Lightb & Dark 7.4 an update at last
Feb. 15th, 2004 04:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessTook me long enough right? I think I've also been neglecting a lot of muses shamefully.
Anyway, here's continuing the marriage ceremony of Light & Dark, my two favourite sidhe and the ultimate odd couple.
Previous editions can be found through my memories, as ever. I hope.
Sitharensor blinked away the last images of Ilatheril’s tale, felt the taste of blood and vengeance on his tongue fade. Nareseth’s laughter soared up to the outer reaches of the hall to be eaten by the shadows that lurked there. The new dark power in his soul exulted, howling in triumph at the victory. He felt it chant through his mind, it’s rage at the hollow restrictions of order, it’s hunger for chaos and change... the need for... truth? Freedom?
He shook it away... thoughts for another time.
Now was the time for ceremony. Large, elaborately tooled boxes were brought in from each side of the throne room, some carrying the colours of House Eternal Fire, some of House Darkeye. The carving on these mere packing cases was more beautiful than most human works of art. Every effort had been poured into making this perfect. It had to be perfect.
Carried by one of the few of the fief’s giants, a huge crate was delivered to the feet of the Darkeye Lord. The weight of the thing was such that even the massive creature struggled under its great weight. Sitharensor’s father needed only brief prompting before speaking.
“Lord Kirathil of House Darkeye, I present unto you this token of lasting peace in honour of the union between our sons.” With a wave of his hand and a brief flare of power, the ornate chest slowly fell into sections. “The War Chariot of the Abyss’ Ride.”
The Seelie pulled back instinctively, even the giant hurrying away from the artefact. The chariot was huge and black, seemingly crafted from one massive block of pure onyx, gleaming in the suddenly dimmed light. The highly polished stone reflected the room back in its murky depths... but somehow twisted. Things moved in the reflection that didn’t exist in reality and staring at the stone for too long seemed to wrench at your heart and soul, throwing back an image drained of all that lives and breathes and hopes.
Kirathil leapt upon the chariot bed, standing on that platform of darkness and raised his fists to the sky, crying out words so old and dark that modern ears could no longer stand to hear them spoken. The chariot flowed with black fire and the unholy power of oblivion itself.
“Lord Brionachan, your token is truly magnificent, long may peace reign between our peoples and our houses now stand forever united over the divide of court!” He almost sounded like he believed his words. “Allow me to present my own token in honour of that union and that precious peace.”
Two hulking ogres carried a long silver tooled chest and laid it before the Seelie lord. A brief flare of dark power and the box came apart and laid its contents before Lord Brionachan. There was a gasp of awe from the crowd as a wave of subtle power flowed outwards. Inside was a long beautiful robe, seemingly sewn from the finest quality soft blue silk. Yet this silk had depth and purity the exceeded even the greatest quality cloth. Across its cerulean surface drifted immaculate clouds, driven by winds that whispered gently through the great hall. “I present to you, Lord Brionachan of House Eternal Fire, the Robes of Sky and Winds.” Sitharensor leaned forward desperately, longing to touch this incredible artefact with legends. Once worn by the Lords of House Limitless Heavens, its loss rapidly lead to the house’s downfall to the vassal it was now. To have it returned after all these centuries... even Sitharensor’s father seemed to have been brought back to the present.
“Truly this is a day that will be remembered in song for centuries to come! I call for my House and its vassals to celebrate this day for all time! Wendel, bring our greatest token of our esteem for our guests.”
Wendel, looking quite overwhelmed by the ridiculously ornate robes of state he wore, stepped forward, a small box clasped in the boggun’s small hands. Sitharensor held his breath. The presentation of the tokens had been planned and negotiated weeks ago to ensure nothing could go wrong. This had been the most hotly debated presentation - the Stone of Night’s Shroud. Even the Seelie lords and vassals who supported the marriage had been dubious at returning this infamous artefact to the Unseelie...
Kirathil leaned down from the chariot, the black fire lapping around him and pushing Wendel back as he took the box with a look of pure reverence in his eyes. “For too long has our people been separated from the Stone...” With the greatest respect, he opened the box with his own hands...
His face fell... the box dropped from his hands, empty. Sitharensor’s courtly trained manners shattered, his jaw dropped in horror as his mind tried to accept this.
The lesser fae murmured and whispered in fear and shock. The sidhe stood stunned into silence. Seemingly turned to marble statues among the throng of their subjects.
“The Unseelie have stolen the stone already! Treachery! This is what comes of trusting the Dark Court and their word!” Lord Ythirath of House Winter’s Honour drew his longsword, the edge gleaming in the cold blue fire of his eyes.
“Nay! ‘Tis the Seelie! They seek to turn back on their words! They fear us gaining the Stone!” An Unseelie sidhe, unknown to Sitharensor raised a black bladed axe, his lips skinned back from teeth that grew to fangs.
Sitharensor forced himself back to reality - accusations of oath breaking! Lord and Lady preserve him, the peace was dead! That was an intolerable insult! Already fae were drawing weapons and calling power... This cannot be! He looked helplessly into Ilatheril’s eyes, seeing his own frustration reflected back...
Metal hit metal, sword and axe and claw clashing in deadly harmony, Magic flowed in thick poisonous waves, crushing, burning, maiming, killing. The peace was lost before it had even begun!
“THIS WILL NOT BE!” Lord Brionachan towered over the throng, awash with power and noble fury. For the first time in all his life, Sitharensor saw his father with his true power upon him. For the first time, he saw what his father was, not the faded creature he had become. A shard of the Eternal Fire of their house seemed to dance around his head and settle in his hands. With no weapons, he was the most dangerous man in the room. “THERE WILL BE NO FIGHTING IN THIS HALL! ANY WHO RAISES HIS SWORD OR POWER IN ANGER DOES SO AGAINST ME AND MY HOUSE, DISHONOURING ME WHILE UNDER THE BOUND OF HOSPITALITY. SUCH A FAE I DECLARE HONOURLESS AND ANATHEMA!” A ringing silence filled the room for a second, followed quickly by the sound of metal on metal as hundreds of Seelie quickly sheathed their blades.
“I WILL PERSONALLY HUNT ANY FAE WHO DOES NOT ACCEDE TO THE REQUEST OF OUR HOST.” Ilatheril’s father’s voice was far quieter than the words of Sitharensor’s sire, but they seemed to carry just as easily, echoing from the dark corners and hissing across the ears. “ANY I HUNT WILL WISH FOR DEATH - THIS I SWEAR.”
The two lords stood together, staring down at the cowed crowd... and staring out the few who raised their gazes in defiance. Sitharensor took note of those who opposed, remembering their faces.
The room was in complete silence. Everyone’s gaze on the two powerful lords. After what seemed like an eternity, Lord Brionachan spoke. “I will retire to consider this issue with Lord Kirathil and my council. No-one is to act until we have decided on what course of action is to be taken.”
The room shifted slightly, whispers of quiet mutters of discontent murmured through the room, none loud enough to draw attention or the mighty noble’s ire as the advisors of each house threaded their way through the crowds to their lieges.
It was going to take some difficult politics to end today without bloodshed, either under this sun or under those to come. Sitharensor wish he saw a way out...
Anyway, here's continuing the marriage ceremony of Light & Dark, my two favourite sidhe and the ultimate odd couple.
Previous editions can be found through my memories, as ever. I hope.
Sitharensor blinked away the last images of Ilatheril’s tale, felt the taste of blood and vengeance on his tongue fade. Nareseth’s laughter soared up to the outer reaches of the hall to be eaten by the shadows that lurked there. The new dark power in his soul exulted, howling in triumph at the victory. He felt it chant through his mind, it’s rage at the hollow restrictions of order, it’s hunger for chaos and change... the need for... truth? Freedom?
He shook it away... thoughts for another time.
Now was the time for ceremony. Large, elaborately tooled boxes were brought in from each side of the throne room, some carrying the colours of House Eternal Fire, some of House Darkeye. The carving on these mere packing cases was more beautiful than most human works of art. Every effort had been poured into making this perfect. It had to be perfect.
Carried by one of the few of the fief’s giants, a huge crate was delivered to the feet of the Darkeye Lord. The weight of the thing was such that even the massive creature struggled under its great weight. Sitharensor’s father needed only brief prompting before speaking.
“Lord Kirathil of House Darkeye, I present unto you this token of lasting peace in honour of the union between our sons.” With a wave of his hand and a brief flare of power, the ornate chest slowly fell into sections. “The War Chariot of the Abyss’ Ride.”
The Seelie pulled back instinctively, even the giant hurrying away from the artefact. The chariot was huge and black, seemingly crafted from one massive block of pure onyx, gleaming in the suddenly dimmed light. The highly polished stone reflected the room back in its murky depths... but somehow twisted. Things moved in the reflection that didn’t exist in reality and staring at the stone for too long seemed to wrench at your heart and soul, throwing back an image drained of all that lives and breathes and hopes.
Kirathil leapt upon the chariot bed, standing on that platform of darkness and raised his fists to the sky, crying out words so old and dark that modern ears could no longer stand to hear them spoken. The chariot flowed with black fire and the unholy power of oblivion itself.
“Lord Brionachan, your token is truly magnificent, long may peace reign between our peoples and our houses now stand forever united over the divide of court!” He almost sounded like he believed his words. “Allow me to present my own token in honour of that union and that precious peace.”
Two hulking ogres carried a long silver tooled chest and laid it before the Seelie lord. A brief flare of dark power and the box came apart and laid its contents before Lord Brionachan. There was a gasp of awe from the crowd as a wave of subtle power flowed outwards. Inside was a long beautiful robe, seemingly sewn from the finest quality soft blue silk. Yet this silk had depth and purity the exceeded even the greatest quality cloth. Across its cerulean surface drifted immaculate clouds, driven by winds that whispered gently through the great hall. “I present to you, Lord Brionachan of House Eternal Fire, the Robes of Sky and Winds.” Sitharensor leaned forward desperately, longing to touch this incredible artefact with legends. Once worn by the Lords of House Limitless Heavens, its loss rapidly lead to the house’s downfall to the vassal it was now. To have it returned after all these centuries... even Sitharensor’s father seemed to have been brought back to the present.
“Truly this is a day that will be remembered in song for centuries to come! I call for my House and its vassals to celebrate this day for all time! Wendel, bring our greatest token of our esteem for our guests.”
Wendel, looking quite overwhelmed by the ridiculously ornate robes of state he wore, stepped forward, a small box clasped in the boggun’s small hands. Sitharensor held his breath. The presentation of the tokens had been planned and negotiated weeks ago to ensure nothing could go wrong. This had been the most hotly debated presentation - the Stone of Night’s Shroud. Even the Seelie lords and vassals who supported the marriage had been dubious at returning this infamous artefact to the Unseelie...
Kirathil leaned down from the chariot, the black fire lapping around him and pushing Wendel back as he took the box with a look of pure reverence in his eyes. “For too long has our people been separated from the Stone...” With the greatest respect, he opened the box with his own hands...
His face fell... the box dropped from his hands, empty. Sitharensor’s courtly trained manners shattered, his jaw dropped in horror as his mind tried to accept this.
The lesser fae murmured and whispered in fear and shock. The sidhe stood stunned into silence. Seemingly turned to marble statues among the throng of their subjects.
“The Unseelie have stolen the stone already! Treachery! This is what comes of trusting the Dark Court and their word!” Lord Ythirath of House Winter’s Honour drew his longsword, the edge gleaming in the cold blue fire of his eyes.
“Nay! ‘Tis the Seelie! They seek to turn back on their words! They fear us gaining the Stone!” An Unseelie sidhe, unknown to Sitharensor raised a black bladed axe, his lips skinned back from teeth that grew to fangs.
Sitharensor forced himself back to reality - accusations of oath breaking! Lord and Lady preserve him, the peace was dead! That was an intolerable insult! Already fae were drawing weapons and calling power... This cannot be! He looked helplessly into Ilatheril’s eyes, seeing his own frustration reflected back...
Metal hit metal, sword and axe and claw clashing in deadly harmony, Magic flowed in thick poisonous waves, crushing, burning, maiming, killing. The peace was lost before it had even begun!
“THIS WILL NOT BE!” Lord Brionachan towered over the throng, awash with power and noble fury. For the first time in all his life, Sitharensor saw his father with his true power upon him. For the first time, he saw what his father was, not the faded creature he had become. A shard of the Eternal Fire of their house seemed to dance around his head and settle in his hands. With no weapons, he was the most dangerous man in the room. “THERE WILL BE NO FIGHTING IN THIS HALL! ANY WHO RAISES HIS SWORD OR POWER IN ANGER DOES SO AGAINST ME AND MY HOUSE, DISHONOURING ME WHILE UNDER THE BOUND OF HOSPITALITY. SUCH A FAE I DECLARE HONOURLESS AND ANATHEMA!” A ringing silence filled the room for a second, followed quickly by the sound of metal on metal as hundreds of Seelie quickly sheathed their blades.
“I WILL PERSONALLY HUNT ANY FAE WHO DOES NOT ACCEDE TO THE REQUEST OF OUR HOST.” Ilatheril’s father’s voice was far quieter than the words of Sitharensor’s sire, but they seemed to carry just as easily, echoing from the dark corners and hissing across the ears. “ANY I HUNT WILL WISH FOR DEATH - THIS I SWEAR.”
The two lords stood together, staring down at the cowed crowd... and staring out the few who raised their gazes in defiance. Sitharensor took note of those who opposed, remembering their faces.
The room was in complete silence. Everyone’s gaze on the two powerful lords. After what seemed like an eternity, Lord Brionachan spoke. “I will retire to consider this issue with Lord Kirathil and my council. No-one is to act until we have decided on what course of action is to be taken.”
The room shifted slightly, whispers of quiet mutters of discontent murmured through the room, none loud enough to draw attention or the mighty noble’s ire as the advisors of each house threaded their way through the crowds to their lieges.
It was going to take some difficult politics to end today without bloodshed, either under this sun or under those to come. Sitharensor wish he saw a way out...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-07 09:50 am (UTC)if someone's looking to start a war, they get a gold star.
altho i would be quite amused if where nothing but a small child looking for a sparkly. =p
[could i put in an order for one of those nifty chariots? i think it'd be just the thing for our Horde.]
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-07 02:41 pm (UTC)Darren: *smacks Rick* stop tormenting the fae. No good will come of it.
Yup, this looks rather unpleasantly like war... and if it is a child looking for a sparkly I'm going to feed it to the Hounds of the Wild Hunt!
Yup, one chariot one order, everyone should have one... err... but it may be wise if Stone is chauffeur driven?