Blue Rose: Saga of the Strange

[Sorrows Solace]

The country-side hadn't changed all that much, if she though about it more it was obvious that it was her own mileage that made everything seem so different. She hadn't been too eager to return for any reason other then business but Blue Rose's King had finally persuaded her to return. Possibilities in extending her knighthood into a whole other chapter was intriguing enough she could admit that at least.

It had been four years since Del had returned in what form she could, more and more people taking her up as an example, as a saviour, someone to look to for strength; all the while her sister probably knew little of it and simply did her life's work. It had been three years since Geneviève had lost her title as Champion of Blue Rose (truthfully it had been a relief to step down, she was never to eager for the dance and feast after, it was uncomfortable, and grief made it worse.) It was nearly eight years after the end of the Undead War. There was to be a tourney in Blue Rose, some anniversary or another, that would include all of the champions that wished to compete once more, and since things had calmed down it felt right to return.

She could still feel the faint unsettled sensation of wrong. Del wasn't with her, Sildeth had returned to his people, Wraven was managing his lands that grew and grew and was a beacon of Pelorian Faith, Zen was spending time with his daughter, and Isaac was dead, wherever his spirit was, she hoped he was content. Part of her had wanted to ask Dolph to come, but envisioned him laughing and shut that idea out quickly. Tera and Alexandine were still looking for a permanent way to get Del out of her predicament and that just left the woman on the horse, feeling that tugging sense of discomfort even as she had traveled with allies and friends.

For now Geneviève Lys rode alone; Jacques, Olivia and her small retinue of guards, knights and followers (that never ceased to disquiet her utterly) had gone ahead to the city to seek out somewhere to stay. The woman was glad for the quiet and paused on a small side street, patting her mare gently on the neck as she slid to the ground. Riding in full plate was never the best experience, and she wasn't sure what was worse, riding in heavy rain or deep summer like it was now. The air was thick and heavy, it was early afternoon and already humid, in the distance she could see the practice yards and the tourney area beyond it being set up. If it doesn't cool off we'll all collapse from heat and no one will win. she thought, smiling a little.

She looked to be in her early thirties and was fit and strong. Constant training and battle had honed her form, leaving corded muscle and scars behind after years of fighting. Black hair was braided and pinned away from a heart shaped face, and steady, grave blue eyes looked around, not missing anything, a pinpoint of green fire rested around the irises, flickering like embers. The full plate she wore was dulled silver, with a bright gold emblem of Blue Rose on the shoulder, and if one looked closely one could see a small enameled hand, palm out and surrounded in ghostly white fire on her right pauldron. A long sword and shield was strapped to her saddle, both battered and worn from war, but were sharp and well cared for. The sun highlighted a few faint lines around her eyes and mouth as well as two bright locks of golden hair, looking like the metal itself, twined amongst her braids. Along her brow, a lock of pure white hair rested, trimmed back to avoid hanging in her eyes.

It was no secret that the woman was notable; Chosen of Sif, called the Chainbreaker and now Grail Knight, she inspired songs and stories wherever she went. To those important to her and to herself she was simply Geneviève. To many being a hero was enough, something to strive for, to those that knew what it held it could be argued that it was a title picked up along the way of a calling, and to remain human was to remain sane. So far, the woman had done sparingly well with that and with a few faint stretches she was back in the saddle again, riding into the wide and busy market that was bustling ahead of her. About to ride on or try to find a better road, she paused and halted, arching a brow at one of the booths and listening to an exchange a moment before dismounting and approaching.

She had to hear how this turned out.

 

[Sorrows Solace]

Karita crouched, hands and feet brushing up against long grass and soil, turning her head to the wind and letting her senses piece out everything before her. It was a hot day, Long Heat had started and her pack was already starting to shed their winter fur, the pups caught in their mottled coats of puppy and adult; they were growing up. The Far Plains Wolf Pack was new each time she returned and she recalled the words that the Tribe of the Golden Eagle had told her; Change. Crouched in the fields, listening to the pack ranging around her and keeping a wary eye for both prey and predator she felt it all too strongly now.

She didn't feel like Slightfur anymore, even if the pack still saw her as their sister, pup and friend. In her heart she knew she always would be, the pack-tie died with you after all. But, still, after spending time with beings that looked sort of like her, that had taught her to speak, read, and write and move like a two-legger she wondered if she would always be two creatures in her mind. Slightfur, the tiny wolf that didn't run like the others, or hunt the same but was ever eternally part of the fold and Karita, this still new name that both felt right and wrong to use; she had never known it before, the clan-mother had taken the bit of bone she always carried and pointed to funny scratches on the front and spoke the word Karita and she knew that it was important, something to hold onto like the first hunt and kill. It was her first new name. The one that made her an adult.

It was confusing, even after six years of wintering with the tribe. The divide was less now with her pack, but she was still troubled and sat on the ground crossing her legs. She was still getting used to so many things, not moving on all fours, speaking carefully and not trying to catch the scent of everyone she met, or not growling when offended. She could speak, read and write well enough for the clan-father to be pleased but it felt slow and ungainly, she was a pup learning to walk in so many things.

It made her feel stupid; another new word. It was like being slow, but instead of it getting you killed it made two leggers look at you funny, as if you were a bear trying to fly. Why that was Karita never really understood, she walked on two legs, talked to people and didn't even try to use any pack manners, but still people looked. Her shoulders hitched up in a shrug and she felt a warmth impact into her side and turned her head. Golden brown eyes met hers and a grey wolf nudged her

Going to see the two-leggers again? her pack-brother Grey Wind's teeth showed in wolfish humour, which she returned.

I need to keep trying what they taught me, I'm getting better.

His ears flicked faintly First you're a wolf, then a two-legger, then both. It's...strange. he admitted, carrying the thought most of them held that she would leave one day and maybe not come back, that her strangeness had set her away form them somehow in a way that had never happened before.

Her mouth twisted at that idea and she linked her fingers together. The Golden Eagle Tribe had two-leggers that looked like her, as far as the pointy ears went. But she was taller and stronger, her hair was a long, coarse mane and she wore the furs and hide armour that covered her skin and kept her warm. There was that and the heavy hammer she carried, she had no fangs and claws to use, the stone head of the hammer and a bone knife were her weapons. Her skin had darkened with the sun and her eyes were a startling shade of pale gold that she hadn't seen in another two-legger's face. She was different, not a wolf, not a 'elf' not like the clan elves anyway, not both...it was confusing.

Scenting the change in her mood, Grey Wind bowled her over and the two play fought and rolled until she sat up and turned her face to the sky, irritation gone. It was late morning and getting hotter, if she had to go into the city she should do it now before it got worse. Standing, Karita stretched and after her goodbyes, she loped off across the plains, reminding herself to keep on her feet. Even if all fours was faster. The pack moved in the opposite direction; it was time to find shade and shelter from the heat, they would find her again, they always did.

The leather bag thumped against her hip and the hammer was carefully balanced on her back, she had a small pouch of the round metal circles. Gold coins. She had been taught their value and how to go to market, had been asked to go to the city and practice. It made no sense, she had all she needed with her but the clan-mother had been forceful and so far, she had been useful as well. Maybe it was another good lesson, like how to use the hammer, how to cook food and some better ways to hunt.

The wind changed, sound reached her keen ears; talk, horses, lots and lots of two-, no people. They were people. She didn't like it at all. The noise pressed on her ears and as she entered the city gates she felt her nose wrinkle. It smelled here. Not good hunt-smells, some were food, other people, horses and dirt. Above that was herbs, something she knew was called spices, and metal. She had to pause to sort it out and grimaced as people jostled her. Why did they walk so close together? Gritting her teeth and fighting against the snarl that bubbled in her throat she walked, barefeet dusty and holding a fine pair of leather boots in hand.

There was what the clan-mother called a stall ahead and she smelled fresh fruit, and vegetables, she had tried some in the plains and with the clan. They were good. Approaching, she looked a skinny man, human, up and down and saw his eyes widen. Surprise, not fear. She didn't touch the fruit, but looked it over, keen senses picking out that they were just picked and healthy, that was good, or so she thought.

".....Can I help you?"

She perked up, that was what they were supposed to say. Now...what did she have to do? She looked at the boots in her hand and back at him, before thrusting them under his nose, making his eyes go wider.

"Buy these."

Her voice was hoarse, throaty, but it didn't come out in a growl. That was good. But he looked confused and blinked very fast.

"What?"

She frowned, did she say it wrong? She wanted him to buy them, he'd take the boots (she didn't need them) and give her coins, that was how it was supposed to work. Karita shook them a little, then craned her head to see his feet. He wore boots. Did he only want ones for his feet?

"They're boots. Buy them." she tried again, maybe his mate wanted some? He didn't have to wear them after all.

"........Uh....."

Her shoulders dropped, what was she doing wrong? He was started to sweat. She was scaring him, all she was doing was looking at him, her teeth weren't even out!

About to try again she heard a faint, smothered sputter and turned, smelling metal and horse. There was a human female behind her, taller then her and wearing all metal clothes. Armour, that's what it was called. She stood tall and looked...like she wasn't trying to laugh, making Karita scowl. The female's face eased and she shook her head.

"This is a fruit and vegetable vendor, he doesn't want boots." her eyes had flicked up and behind Karita, at the man and back to her once more. "Come on, I know where you can get rid of them." her voice was low and quiet, amusement bubbling under it like a chuckling stream.

Karita though a moment, looking the female over. Beyond the metal, and horse, there was the scent of apples, sweat and stength. She looked like some of the other tribe members, wanting to help if needed, but not trying to step on her feet.

She thought a moment and looked around seeing a lot of stalls and people and frowned. There were so many, and she had gone for the first one like a stupid pup, wolves scented and paced, waiting before they moved in. She hadn't done it right.

"Show me." she began then paused, sticking out a hand, the one without boots in it. The clan had taught her how to say hello in two-legger "Karita."

It worked, the armoured woman took her hand and shook it firmly; that was always confusing. Why did they do it, it made no sense, it was needless really. But it was 'polite'.

" Geneviève"

That was a strange name, odd sounds in a voice that sounded...different but she nodded anyway, she could remember the name. Saying it right was something else entirely. The armored woman turned and Karita followed, wondering if all two-leggers were this helpful.

 

[Sovereign]

The sunlight hit Lucien like a dragon's tail, slamming into his chest. The cloak that embraced his shoulders and the heavy leather hood which concealed his face did what they could to protect him from the blazing orb in the sky, but he still hated those first few steps into the sunlight. Smooth, pale hands danced slowly across a thin leather belt, kissing each glass vial with a tap of his fingernails. One bottle empty. Two bottles. Three...

Finally, Lucien found a crystalline vial that still possessed some of the precious liquid which he had so eagerly hungered for. Removing the oak-scented cork, the man began to slake his thirst on the vial's contents. Almost instantly, Lucien's cheeks began to fill with a rosy color (though he was still incredibly pale) and began to fill out. Lucien gave a cunning grin as the slight glow to his crimson eyes returned. The thousand solar arrows that had pierced Lucien's flesh seemed to snap and fall to the ground; the sun would no longer pain the young man. Pulling back the hood revealed an unusually beautiful man with long, curled locks of ebon that fell upon his shoulders like the veil of night. His face seemed to be carved of a soft ivory, his cheeks arcing into perfectly shaped, noble cheekbones. His cheeks were somewhat gaunt, and his red lips resembled those of a man ravaged by hunger. His eyes hungered, as well... Though for something far different. Within his rose-colored eyes, a flame of complete passion burned. Within the echoing depths of the black pinpricks of his eyes, a deep sorrow and longing echoed out for all to see.

He was a tall man, his body well toned from years of dueling and spending time at sea. Pulling his cloak back, as to fully embrace the warmth of the sunlight, he revealed a tight-fitting blouse with regal cuffs and an open-chest. Numerous, empty vials clicked against each other about his belt, alongside a dazzling assortment of blades. Two rapiers, each with magnificently ornate hilts and pommels could be found on either side of his waist, their naked blades poking through dark brown leather scabbards. At the sides of each saber, equally beautiful daggers of light and elegant design slumbered within their sheathes; two stilettos with needle-like blades.

Lucien rolled his neck slightly, his burning gaze focusing on the stalls and vendors that swept across his vision. The motions of everyone moving around him became a symphony to his eyes, the swashbuckler smiling as each face walked past. Everything nearly slowed... The movement all around him was a dance. A blossom of sorrow opened up within his chest; he was just another man, at this time... A dashing rogue with the eyes of a flower and the smile of a fox. But they wouldn't know of his curse. They would never know of the pain which lingered like a flickering candle in his heart... And, if they did, they would shout curses and brandish blades, for he would be nothing more than a monster.

The crowds around Lucien were merely walking. To Lucien, they were dancing. To the crowds around him, everyone was merely doing their errands at a marketplace. To Lucien, they were attending a masquerade of flesh.

 

[Sovereign]

Jie valde us kiro viraa, Selvandin birn sjaulr, dova lis nirah. Eth urn vas broldiir, nil vas lis Jvaldr.

A foggy, deep-white mist rose from the silvery edge of the legendary sword. Alistair's hands trembled with power as he whispered the ancient verse, a bare finger tracing itself down the edge of the blade. The ageless weapon was a broad-sword of extremely ornate design, its blade forged of pure silver and the finest steels. Its cross handle was of folded and woven steel, giving the appearance of an ancient and frozen stone; the blade, on the other hand, gleamed with a brightness possessed only by the most untarnished of blades. Upon the long, silver blade, a battle was carved out. Thousands of ancient warriors of the North stood near the edge of the blade, their frozen figures charging eternally into the form of a dragon carved near the hilt of the blade.

As the final words fell from Alistair's lips, the figures slowly began to crack and shift. The silver silhouettes of the thousand warriors awoke from the blade's frozen hibernation. The dragon on the far end reciprocated the action, opening its long-closed eyes. With a mighty roar, the figures on the blade animated into a full charge, shouting out gut-wrenching battle cries. The dragon gave a low roar, opening its maw to unleash a flurry of ice shards and frigid winter breath. Many of the warriors that had been carved into the blade were taken by the dragon's ferocious, frozen breath. The king of the warriors, the one dressed in armor carved from dragon bone and woven by trollskin, gave a final burst of guttural force; "Nafjaroar!"

Whispers. The skald's icy blue eyes narrowed upon the battle scene upon his blade, Jvaldr, and brought wary fingers to the dragon's eye. Softly, he drug a finger across the silver, draconic eyelid, causing the heroic escapade to cease. The men who had been slain by dragon seemingly rose from the dead, returning to their place as eternal guardians on the far end of the blade; the dragon, as the eternal aggressor near the hilt. More whispers.

Giving a gentle smile, Alistair raised his eyes to meet those of two children wearing tattered rags. A young boy had a fierce, hearty grin upon his face, and the older sister a delicately shy smile. Alistair merely nodded his head, a lock of his grey-blonde hair bouncing from out of his eyesight. Running a hand through his handsome, though disheveled, champagne-colored hair, he let out a deep sigh. The children left, as the skald's spectacle of his living blade had ended. Cursing to himself silently, he looked down to a slightly scarred right hand. The silver blade was beautiful, but it always pained him to end the bardic tale which played out on it. Silver. It had to be silver, didn't it?

"Come. I hear a song, and I wish to play as well."

It was Lucien. Alistair's blue eyes met the contrasting red of Lucien's blood-colored irises, a thin smile forcing itself upon cold-worn lips. Digging the eternally sharpened tip of Jvaldr into the ground, Alistair slowly struggled to a stand. He wasn't used to the heat, yet, and it was taking its toll upon the skaldic warrior. "Ysvaor's breath, Lucien... I think I'm starting to understand why you don't like the sun."

The debonair smirk for which Lucien was known made itself present, a whimsical spirit filling the man's breathtakingly crimson eyes. "Bite your tongue, pup. There's a commotion over at one of the stalls, and I know your tongue aches for a tale to tell, as mine does."

Alistair's worn armor glinted in Lucien's eyes as he turned; Lucien disdained the suit. Haha, why wouldn't he? It was shining in his eyes all of the time. It's distracting enough in a battle, but it's another thing entirely when the light quite literally burns his eyes. He entertained himself on the facetious thought; of all the enemies Lucien had faced, his greatest was the light of the sun. Nevertheless, Alistair's armor was something to behold. Steel plates tightly clung to his breast, arms, and legs. His cuffs, collar, and ankles were trimmed with a light brown and white fur, and a veil of chainmail fell over his shoulders. In the center of his breastplate, the symbol of the Hand of the North, a clawed hand with a snowflake etched into the palm, was emblazoned in a deep etching.

The duo walked for a bit; not much further than the tavern they were staying at, and eventually came upon the two women and the vendor, standing a few feet away. They had drawn Lucien and Alistair's attention... Curious, these two.

Very curious.

 

[Sorrows Solace]

How did she keep on getting herself into these situations? Oh that's right, she had been picking up strays since she started adventuring. First the scattered animals as a child, then the orphans during her travels, and now this. She gave a few side-long glances to the elf as they walked, trying to gain some measure of understanding. From the stall misadventure Geneviève could see that the elven woman had very little idea of how cities worked. Her nose caught the scent of animal musk, furs and grass, she had to live in the wilds. She was also tall for an elf and her form was all corded muscle, the heavy hammer she carried attested to that. Her hair was a long, coarse mane of a deep brown tinted with red and her eyes were a striking shade of light gold; against skin deeply tanned against the sun.

Karita warily watched the woman as they moved through the crowds. She handled it well that was easy enough to see, even with all the armour weighting her down. Maybe it was a second skin, like the bear hide she wore. "Why do this?" she asked suddenly, making the woman turn to look at her and faced clear blue eyes, for a moment she was transfixed by the flickering green fire she could see and blinked quickly. There was something strange about her, she smelled human, but beyond the other scents there was a faint sense of the forest, an old one that hovered around her skin.
Geneviève shrugged "Why help you out? It's the right thing to do." she replied easily and the elf turned that around in her mind. It was right to defend the pack, right to hunt for your family and she was starting to believe it was even right to protect the tribe that had let her winter with them and taught her so much; even if they could help themselves.

"Hm, good. This place, it's-"

"Confusing? Loud?"

"Smells" Karita added, as her teeth were bared in a wolf's smile.

Geneviève grinned as well "It does, now that I think of it." she agreed and nodded ahead to a stall that sold leather and fur goods. "Here we are."

Karita nodded, the scent of leather and musk filling her nose and she felt her hackles rise as she looked over the lean man that stood before them. He had the taut, ready look of a trapper, a hunter and she could see bear, lynx and to the tide of gorge that rose in her throat, wolf. She and her pack had avoided men like these, she understood the cycle of hunt but it wasn't supposed to be like this. It was an impression she had gotten before and hadn't really enjoyed the thought of hunters killing animals solely for their pelts. When she had gotten her bear hide they had used the meat for months, that was fair, part of the hunt-cycle.

Sensing her discomfort Geneviève frowned and looked over at her and her eyes gentled "We can find a druid or a ranger to buy them instead, if it's better for you." she offered. Her throat was thick suddenly and Karita nodded, feeling the weight of the wolf claw at her throat and looked at the fang tied with leather on her wrist; from the alpha male and female. She had to honour them and work with people that would understand what it meant to be part of nature. Following the woman again they tracked down a druid that traded the boots for a few useful things, tool to skin, to fish, and shorter warm furred boots for winter.

About to take her leave, Geneviève paused and looked up, something catching her eye as she turned from the stall. There it was, a sigil she recognized and now looking at the fair-haired man's face her eyes lit faintly. "A Skald." she mused before getting close enough to approach and nodded at him, greeting him in the rougher tongue of the Northlands, or Norsca as it was called. "It's been some time since I've seen a skald." she greeted, there was a strange resonance to her voice, a faint echo that thrummed in every word, overlapping and lending power to her husky voice. Her eyes roved over them both and rested on the dark haired male a moment, something making her pause until she figured out what it was.

Half-Vampire.

Hm, well that's new she commented, trying to sort aside the unease and distrust as well as the admitted distaste. Eurydice was a full vampire and a friend, she had walked with orcs, fought alongside a lich, vampires and undead. It was more then black and white, though the scars of the Undead War still remained. Both of them looked to be friends and she had to wonder just what they were doing here.
Karita padded up next to Geneviève, her bare feet resting against the cobblestones lightly. Her head came up, scenting the air as she took her measure of the males: one smelled like faint blood and roses, the other smelled of snow and, and wolves which nearly made her grin. She wanted to move on out of the city, but the clan-mother had wanted her to try and stay, to learn something. Maybe she could come back with stories of these people, that had to be something new.

 

[Sovereign]

Lucien gave a debonair smile, his eyes filling with the mists of excitement. This was fun to him; talking with new people... Learning their stories, their names, and for a rare few, carving those names forever into each other's hearts. It was like a game. It was far from an evil, corrupting game, however. Games are meant to lighten the heart, to conjure the smile, and to light the fires of whimsy. No, it wasn't a malicious, predatorial game... It was song. Art. Dance. Poetry.

"Yes, a Skald. My friend's heart beats with the thunder of the north, and his voice proves to be far sharper than most blades." The swashbuckler gave rest to his hand upon Alystir's shoulder, turning his head to give a smirk that only a lifelong friend could muster. The young, snowy Skald gave a soft smile to Karita, his eyes sparkling a silver veil in the sun. There was... Something about her. A deep feeling. One that came from within his breast... A sort of call. A sort of instinct. Did the Blood of the Beast flow in her veins, as well? No matter. It wasn't wise to give into the Blood, lest his primal instinct take over. This was a problem that both of the men had come to respect and fear... It seems they would forever be Brothers of Accursed Blood.

"Yes, a Skald. You speak the Northern Tongue? Rare." Alystir smiled shortly at the paladin, reaching for Jvaldr's hilt. The familiar song began to buzz lightly in the back of his skull as his fingers met the pommel. "I am Alystir, Son of the Sky and Brother of the Mountain. This is Lucien Vairmourne, Poet, swashbuckler, and treasure hunter. He has seen a great many things... And he has done even more."

Lucien gave a flash of white teeth behind the crimson lips of his smirk. Bowing once more. "We have heard that a tournament of sorts will be happening soon... We have been thirsting for a little action, even if we must watch. Are you two combatants?"

 

[Sorrows Solace]

Oh gods he was one of those courtly, flashy fellows wasn't he? Why did so many undead have to be so damned charming, it was creepy beyond belief. She recalled the rat-man and nearly shuddered so many years later and that still gave her the crawls. But then he was only half-vampire and he seemed so damned sincere, like it was simply part of him that he wanted to share with all he met, which was much better the some of the buffle-brained nobles she had met.

"Like the bards, except you share stories and chants instead of song." she commented, watching them both with interest. The two seemed to be close friends, the type that constantly traveled together and had save each other's lives more times then they could count. It made her miss her old friends, and Del; traveling with Jaqcues and Olivia was nnice but it just wasn't the same. In all honesty it was quite lonely at times.

Karita blinked and nodded in response, a quick bob of her head. It was hard to greet two-leggers in the 'normal' way, baring your teeth scared them and that was seen as a threat, she had learned fast that sniffing the air or their hand tended to be less then desired. So she kept still and watched him with a cocked head, trying to decide just what he was. He smelled like a wolf, but walked like a male two-legger, where was his pack? Was the other one with him his pack? The woman that had helped her didn't seem to have one and that was sad; not hearing the pack song and having someone to hunt with was, well lonely as anything.

Geneviève simply nodded "I spent a lot of time in the North." she replied, fanitly relieved that she was talking to a few people that hadn't heard all the stories, from her time as a slave to being a Grail Knight. It was refreshing. "Geneviève Lys. Good too meet you both, and I can believe that, you both have the air of those that get into a lot of trouble." she added with a faint grin, her vocal resonance dampening slightly now.

"I'm here for the tournament yes; I was invited back to compete in the grand melee." she offered, and Karita looked back at them having her attention be swayed by all the different scents in the air and all the two-leggers, they were all so different. "I sold boots." she commented simply, pride sneaking into her voice and she nodded at the armoured woman "She helped."

 

[Sovereign]

Lucien gave a quick wink, before parting the smirk of his blood-red lips with a flash of his white smile. "Trouble? Of course not, my dear... A little fun, definitely. After all, who doesn't love an adventure?" Lucien's eyes sparked to life with his words, the embers of that overwhelming feeling of excitement just before an heroic journey kindled the flames in his blood-red eyes. His accent had kissed his word with a delicate touch, giving a hint to his origins, though he spoke clearly and without hesitation. He had known this tongue since birth, and his accent served as a spice of an exotic flair to his dark, smooth voice.

Alystir nodded to Genevieve, hinting a gentle smile with pale lips. She knew of Skalds. Perhaps she had heard of the Hand of the North; of course, the answer should be fairly obvious if she had spent much time in the north. He had missed the cold, strangely enough... The very same cold he had cursed between bated breath during his long trials and excursions while attempting to join the Hand. He was actually beginning to sweat. Lucien gave silent nod to Alystir, though it was so quick and inconspicuous that few would be able to pick up on it at all. Though, he had a feeling that Genevieve and Karita were as far from normal as the Vampire and the Werewolf. The full moon was coming soon, which always put Alystir on edge. The Skald smelled of pine, of snow, and of the oaken musk that was often associated with his lupine brethren, the wolves. The sweat wasn't helping.

But, before Alystir could return the gesture to his poetic companion, Karita's voice caught his ear. Lucien smiled like a fox, with Alystir shaking his head in disbelief as he attempted to hold fast against an approaching grin. "That's wonderful. Many can slay ferocious beasts, but few can stand against the burning breath of a disgruntled merchant." Alystir winked to Karita, his smile finally breaking through.

Lucien reciprocated, running a hand through his mane of black languidly before speaking to Gen. "You helped? Then you are as much a hero as she. Truly, I hope you find glory in your tournament."

 

[Sorrows Solace]

Geneviève arched a brow in response to that "Most of the people I know, come to think of it." she mused, smiling faintly at the thought. It was nice, welcome eve, to meet somewhat of a kindred spirit, on that enjoyed peril and adventure as much as she did. The woman also had the idea that both of them were opposites in many ways. Every word Lucien spoke was brushed by the delicate cadence of her homeland, grace and passion infusing every syllable. It made her feel faintly wistful, her own accent was odd now, impacted by the harsher constantans of the North, but when she spoke Norscan her words were faintly lilting, it was both ironic and funny to think of. Now with the added resonance she was finding that her husky voice was something that attracted a good amount of attention.

Karita was finding it hard to listen to them; distracted by so many new smells and sights, sweat, food of all different kinds, animals and the over all scent of earth and too many two leggers. They moved in tiny packs, chattering like magpies, or little fluff-rats and the more she looked the more she saw that none of them looked alike in the least. There were also none that looked like her, making her feeling strange once again. She ought to have been used to it by now even the tribe didn't have any elves that looked like here, why was here any different? It was another point that added to her own confusion, making more questions rise. What was she now, here in this big, noisy place? Not Slightfur, the little wolf that was for sure, was she Karita that too big and 'odd' elf or Lanathly now part of the tribe and not all at the same time. She shook herself out of her thoughts and looked over at the man that smelled of pack "Not any worse than a angry bear." she commented, smiling carefully trying not to show all of her teeth, that tended to scare people.

Geneviève smiled a bit and nodded to the wide areas where people could watch and beyond to the pit "That's where it's being held, I hope you all watch." she offered and nodded at them, speaking quietly to Karita a moment before she left. A few hours past and the elf found herself standing uneasily in a press of two leggers that reeked of sweat, some odd drink and lots of food. There was a huge group of people ranged in the pit, all getting ready to fight and it seemed really foolish. There was no hunt, no food or pack at stake, why were they fighting? The male two-legger that had met her after Geneviève helped her find more of her people had tried to explain but eventually gave up. Jacques was nice, he listened to her and after a hurried bunch of words with Geneviève and was now keeping her 'company', the tiny female next to him was Olivia, she helped Geneviève run what was called a 'keep.' It was all interesting and she was faintly confused but turned to watch the ensuing fight.

Geneviève took a breath as she stood amongst the crowd of fighters, only recognizing a few of them. The words of the seneschal that was presiding over the event rolled over her and she focused on the task at hand, the terrain and her opponents. With a ringing clang of a bell the tourney started and Geneviève surged forwards, shield and sword at the ready. Time blurred and she found the numbers dwindling, as she amassed a few bruises and faint cuts; her last opponent was a strongly built and fast knight from a small country in this realm. He used a buckler as well as a heavy sabre; and they both were at logger heads as she worked and watched him as they fought. There. A faint falter in his right leg; she rushed forwards, sword arcing at his face, as he moved to parry she slammed the inner boss of her shield at his leg, making him stagger. Once last swing finished him off and he fell senseless as the crowd roared. An hour or so later she came back to the small group she had met and smiled a bit at them all "Well, that was fun; there's a feast-" suddenly the woman sighed "and a ball, if you want all of you are invited." she offered, catching Karita's blank look and smiled inwardly, there was a lot she had to explain.

 

[Sovereign]

Lucien flashed a few unspoken words to Alystir, who gave a smirk followed by an exhausted nod. Turning back to Genevieve, Lucien gave a repeat nod following Alystir. "It's a date. We're to be dressing appropriate, no?"

Alystir shrugged off from the wall, cracking his neck and giving his arms a roll. "I haven't been out of this armor in ages..."

 

[Sorrows Solace]

Geneviève smirked a little "Neither have I." she replied, nodding over at Alystair. "Good, the more the merrier." she added and smiled over at Karita "It would be nice to have you with me, there's alot of food and the people with me are nice." she commented, trying to be assuring as the elf frowned "What's...a ball?" she asked, she knew what a feast was, everyone ate there and people talked, the tribe did that at special times. "People dance." Geneviève explained and Karita blinked "Around fires?" she asked and the woman blinked, before smiling a bit "No, something like that." she replied as the elf looked a little thoughtful. The tribe mother had said that talking and being around two leggers would be good for her, so would new things. This was something she had never done before and she nodded slowly "Yes, I'll go." she replied.

The armoured woman smiled "Good, now we're going to have to look for something to wear." she mused and Karita frowned "Have this." she lifted her arms a bit, wrapped in bear hide armour. Geneviève stared and shut her eyes a moment, fighting the urge to laugh and rubbed her forehead "You are not wearing a bear. People will faint." she replied, turning a bit as footsteps approached, a man in his thirties approached "Milady I found a tailor that is suitable and-" he broke off, looking over the tall elf and the two men before very faint exasperation melded with amusement filled light blue eyes. "Again milady?" he asked and Geneviève gave a sheepish grin "Yes, Jacques again. Lead on please." she replied and he sighed as the woman looked over at Alystair and Lucien "Want to come with us?" she asked.

 

[Sovereign]

Lucien took a few steps backward, looking anxiously up at the sky. Would this ball last all night? Lucien hoped they'd have a chance to slip away, should Lucien become a little... Thirsty. Alystir didn't want to play chances with the moon, either. He was in a strange land, far from his frozen home. In a place of magic, anything could happen.

Lucien quickly pushed the thought from his mind just as swiftly as it had began to cloud his mind. They had been fine so far, and Lucien had two more vials in his belt. It wasn't fresh, but rather cold and coagulated... It was miserable, but not as horrifying as fully embracing his curse. Lucien's lips pursed in a pout of fancy, the poet turning to look at the two women he had recently been acquainted with.

"Yes, we'll come. Isn't that right, Alystir?"

"Of course... But nobody's touching Jvaldr."

 

[Sorrows Solace]

Geneviève watched them and bit her lip a moment "You'll be able to leave whenever you want, if time's a concern." she commented, thinking of any possible issues with Lucien being half-vampire. She didn't want them to think they had to stay the whole night, time had a unfortuante way of dragging at those things.

Karita shuffled a bit, nervous suddenly, she'd be pressed in by a bunch of two leggers that all stank, they'd talk loud and stare at her. It wouldn't be as bad if she was near the two males and the new one that was leading them on down the road, he smelled of oil and faint soap and the armoured woman trusted him. He had to be a pack mate of hers and that thought made the elf ease faintly.

Geneviève smiled faintly over at Alystair "No one will touch it. I'll have to get that story out of you someday if you don't mind." she commented, having heard enough legends of the blade. They soon approached a shop with a low sloped roof and glass windows that displayed swatches of well-made fabric and outfits. A bell tinkled lightly as they walked in and Karita could smell treated fabrics and faint dust. A man peered around a set of rolled fabric with bright green eyes and they widened a moment.
"Ah, the Grail Knight comes to see me! Along with friends as well." he was a wizened old man, faintly stooped but approached with a sense of vigour, looking them over before his eyes set over Karita "No, no, all wrong! My dear, come into the light." Karita looked utterly baffled and stepped forwards a bit into a patch of sunlight and stiffened as the man began to pace around her. He gave a cursory glance to the other three and nodded.

"Challenges all, I must thank you for this milady. You are dressing for the ball yes?" he asked, his voice was faintly rapid and he looked over Karita "So tall and strong, leather or hide for you, the softest I have...and you do not like shoes I see." he commented, looking down at bare toes. There were a set of diases along the middle of the shop and he flapped impatient hand over to the three "Stand there all of you, the light is utterly wrong where you're standing." he scrutizined them a moment, eyes alight with the thrill of challenge.

 

[Sovereign]

Alystir lifted his chin, furrowing an eyebrow before tentatively stepping into the light. He rolled his shoulders, cracking his tense neck. "I haven't been to one of these... Tailors, since we brought Gungyrhti's head to the Jarl's throne," Alystir muttered before stepping atop the a dias, "And I'm not nearly covered in enough Troll blood for that to have happened."

Lucien beamed, before pressing his smooth lips into a cool smirk. "All in due time, Alystir. I'm sure your ancestors in Sovngarde would love to see their Son of Snow attending a party, it's poetic really." The vampire stepped forward, pausing as his lips twisted into a not-so-innocent pout. His eyes glanced the height of the room, narrowing at the golden light. His hesitation, however, was short lived. The swashbuckler's fluid motion met the the kiss of the sun, his buckled boots pressing his body onto the dias besides his icy companion.

 

[Sorrows Solace]

The old man huffed an impatient sigh, looking up over Geneviève's shoulder; "This is not the far North my boy, we are in Blue Rose, this is a quiet, peaceful place. For the most part now One moment pleace." he mused, snaking a length of knotted rope around the Grail Knight with quick and efficient hands. The armoured woman had snapped a finger and unsummoned her armour, watching it pile neatly in a corner "The ball isn't until tomorrow night, it gives us all time to get ready." she commented as the tailor finished his measurements and gently took her chin in hand turning her to the light. "Your eyes have changed milady, I don't believe the melding of gold and silver, with the red and blue accents will work this time." he mused "Silver or white, and bronze, perhaps with emerald accents. Yes that is fine." he waved the woman off of the dias, quickly making notes on a pad of paper before turning to Karita.

She fidgeted uneasily as the two legger looked her over, trying not to growl as he touched her and asked her to turn to the light. "Very tall and such wonderful skin and eye colour. Yes, soft leather and hide will work very well for you, tan or gold. And don't worry I won't subject you to boots." he smiled at her and she found herself smiling back, careful not to show her canine teeth. He asked her to remove her armour and she did standing in a hip wrap and cloth that wrapped around her chest and he coiled a rope around he quickly before nodded, fighting not to smile as she put the armour back on.

He nodded in approval as Alystair stepped on the dias, Lucien followed. Quickly he weaved around Alystair, taking measurements and watching him a moment "You come from the North so you may be more comfortable with heavier furs. Silver, blue and ice grey will suit you I believe." he mused. As he spoke he set aside bolts of fabric and murmured instructions to assistants as they cut needed lengths from many different colours. He approached Lucien and tilted his head a moment after the measurements were taken "Silk, or satin, perhaps velvet for a heavier fold. Deep crimson and stark black with platinum accents will do you well. Thank you, you may all step off the diases"
He paused and waved a hand at them all impatiently "I must work the first fittings will not be ready until tonight, come back later."

 

[Sovereign]

Alystir gave a sigh of relief, stepping down from the dias with a languid grace. He gave a quick nod of his head to Lucien, who gave a vulpine smile and followed, glancing around the room and up to the golden shaft of light once more. The Skald gave a deep breath, before looking to the two women with a sturdy but gentle gaze, glancing outside. Lucien spoke for the warrior, holding out a cuffed arm to the door before pressing his lips together. "Ah, it seems that daylight yet lives and breathes. Shall we go for a walk?"

Before waiting for a response, he turned his attention to the door before leaving to the street, gazing up wryly to the sky. "You wont' have me tonight, beast..."

 

[Sovereign]

Lucien and Alystair had returned, standing upon the same diases as before. The parabatai let the light of the lanterns above flood down upon them, fully dressed in their new attire.

Lucien's hair had been cut shorter, black curls falling to his brow and nape of his neck, contrasting the soft and smooth white with his ebon locks. His eyes flickered beneath the light under his long, thick, beautiful lashes like a scarlet candlelight, the curve of his lips forming an ever-so-delicate smile. He was completely in his element, and the way he held his body and the grace with which his slender, soft hands had brushed over his outfit reflected this perfectly. He was beautiful, like a dark, still night, the clear air bristling beneath the cold light of stars, and yet warm like a sweetheart's touch.

He wore a jacket which clung tightly to his body, extending just below his ribs, black satin trimmed with silver and gold threading at the neck of laced cuffs. Beneath that, a silken shirt of white rose to the dip of his neck, revealing the smooth, hard muscle of his slender chest. Large silver buttons closed the silken shirt to his chest, though it flowed beneath the jacket and just above his belt magnificently. Black, buckled boots rose to his knee, and a scarf the same color as his blood-red eyes wound itself around his neck, falling over his jacket.

Alystair, however, looked a little impatient. It wasn't the dressing up that had gotten to him, but rather the moon. So long as it wasn't full, he'd retain complete control over his transformations... However, his senses heightened as the moon rose in the sky. Smells, instinct, and all reaction was heightened as the beast within him longed to howl like a lunatic upon the celestial body for which the madman was named. He had always felt so... Alive, at night. That would be something that brought he and his parabatai together; to be a predator of the night, Sons of the Moon.

Alistair's waved hair fell just in front of his eyes, their golden, silvery-blonde luster shimmering beneath the lantern like the light of a sunrise reflecting across the vast expanses of snow. His eyes were filled with clarity as night surrounded him, a deep bluish silver the color of the Northern Sky. A coat covered Alistair's corded muscle, the silver of the outfit bringing out the misty color of his eyes. The cuffs were lined with cream and white-colored fur, his neck remaining naked as the fur-lining parted revealing a necklace of beautiful silver and bone. He looked like a true Jarl; a Northern King, Warrior, and Hero.

 

[Sorrows Solace]

Hatarag waved them off, already deep in work preparing the clothing to be cut and sewed. Karita and Geneviève left to see more of the town, as they stopped at different inns they were treated to many different meals and drink. The elf eventually fled to the outskirts of the town, enjoying the smell of grass and soil as she slept, returning to the city in the morning to explore more. Later in the next afternoon the two women reunited and returned to the shop.

Later, Karita stood in the shop uncomfortably as the sun began to set outside. The building smelled of sun bleached cotton, the faint smell of burning dried plants and the fading scents of people that had come and gone. She felt ten feet tall and awkward as she waited and had carefully leaned her hammer against the wall glancing back occasionally to make sure it didn't vanish. Soon the older two legger emerged, looking very pleased and nodded at the tall elf "First, you much wash, and see my daughter about your hair." he stated abruptly before moving off.

It took some coaxing, and a lot of explanation before Karita was finished. She had never seen such a deep stone tub like the one in one of the smaller rooms; she had swam in rivers and lakes and knew how to clean herself but this was different. The water was hot and there was herbs in it to give it a strange smell. She kept wrinkling her nose until the girl, Arietta explained there were to help her smell nice. It was barely tolerable and she fidgeted as the girl brushed her hair and helped her put on a cotton 'shift' before she went to try on the 'dress'

She was honestly pleased; it was made from very soft leather and it felt comfortable on her skin. One large strap held the dress up winding about her shoulder diagonally. It came to her knees, showing powerful legs and deeply tanned skin. Soft moccasins covered her feet and the fang of her boss female rested on her neck, the claw of the boss male was on her wrist. Arietta hadn't stopped playing with her hair after, now it was a mass of thick curls pinned to the back of her head, wisping faintly around her cheeks and neck.


Geneviève was next and after her bath, she emerged smelling lightly of apple blossoms she slipped into the dress, whistling faintly with admiration. It was crafted with a soft cotton lining, the outer fabric was a deep vivid bronze silk slashed with forest green silk. An empire waist and fitted length hugged faint curves and the fabric pooled around her feet, a thigh high slit showed a bare leg toned with muscle. Her hair was left down, waving lightly against her face and bare shoulders and back.

Soon she was back in the main room, faintly uneasy. Wearing armour, tunics and breeches was so much easier then all this. Karita looked more uncomfortable then she felt, the poor girl probably had never worn anything like this in her life. After the final fittings they emerged and the woman paused at the sight of Lucien and Alystair, both of them in their finery. "You both clean up very nice." she commented with a faint grin, seeing Karita's eyes widen.

 

[Sovereign]

Alystair's eyes narrowed upon seeing the two women, lids falling to a half-close. He smelt strongly of the rain and pine, snow and night , wind and wolf; the moon's glittering dew had spilled down upon the Skaldic werewolf, awakening the presence of a strong, powerful, dominant beast in his stature, aura, and scent. He gave a gentle and rough smile, his pale lips, carved features, and strong shoulders gave him the air of an ancient hero, the same that Skalds and Bards would often spend their entire lives hoping to capture in song and tale. Karita caught his attention, no amount of pampering and covering up could hide the raw, wild aura she gave off; at least, it couldn't be hidden from the wolf which slept within Alystair. There was a strong attraction, the sort of feeling which made him lower his icy shield, the kind of feeling which made the Skald's shout dull into a simmering whisper. It was a combination of her beauty, the dress hair and eyes of the Elf tugging at something in his throat, and the primal blood which pumped through both of their veins.

He dropped his head, letting golden-silver curls cover his eyes, which had started to rim themselves with a silver like the light of the mooning shining through storm clouds. Hold yourself, Beast. I am not your slave, you are mine... Alystair's voice muttered in his head. Lucien saw this, faint concern fluttering in his lashes as he too dropped his lids to a half-close, placing a hand on his comrade's shoulder. With a forced smile, he looked to the girls, the curve of his lips bleeding into a flash of a smile as he gave a wink of garnet eyes. There was something entrancing, about them. They were the deepest and purest of crimson, the shadows dancing and playing about the scarlet irises like the dark cuts and prisms of a flawless garnet.

"You two are... Beautiful, to say the least."

 

[Sorrows Solace]

Karita felt the air change around Alystair as his scent shifted and darkened, making her hackles rise. She already knew what mating scents meant, recalling the times her pack had met other wolves. This was different; it felt like she was being sniffed over by a boss male. One that was ready to pounce. Her hand reached for her hammer before she remembered that it was leaning against the wall as she fought the confusing urge to growl him away or wait to learn more and react.

Instead she looked away and huffed faintly, as Geneviève fiddled with a jade bracelet, the female two-legger's strange eyes not missing a thing. She had the ready stance of a hunter too and both of them watched Alystair reign instinct in as Lucien stepped into intervene, and Karita eased very faintly as Geneviève stepped over to pay for their clothing. The Grail Knight turned and smiled a bit at Lucien "Never thought you'd be the type lost for a bit of flowery praise." she teased lightly in response to his compliment.

They left the shop, ordering a carriage for the ride to the palace, Olivia and Jacques rode with them, both dressed in high formality. Olivia was a short woman, with cropped blonde hair and a buxom figure, tanned skin lightly criss-crossed with thin white scars, her eyes were a light green and her dress matched with deep bronze embroidery. To Karita she smelled of sweet grass. Jacques was of medium height and well-built due to his work as a squire, her wore midnight blue and silver, a badge on his breast proclaimed his as Geneviève's squire; a fleur-de-lis with a upraised long sword replacing the middle petal. Karita caught the scent of oil, horse and mint. They were both very nice, nodding at Geneviève's strange friends as if it was a daily occurrence. If asked, it was more than a little accurate.

The carriage rattled along the road and Karita bounced faintly in her seat, eyes wide as the small talk around her went unnoticed. Horses, like the ones some of the tribe rode pulled them along and they went fast. She felt her belly protest and shifted uncomfortably as they rode along. "Not feeling well?" Olivia's voice was warm and chipper and she spoke kindly. "Here" she handed Karita a small lozenge and the elf stared at it blankly. "You eat it, it will help" Olivia offered, and blinked as Karita grinned, showing strong white teeth with longer and sharper canines. The lozenge was strange, it tasted like honey and ginger , things the elf knew the tribe used to help upset stomachs. It dissolved in her mouth quickly and she turned to look out the window, more eager than uneasy now. After a moment she turned to Olivia as if remembering something "Thank you" she offered, that was the right thing wasn't it?

Olivia turned to Geneviève and began to speak in rapid Bretonnian, the only others able to understand were Jacques, and possible Lucien and Alystair.

"........She has fangs. And she's...you said she was wearing a bear?"

Geneviève shrugged "Little fangs, and she's from the wilds."

"Obviously. Why is she here?"

"Because milady hasn't done anything that gives me a headache for three weeks." that was Jacques, his voice a quiet deadpan and he merely ducked his head as Geneviève glared at him lightly.

"It's...she needs someone to show her around. And why not have her at the ball, the nobles are actually ruder then she'll ever be. It'll be fine." she assured, watched Karita lean her head out of the carriage window, sniffing at the air. I hope.

Olivia and Jacques both gave up in quiet, if fond disgust. Geneviève had the knack of tripping over the strange wherever she went. An elf that wore a bear, a Skald and a very pretty half vampire was really just par for the course. Luckily they were paid well and both admitted to them that working for the Chainbreaker had its upsides. Soon the carriage rolled to a stop and the squire and seneschal exited, arm in arm. Geneviève stepped out and Karita followed. Both women stood on a stone pathway to a palace crafted of white marble and glittering with lights. There was the smell of flowers, and two leggers and very heavy scents of foods, and musks and flowers, but they didn't smell right at all. Wrinkling her nose and frowning Karita shuffled uneasily and Geneviève smiled.

"There's food and Jacques and Olivia will be there to help." she assured and looked back at Lucien and Alystair "Alright, ready? They'll announce us when we all get in. Actually, Jacques? Can you help with that?" The young man turned, stared at the four of them and looked as if he either wanted to laugh or cry. After a moment he walked over to the two men "Where are you both from again? Are there any titles you have?" he asked, they would be easier to deal with first.

After they were finished he looked at Karita "Where are you from?"

"Plains." she responded simply, craning her neck to see the two leggers walking by.

Jacques sighed "And, uhm it's just Karita?" he asked

The elf looked at him and straightened, she knew how to do this. "Karita, Slightfur, Daugther of Wolves. From the Far Plains, friend to the Tribe of the Golden Eagle." her throaty voice rolled faintly now, an odd tone of honour and humble joy in her voice.

Jacques stared at her a moment and then simply turned on a heel and walked ahead, before looking at Geneviève "You're finding this funny aren't you?" he asked dryly as the Grail Knight had trouble holding in her laughter. "Yes." she replied and the squire sighed "I can work with it, let's go."