prior. Neither of the three men had slept a wink since. The guards got shut-eye on rota, but too much was at stake for the chain of command to bow out for a nap until they arrived safely, with the cargo, at their destination.

“When we were last at the Ice Henge, I was thrown into the veil between worlds. War rose, freed at last. Clarissa revealed her presence, and her continued state of unfortunate life, and I…discovered something.”

“Tell me more,” Jeren implored. To emphasise his interest, he produced a hip flask, Leopold’s favourite, from his fur. Leopold rolled his eyes, though was impressed at the man’s duplicitous nature. “Here, have a drink on you.”

Leopold took his own flask, a deadpan expression reminding Jeren and Syrian to stop helping themselves to his things, and drained it. Bourbon. He remembered filling it in Salvar, and was now very glad he had done so. Kinsman. The rarest bourbon out of Salvar. A month’s profits spent ill-advised ten years prior worth its debauchery now. Roses. Fire. Brimstone, followed by syrup.

“Thank you.” Leopold stuck out his tongue. “What I discovered amounts to sway over a Thayne. I found, in the nowhere depths, a glistening Keystone. The Ice Henge’s power source.”

[Ruby]

Scara Brae - Market Square

Ruby picked the first thing that cropped into her head.

“Lux Aeterna.” Her eyes narrowed.

White birds, a mix of doves and gulls flew over the expanse of Market Square. East to West, drawing in the day’s fishing to roost in the towers of the palace. Scara Brae went on through another midday lull whilst the two woman on the stage at its heart did battle.

“Really?” Lisa asked, incredulous, but confident.

Without further comment, the leading lady of the Restless Fugitive moved to the northern edge of the makeshift stage. She looked out across the square longingly. Here, the troupe had done wonders to keep the spirits of the bedraggled people of the island up.

“Tell me,” she began. The cool breeze that rolled in from the road that lead to the palace soothed her. She had sung in practice since well before dawn. “Why would you of all people ask me to sing that song? Of all the songs?” Lisa turned. She was resplendent, a fraction of Ruby’s age, and already on the road to greatness. Ruby loathed her for all the right reasons.

“Because you wrote it,” was the spell singer’s only reply.

Lisa prepared. She stood feet a foot apart, clenched her fists till they whitened at the knuckles, and straightened her back so that the air in her lungs was forced out in one, effortless, angelic breath.

“Verse two of Lux Aeterna relates to the efforts of a strong woman in a weak man’s world."

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

Jeren had gleaned snippets of his employer’s secrets through his four years’ service. Each clue to the man’s origins had shed less light on the answer the caravan guard really wanted to learn. Why had they, three and a half years ago, travelled to Berevar? The caravan guard, and the merchant’s own wife had nearly died. Leopold, from what Jeren could remember, had perished.

“A keystone. That implies it opens something.” One of Leopold’s pressing questions about his employee boiled down to how a caravan guard interviewed so well, and knew something about literally everything.

Leopold smiled. In the gloom, his smile was a paltry acceptance of once again being one step behind Jeren Silvers.

“The Keystone both restrains, and opens the wellspring of the Tap. Like a tap, it allows the Tap to flow into, and out of Berevar. Out of Althanas proper.”

The wagon hit a bump on the tundra. It rocked sideways, sending shivers down both men’s spines and causing uproar along the caravan’s snake-like form. Sixteen wagons long, it was the largest venture the Winchester Rose Trading Company had backed since its inception. Worlds depended on it. Marriages, too.

“Do you intend to open it further…or close it?”

Leopold smiled. He adjusted himself as he chose his words carefully.

“I wish to open it just enough to fulfil obligations to my ‘kin’.”

“Obligations?” Jeren asked. He knew he would regret it before his question finished echoing in the confined space.

“Come sunrise, the Thayne Jomil dies.”

[Ruby]

Scara Brae - Market Square

When the final note of Lisa’s audition stopped echoing hauntingly through Market Square, Ruby began to clap. For once, it was not a sarcastic thunder. She meant it.

“I…” Lisa turned slowly, uncertain. Only when she clocked Leopold’s grin did she realise that for once, she, Ruby Winchester’s ego did not get in the way of progress.

“I see you’ve been taking every opportunity to put what you learned under my sister’s tutelage to good use.” Ruby folded her arms across her chest.

Unsure how to hold herself, Lisa went for aloof stoop meets confident strut as she returned to centre stage. The sun struck her from behind, and the warmth of a soon to be beautiful afternoon began to make itself known. The day dawned, at long last, on a sleep riddled Scara Brae.

“When will you let people know if they are successful?”

Ruby rolled her eyes.

“Lisa. How could I, in all good honesty consider anyone else after…,” she pouted. “Well, after you nailed it.”

The women stared at one another. Lisa’s earnest intentions clear in her shimmering eyes, Ruby’s bewilderment in her own fiery pupils. Crimson curls and brunette rolls mirrored one another’s eternal pursuit for happiness in beauty, betterment, and bedazzlement with their thespian graces. Ruby cornered the beauty, but Lisa had stolen betterment and now, bedazzlement.

“What does that mean for our troupe?”

Ruby saw through Lisa and got straight to the point.

“I will join the Restless Fugitive, and you will lead it.”

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

“Forgive me,” Jeren said out of curtsy. He knew full well Leopold would do everything but for what he was about to say. “It’s just, I’m fairly sure you just said Jomil is going to die at sun up. Jomil. The Jomil. The immortal Thayne Jomil.” His deadpan stare only helped Leopold write up a paragraph or two in the post-shipment report.

Wearily, Leopold allowed his employee the once in a lifetime opportunity to speak his mind and question his judgement. No-one got the chance to do both at the same time and keep their pay check. Jeren’s tireless service had earned him the right to the occasional impromptu outburst.

“Two thousand years ago, the Old Gods lost their war against the Thayne. In the final days of the war,” he trailed off. He shuffled under his furs. His head was foggy with fatigue and the cold, but he pieced the pieces of his tale back together before continuing. “In the final days, I made a choice.”

“Kill the gods?” Jeren sighed. “Or get vengeance,” Syrian continued.

The change in the caravan guard was audible only at first, but his eyes darkened, sunken sockets of ghastly proportions, and then the sarcasm. It dripped from his teeth like snake’s venom.

“I chose to stay on Althanas, shirking my kin as they fell into the depths of the Tap to sleep. They chose sleep in the hopes that one day, one dark day, they could awaken.”

Syrian snarled.

“You mean enslave us?”

[Ruby]

Scara Brae – Market Square

“You would do that?” Lisa asked.

Ruby nodded. When her own troupe, the Tantalum, disbanded over three years ago she had lain her hopes and dreams of acquiring a Royal Consent to rest. Though they had done much to encourage Queen Valeena to abolish the Molyneux Edict, and legalise street performance, that final victory would not be theirs.

“We paved the way for another’s rise to power, Lisa. I believe, after seeing what I have seen here today, that the rise is yours.” She pointed to the front of the line, who were still waiting eagerly. With a dismissive finger, she ended proceedings.

Leopold hobbled after the crowd to console the crying, send home the fuming, and generally make sure people got away from the selected lest there be what he could only describe as a peacock fight. He had no particular desire to see his wife lose an eye to a carefully placed vindictive talon.

“Restless Fugitive does not work on the same basis as the Tantalum.” Lisa buried her hands in her pocket. As she had proven her worth, she took a casual air and yet somehow still managed the grace. She grinned, almost from ear to ear. “Pete and I are partners. We have no desire to step on one another’s toes.”

“Like me and Duffy, you mean?” Ruby replied with a smirk of her own. “I understand. You and Pete work well together. Like me and…” the spell singer shed a tear.

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

Leopold Winchester. The name meant different things to different people. To his wife it meant protector. Companion. Opposite. To his close friends, of whom there were few, it meant undying loyalty. He did everything he could to support them, and they did the same in return. To Alerar’s bitter people, and of late, Salvar state as well, Leopold Winchester meant brigand. Vagabond. Bastard man-at-arms.

“I am going to take the stone back to Scara Brae.” The merchant pulled back his cloak, revealing his waistcoat, and unbuttoned it. “I am going to put my life back together, Ruby’s too – stop another wellspring of the Tap.”

Jeren seemed torn between surprise and outrage. Pulled in three directions, the caravan guard resorted to silence as his employer went on to explain himself. His eyes glistened, lifeless, and yet somehow more alert and attentive than they had been all evening.

“Thoughts? You don’t usually shut up.” Leopold pulled his scarf loose. He produced a pocket watch and checked their progress. Three hours and they would be at the Ice Henge. Prophecy. Destiny. Death. Uncertain outcomes weighed heavily on Leopold’s conscience.

“It’s just…,” Jeren sighed. “I did not think you naïve enough to believe Jomil would just let you destroy the Ice Henge.”

All three of them started to long for more bourbon. Given Jeren seldom got paid on time, he could not afford it. Leopold, too concerned with winning over his man wanted them both to be lucid when they got to Berevar’s heart.

[Pettigrew]

Scara Brae - North Clock Tower

Pettigrew Jones, Scara Brae’s not quite as enigmatic, but new and exciting leading man looked down across Market Square with an intrepid stare. The wind atop the clock tower on the northern road stole away all opportunity to eavesdrop on proceedings below, and it infuriated the youth.

“’Ow am I supposed to listen in?” he clucked.

“You’re supposed to respect a lady’s privacy,” Leopold replied with a half-formed smile.

The raven on the roof tile next to the grubby faced bard hopped between talons. It cocked its head, as though he were looking through his better eye.

“Oh, Lisa doesn’t mind,” Pete chuckled.

Knowing full well Leopold meant Ruby, the youth folded his arms across his chest and tried to at least imagine what the duo on the stage were talking about. They had been in heated debate for nearly an hour, oblivious to the fact that people had started milling into the square again and that Leopold had left them with his apologies some time ago.

“You don’t suppose…,” he began. He trailed off into his own thoughts, leaving the raven looking on curiously. “No. Never mind.”

“You’ve started now, Pete…,” Leopold said with a drawl. It was the merchant’s way of showing the cat was out the bag. He was getting caught up in Pete’s frenetic personality. Now Leopold too had to know. Had to.

“What if they’re talking about me?” He looked to Leopold for genuine reply, but got a sarcastic beak on the knee. “Hey now!”

[Ruby]

Scara Brae - Market Square

It was a well-known fact that the enigmatic Ruby Winchester did not cry. The truth of the matter, however, was that she did not cry in public. Often. In fact, never.

“Oh come on now,” Lisa said, half exhausted by what she assumed to be a charade. She approached the spell singer arms open.

“No. its fine,” Ruby rebuked. She pushed Lisa way. “It has to come out sometime.”

One tear over the course of an hour’s back and forth had turned into many. Without thinking, Lisa had opened the floodgates of emotion Ruby had, until now, been hiding in a maelstrom of hate. She had allowed those emotions to consume here in the conflict on Eiskalt. Grievous mistakes made in the search for saving face.

“Look. You’re right,” Lisa tried to explain, again. “We can keep the name Tantalum, for the old time’s sake if everyone agrees, but its best we start over so Restless Fugitive it is.”

Ruby nodded. She had said exactly that thirty minutes prior, but guilt did silly things to the gin stained minds of Scara Brae’s thespians.

“Are you…sure?” Lisa asked hesitantly. She stepped away from Ruby and let her hands drop to her sides.

Ruby nodded. Without ado, she wiped away the last of her tears, cheeks red and eyes blotchy, and set about making herself presentable. Never one to look out of place when she made a grand public announcement (about Lisa’s tutelage), she drew on ancient power to shape herself anew.

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

“You misunderstand.” Leopold leant in to Jeren. The all-knowing glare undid many a man at the business table. Jeren, on the other hand, was not any man. Leopold slouched. “Okay. So we’re not going to destroy the Ice Henge.”

“There we go,” the caravan guard gloated. He folded his arms across his chest, triumphant. “I knew you were skirting around the issue.”

“Oh. Don’t worry. Jomil will be leaving Berevar.” Leopold’s tone suggested to Jeren that the Thayne themselves would have little choice in the matter. He sighed.

“Tell me straight…” It was a pleading, more so than a question.

The wagon trailed through the final rise of the tundra’s crags. It broke out, without fanfare, onto the long stretch to the Ice Henge. Leopold looked at the canopy and picked out the details in the stitching. Any comfort he found in the details far removed from his current problems made it easier to deal with. At least, easier to deal with until he had to deal with it.

“Oh alright. Here,” he snapped. He held out a parchment, produced from the cavernous robes of his winter attire, and let Jeren inspect it with a scrupulous, crippling eye.

The plan unravelled slowly. Jeren saw through Leopold’s bravado too quickly for the merchant to remember what pride felt like. Jeren folded the paper, put it on the bench next to Leopold with a careful toss, and leant back slowly.

“So.” He smiled, weakly. “You’re going to trick Ruby into killing Jomil.”

[Pettigrew]

Scara Brae – North Clock Tower

The duo sat in silence and watched the interview come to a close. Lisa and Ruby argued for a while, but hugged, made up, and strolled arm in arm along the Market Promenade as though they were best of friends.

“Why did you only decide to go through with this now?”

Pete’s question, a loaded gun to the raven’s temple, had been days in the making. His curiosity always got the better of him, despite his attempts to keep his nose out of other people’s business. Then again, since Leopold had begun to include him in his machinations, it was in fact his.

Pensive, as much as a bird could be, Leopold hopped closer to the edge of the balcony and peered down to the street below. People too and froe along the boulevard, nervously glancing up at the clock face to see how close they were to being late. This time of day was a tipping point between sunny productivity and the hazy fog of a sluggish afternoon.

“I’ve never had the strength.”

His words sprung forth from mutated lips, and wings vanished in lee of arms. In the blink of an eye, the merchant was seated next to the scamp in regal waistcoat and top hat. He frowned.

“You’re a god!” Pete cried in disdain.

Leopold shook his head, and took a deep breath. The air was cold, and smelt like the ocean.

“I was a god once. Now I am bitter shadow.”

[Ruby]

Scara Brae – Market Square

“I’m excited,” Ruby clucked.

“Said the actress to the bi-” Lisa stopped mid word when the spell singer’s glare drained the humour from her.

They walked on, still arm in arm, but less jovial. The emotional rollercoaster that had been their furtive reunion had left both women confused, and weary of what they said and how they said it. Whilst their agreement and their plan of action felt right, it would take time to truly see if the matriarch could, for once in her life, take orders.

“Okay,” Ruby sighed, three left turns and a right later. “You can keep the innuendo.” She turned her sigh into a smile, and nudged Lisa gently.

With sister-like affection, Lisa nudged back. Their cheeks warmed, red as Ruby’s hair, and they realised that after all said and done between them, this bump in the road would only make them stronger.

“You can keep the limelight, in kind.”

“Oh,” Ruby chuckled. “I intend to.”

“But only for I Want to Be Your Canary!” Lisa attested. “You were literally born to play that role, it’d be criminal for me to take it from you.”

The promenade broke out into a wide road, one of the city’s arteries of commerce. In the central strip, a grassy knoll with intermittent Rodden trees, there were market stands and artisans of every description. The web of people travelling up and down was as mesmerising as it was deadly.

“Lunch, before we rehearse?” Lisa asked buoyantly.

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ahyark Tundra

“Trick is such a cruel word to use,” Leopold replied. His meek smile did little to hide his concern for his own wellbeing, as well as the wellbeing of his wife. “But, if I told her what she was going to do before she did it, Jomil would scowl in the darkness of Berevar forever.”

The wagon began to lean slightly, indicating they were coming about. If Leopold’s sense of time and logistics were worth their salt, they were finally lopping in a circle around the Ice Henge itself.

“Are you sure she would not help you?” Jeren mustered up strength to free himself of his cloak and prepare for disembarking. Though the day was already spent, there was much work left to be done before they were free of Berevar’s cold.

Leopold had considered it for the better part of a century. Even after the couple had undergone an exegesis in their relationship, renewed their vows, and died in one another’s arms more times than either of them dare to remember. Ruby would never agree to do what needed to be done willingly.

“Well, I’m with you all the way.” Jeren was not sure why, it just seemed like a good idea. Again, it was all about the pay check.

“I appreciate that, really I do.” Leopold pushed upright, and let the furs cascade away from his body. A glint of silver armour brought colour and hope to them both.

“Let’s get this bloody over with,” Syrian said bitterly.

[Pettigrew]

Scara Brae - North Clock Tower

“I’m not sure that I understand.”

Pettigrew’s demeanour darkened. Usually jovial, the self-defeatist attitude of a man he very much looked up to started to undo his resolve. He folded his arms across his chest, defiant.

“I gave up much of my power during the war. When the Thayne first came to Berevar, I was a monster.” He widened his arms, to indicate his size. “A titanic, cruel, and devilish raven that wielded death as blade and fear as armour.”

The Raven, the Old God of Death had fought against his kin. He wished to allow all faiths to exist in the wastelands of snow and freedom. The orcs and their kin had suffered for their arrogance and foolishness. The choice facing the defeated Old Gods was sleep, or near mortality. Loving Phoenix, the woman now called Ruby Winchester, Leopold chose the latter.

“Nothing changed.” Pettigrew’s demeanour turned murderous. “Can’t you just go in guns blazing, shatter the Ice Henge, and be done with it?”

Leopold wished he could. He pointed to the tall tower on the eastern fringe of the city. Decades ago, the Tantalum troupe had tried to fight a similar evil and presumed themselves untouchable. Then, they had dearly paid the price. Raven would not make the same mistake.

“We tried that once.”

Pettigrew followed the point, remembered all too fondly, and dropped his gaze back to the maze below.

“So. The Last Song.”

Leopold nodded glumly.

“The death of the Tantalum troupe, and of Ruby Winchester.”

[Ruby]

Scara Brae - Market Square

Blissfully unaware of circumstances leading to her inevitable conclusion, Ruby Winchester lolled back in her chair in the radiant sunshine. By mid-afternoon Scara Brae’s hubbub had died down, and the sun had heated the east side by the docks quite nicely.

“I haven’t enjoyed gin this much since the wedding,” Lisa remarked non chalant. There was a genuine, half-sizzled smile plastered across her face.

The spell singer glanced across the glass topped table and smiled. As sizzled as her sister in arms, she could only muster a nod in agreement. She reached for the glass, half empty, decorated with a spring of mint and thawing ice cubes and drained it another inch. Whilst it wasn’t the famed Ambrosia, a delicacy they could ill afford in lean times, it hit the spot all the same.

“Did you mean what you said?” Lisa whelped. She sat upright, a truth finally dawning on her.

Several clientele in the café cast her disapproving glances. A waiter circled away from their table, penguin tie and silver tray deemed unworthy of the playwrights.

“About the name?” Ruby shrugged. “You worked so hard to deserve your place Lisa. The Restless Fugitive is you and Pettigrew and if we can support that, fabulous.”

Lisa raised her glass. Ruby tilted it back and they exchanged a toast to mutual successes. As birds flocked in clock towers, and boats sailed from the docks on voyages grand, in the café where so many troupe members drowned sorrows, Ruby drowned her last.

[Leopold]

II.

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/08/36/5f/08365fee9b7f829edd9b8cf05d7e39f4.jpg

[Leopold]

Jomil the Hermitess, Wilderlands (Berevar)

Aspect: Wisdom, Unmaking, Entropy, Amphibians, Chaos, Introversion, and Sadness.

Center of Worship: Technically, it is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Jomil travels constantly, thus taking the “axis mundi” of her influence with her wherever she goes. She never stays in one place for too long, although she always returns to a region of Berevar she refers to as the Wilderlands.

Manifestation: Female. Almost always, she manifests as a humanoid clad in a ragged, burlap robe. According to accounts, however, of those who saw her bare skin, she has a pale blue-green tinge to her flesh, with irregularly placed dark teal flecks, and rivals the beauty of her sister V’dralla. Despite her dress, she seems impervious to Salvar’s biting cold. Also known as the “Queen of Unmaking,” because in her presence, there is a high chance that mortal-crafted objects begin to corrode.

Mannerisms: Extremely humble, and assumes everyone thinks she’s hideous as most of the attention has been given to her sister, V’dralla. A quiet and gentle soul, she has tendencies to collapse into herself and leave everything behind (often in ruins). Nearly obsessed with her appearance, although in a tragic, negative sense. One of her biggest flaws can be her tendency to be self-defeating. Slavic in theme.

Acts Attributed to Jomil: Mushrooms in a staggered line (said to sprout in her footsteps), devolution, retrograde motion of stars, low tide, wilting of plant life.

Chief Relic: The Icehenge (See Relics and Artifacts).


Excerpt from the Codex of Thayne Lore (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?294-Codex-of-Thayne-Lore&highlight=)

[Leopold]

Berevar - The Ice Henge

The Ice Henge in all its frozen glory was a spectacle unlike any other. Its origins were lost to time, and its purpose, more so. Only the Old Gods knew of its current machinations, and even they were foggy about it. As much as it was a veil between veils, it veiled truths with half-truths and lies with more lies. Leopold leapt down from the lead wagon and folded his arms across his chest. A bitter attempt to keep warm enough to not faint and proud enough to still lead his men.

“Couldn’t have said it better,” he replied to Syrian. He gestured east along the inner flank of the caravan that sided with the Ice Henge’s outer rings. “Make sure the wagons at the back close in and half-circle the Henge.”

Syrian smirked. Malice was not in Jeren’s personality, but when the sword spoke, it shone through clear as day. He nodded, and then ploughed his way to the rear barking orders and cracking skulls as he went. Leopold watched him for an awkward moment, mesmerised and terrified at the same time by the man’s efficiency, then advanced to the nearest of the towering spikes of ice.

“Lot of good it will do them if He wakes up…”

Pensive, Leopold stopped feet away from the glistening rock. As hard as diamond, the Henge’s spires had consumed so much magic, and Tap essence leaking through from gods-knows-where they were indestructible.

“Yet still you lead them to death…,” growled a shadow.

[Leopold]

Every bone in Leopold’s bony body reverberated. The sound was indescribable, but it bordered on thunderous, with added reverence. Time itself could be found in those words.

“War.”

A shadow stepped out from the spire, clad in midnight, and half as tall as the fang of ice. A mane of fur cloaks and war trophies hung from its shoulders, skulls and strings of teeth smashed from those unfortunate enough to not have survived wars forgotten and challenges untold.

“Death.”

Leopold could give the precise length of time that had passed since the two Gods had last seen one another. Three thousand and forty two years. A summer, hotter than any other, had thawed the seas betwixt Salvar and Berevar. The orcs had been particularly fiery that year, and Leopold had flow over the carcasses left in the wake of War’s fickle desire to find a worthy fight.

“I never thought you’d be so bold.”

As the old god stepped away from the Ice Henge proper, Leopold traced his features. As all the creatures beneath Berevar’s frozen skin were anthropomorphic, War, pastime of the orcish tribes that lived in the Tundra took the form of a chieftain as large and indomitable as he was wise and brutish.

“Or you as foolish to think you could sway me from my path.” Leopold’s eyes narrowed on the Orc’s.

The god of War reached for an axe from beneath the fur that was twice as long as Leopold was tall. Its head was gigantic.

[Leopold]

“Hard to walk without legs,” War grunted in reply.

“I only need this,” Leopold retorted. He pulled a white framed pistol from beneath his overcoat. It danced with purple haze and mysticism. For a brief moment, the air smelt of lavender, not salt and winter’s chill.

War laughed. In every reverberation of his laugh there was another. It echoed across the plains and sent snowflakes scattering from their path in terror. To the west, caravan guards lined up, five knelt, five stood – rifles aimed, loaded, and ready.

“A pistol? You know that cannot hurt me.” War stepped forwards, his single stride carrying him fifteen feet.

Leopold smirked. He did know. He knew all too well. He had tried to shoot War millennia ago and gotten an axe to the chest for his foolishness. If he had learned anything since the formative days of Berevarian society, it was that if you lived to fight another day, bring a bigger gun.

“Of course it can’t.” He held it at arm’s length as though to shoot War. He aimed at the orc’s forehead, tempted to fire all the same. “But this is to tell the other’s to fire.”

War’s eyes widened as Leopold pointed Isabella skyward. Its nozzle flared in the bleak shadows. He dropped the pistol to his side and glanced across his shoulder. Amidst the hustle and bustle and mild panic of his caravan, the men had gathered in three fusillades.

“Fire!” Jeren roared. In volleys of fifteen, hell broke loose.

[Leopold]

The plan was, had it gone Leopold’s way, to distract War for long enough to slip unnoticed through the cracks in time at the heart of the Ice Henge. It seemed simple enough. Steal Jomil’s heart, get even, and get rich in the process.

“Oh fuck,” he spat. He made for cover.

The volley, followed up by a twin from the North did nothing to War save for rile his anger. Bullets bounced off his thick hide and lodged in the fur wrappings on his lumbering limbs. Leopold, shrewd as ever, watched the drama unfold from behind a crate tower. When the bullets stopped, War’s rampage began.

“Scatter!” Jeren roared. Despite being several hundred feet away, the unmistakable bark of the captain of the guard shot across the tundra. Dutifully, the riflemen scattered as quickly as they could.

War’s weapon cleaved through three unfortunate recruits and sent their entrails scattering through the dark, snow flecked sky. Three rifles dropped ominously to the icy ground. Bullet shells bounced on the cracked tundra.

“Well this isn’t going to work,” he mumbled. He holstered his pistol and scanned the panicking caravan for something more suitable for felling millennia old gods. He set his sights on the middle wagon and smiled.

“Leopold!”

Jeren appeared at his employer’s side with the sort of expression that suggested Leopold was about to have his diminished mood worsened. He cursed not bringing more Bourbon with him on the trip.

“What is it Captain?”

“Clarissa time yet?” Jeren panted.

[Leopold]

“You stole the words right out of my mouth,” Leopold replied.

Together, the two men turned to the central wagon and charged in unison towards it. Leopold’s coat tails flapped in the wind and Jeren’s sword clattered against his thigh. Had odds been more in their favour, the sword would be in his hand, and the jacket slung aside for freedom of movement. Today, spears and blades would do little to help them.

“If this doesn’t work, what then?” Jeren enquired as he clambered into the back of the wagon.

Leopold stared over his shoulder. War was tearing into the front of the caravan, where the first regiment were holding a desperate last stand. He saw a soldier fly upwards at the apex of an axe swing and fall into darkness out of sight. He flinched.

“I will have to reconsider your pay cheque.”

The side of the wagon fell away, the cover unstrapped by Jeren’s shaking and dogged fingers. Inside, instead of the usual cargo stood a sight that was inspiring as it was terrifying. Leopold had not seen Clarissa in quite some time. It was, amongst his own company, one of his most closely guarded secrets.

“I best not miss, then,” Jeren grumbled from behind Clarissa’s buxom curves.

Leopold made sure he was out of the woman’s line of fire, and edged to the rear of the wagon. He conjured his spear. He bit his lip.

“Fire, fire, fire!” He levelled the tip at War’s back, and prayed.

[Leopold]

Like all the woman in Leopold Winchester’s life, Clarissa was a fiery tempest of wrath and scorn. Just as much as she was beautiful, she was deadly. Leopold had acquired her in a lucrative trade with the Corone military prior to the dissolvent of its armed forces when the Ixian Knights took control of the island.

“What a magnificent widow,” the merchant mouthed as the barrels of the Gatling gun shuddered, sparked, and flared to life.

The first bullet struck War square in the back, and unlike its lesser cousins, Clarissa did not fail to penetrate the creature’s defences. The second, third, and fourth tore into the creature’s spinal column and knocked it forwards. A hail followed through, tracing through the empty space where the Old God had once stood terrorising the remnants of the caravan guard.

“Ceasefire! Ceasefire!” Leopold roared. He stepped into Jeren’s line of sight, spear waving, arms flailing desperately. He took a deep breath of cold, icy air as the whirring barrel slowly rotated to a clicking halt.

He looked over his shoulder. The cries of wounded and dying guards filled the air. The smoke from Clarissa’s lungs bellowed into the sky. Torchlight and desperation illuminated the dark skies. Leopold felt sick.

“Is it dead?” Jeren dared to ask.

“Oh.” Leopold clenched his jaw. “I highly doubt it.”

All the same, he made a beeline for the Henge. If he was going to stand any chance of stealing the Hearthstone he had no time to lose.

[Leopold]

The moment Leopold crossed the threshold between the Tap and Berevar time stopped. The air smelt like sea salt and yesterday. The merchant stumbled into the Chamber of the Old Gods with snow covered boots and no idea what he was going to do when he got there.

“It hasn’t fucking changed a bit,” he cursed.

Whiteout began to turn into a pale representation of long forgotten power. Seven pillars formed, made of rock and ice and rage encircled the trespasser. Centuries had passed since the Old Gods that clung desperately to consciousness had whispered Leopold Winchester’s true name. Centuries would pass again before they dared to forget it.

“Rook,” echoed the Council.

Leopold stood to attention and dusted himself off. He disbanded his spear, did up his gold threaded waistcoat to the top button, and held his hands in the small of his back. Though his cheek was bruised, his hair eschew, and his torso bruised from the journey he did his best to appear regal and in good health.

“Hello, old friends.”

“You are no friend of ours,” they roared. The voices of the Old Gods, shadowy masses on the edges of Leopold’s vision tore at the man’s mind. He fought back, fearlessness formed from centuries of preparing for this moment.

“I’m not here to dispute that.” He stepped defiantly forwards and bent at the knee.

He reached out for the rock slab at the Ice Henge’s heart. Ignoring the illusion, he ran a finger over Jomil’s heart.

[Leopold]

When Leopold opened his eyes the Old Gods were gone. The white out of the Tap was an afterthought. The Ice Henge was quiet. Though snow still fell over the Ahyark Tundra, it was a silent continuation of nature’s oblivious and unceasing march. He turned, saw the remnants of his wagon, and sighed with relief.

At his feet, a large stone cube had appeared that was protected by the Ice Henge’s power. By piercing the veil and contaminating the Hearthstone in its ethereal state, he had forced the veil that concealed it from mortal eyes to fall. Now, after a long journey home, he could begin to think about ridding Berevar of the Thayne forever.

“Leopold!” someone cried.

“I’m over here!” he replied with equal gusto.

Jeren looked considerably more tired and beleaguered than when Leopold last saw him. The merchant frowned. Jeren stopped in front of his employer and stared at the Hearthstone.

“What happened? You’ve been in their hours.” The caravan guard gestured at the rock.

“Hours?” Leopold blinked. He swore he had been in their mere minutes. “Jeesh. Ermm. Well. Easy enough, the Hearthstone’s here.”

That sounded like half a story to Jeren, but he knew better than to press matters when they were far from out of danger.

“What happened to War?”

“The moment you entered the Ice Henge he sort of, Ermm, disappeared.”

Leopold, finally free to hurt, slouched his aching shoulders. He did not want to know the body count until they were home.

[Ruby]

Epilogue

“This is it,” the merchant said softly.

Leopold and Ruby Winchester stood on opposite sides of a large granite block. The block stood at the heart of a downtown warehouse near Scara Brae’s docklands. There was nothing in the building save for the married couple and the Hearthstone. The doors were locked. The roof, though riddled with holes, kept most of the afternoon rain out.

“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

Ruby, grieved and unsure of herself, looked teary eyed into her husband’s eyes.

“Everything I said to you a month ago remains true, Ruby. The song will give us a new lease of life. It will,” he sighed. “It will right so many wrongs.”

Lying to the woman he loved was part and parcel of their mutually complicated relationship. Time and time again, they had used their respective connections to gain power and providence with white lies and whiter bribes. Never once, however, had Leopold used his wife’s magic to deceive. Allowing her to have hope when there was none was a cruelty he hoped she would forgive him for.

“Okay…,” she wiped her teary eyes.

When the song was sung, the Hearthstone would never again hurt the Old Gods. The Thayne would have no power in Berevar. The hatred that had torn apart the Old Pantheon would dissipate, and perhaps, just perhaps, Berevar could be free of its decaying legacy.

“I’ll be right here with you,” Leopold promised.

Ruby Winchester cleared her throat.

[Ruby]

“Life is but a lesson learned and learned again in earnest,” she sang.

Sparks danced over the Hearthstone. The light in the warehouse began to fade, leaving the air cold and the skin prickled.

“Yearning for the memories of days of innocence,” she continued. She sang whatever came to heart, as ever she did. The tears continued. The song escalated.

The ground shook. Leopold, sensing power swelling from his wife as much as the Hearthstone, took several steps back. He did not want to be any nearer than he had to be to be inspiration for the song. He pleaded with his eyes, keeping Ruby’s attentions as best he could. She sung on.

“New opportunists come and go, but in the heart of love I know.”

Fire flickered along Ruby’s skin. In no time at all it covered her from head to toe, dancing over cloth and feather alike. She held out her hands and ascended, in a thermal of her own emotion and promise.

Every line of verse Ruby hoped would settle old scores and give the troupe new hope. Every line of verse Leopold knew would decay the magic that kept Jomil anchored in Berevar. With the same song, at Duffy’s request, Ruby would pick at the seams of the Great Bard’s mortality. She was, for all intent and purpose, ensuring the troupe’s future.

“I’m sorry,” Leopold blurted out. He burst into tears, unable to hide the truth any longer.

Ruby startled, but she was unable to stop.

[Ruby]

“He asked me to do this,” he continued.

Ruby, afloat on thermals and madrigals conjured by ancient power glared at her husband. She realised, in that moment, that singing the song was not going to accomplish what she had been promised. Now, though, she was too deep into the music to be able to stop. Time was being undone. Futures were deleted and pasts forgotten.

“He said it was the only way to ensure your future…our future…Berevar’s future!”

The fire around her intensified. It took on a purple quality, as though the puritanical fire of creation were contaminated by her sadness. She shed tears of lava, glistening on her burning skin like golden rain.

“But if we had another chance, I’d turn away that false romance…”

The last line of the first verse took on a sombre quality. Ruby’s head rocked back and the fire around her erupted into a pillar of coruscating flame. Raging. Undulating. Ruination burning life and limb.

“This isn’t going to save anyone…,” he whispered.

Basking in the glow of the spell song that gave life to the Universe, Leopold Winchester watched as the flame licked at the Hearthstone and shattered the ties that bound Jomil to Berevar. As the Hearthstone weakened, it cracked.

“Least of all those we hold dear…”

Far away, Duffy Bracken felt hot. He began to burn. He ignited. His body, wracked by pain, remembered every single death the bard had endured over the course of five long, torturous centuries of war.

[Duffy]

Duffy? Sei pleaded.

He waved a hand at the viewing sphere that hovered above the combatants. The Ai’bron monks recognised the gesture and dissipated the illusory arena that the duo spared in.

The leader of the Ixian Knights scuttled forwards with wingbeat and swords dragging behind him. He discarded the piercer and dropped to his knees.

Moments ago, Duffy had forced the cruel weapon into his ribcage. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?28102-Brother-Sing-Your-Song/page2) Tested by years of experience, Sei felt the tip penetrate the bard’s heart and the second it had, magic erupted outwards from his blood brother.

Duffy? he roared.

In Sei’s arms Duffy twitched. The fire, which Sei had long ago learned was illusory, burnt bright and danced with wild abandon. Tied to Ruby, the bard could do nothing to escape the revitalising, regenerating, time destroying effects of the Last Song. In order to give new life to Berevar, and to the people chastised by the Thayne someone had to give their old life.

I didn’t mean it… the Ixian cried. Tears, free flowing, ran down the mute’s cheeks.

The threads of Duffy’s plan came together in a tight knot. Tired of defeat and failure, the bard chose to give his life to offer a new lease of vitality to the people that had believed in him. No more would he let them down. No more death at his hands. No more war. No more lies. Save for this final act of defiance.

“Sei…brother,” he spluttered through blooded teeth. “Time to let me go.”

[Philomel]

Name of Judgement: Play The House Down Ruby Roux (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?28292-Play-The-House-Down-Ruby-Roux&p=252036)
Type of Judgement: Workshop Submission
Name of Authors: Leopold, Pettigrew, Ruby and Duffy

Rewards:

Rewards have been awarded on a base count of posts minus those that are simply pictures (posts 1 and 21)

Leopold: (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?15713-Leopold)
2210 EXP
221 GP

Ruby: (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?14033-Ruby)
1530 EXP
145 GP

Pettigrew: (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?17003-Pettigrew)
290 EXP
40 GP

Duffy (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?13978-Duffy):
200 EXP
15 GP

[Hysteria]

xp and gp added!