Slight content warning: Druchii are truly horrific people, to everyone and each other, feel free to skip down as needed if the content makes you need to.
Spikes, Horns, and Stone 22
Eldyra does not stop weeping for some time. It just grows quieter and quieter as it goes on, until she is essentially inaudible. Her entire frame, as pristine as a thousand plus year old fleshcrafting maniac of a Druchii woman could ensure, still shakes and shifts with each sob though the violence of it does begin to fade. When you look up to see Hultressa watching, a slumbering Gwendolyn in her lap, it is simply impossible for you to miss it. She is what she is, at the end of the day, for all that she is bending her considerable will to change herself. By all you've experienced, you would not deny that she has, to some great effect, managed to cling to some tiny, withered core of goodness somewhere deep within. But she cannot deny it, and you cannot either, that when you look up to her, there is an unmissable streak of something in her that is enjoying the sight of Eldyra in anguish. Some large part of her is enjoying the pain and suffering there, on some level. A taint brought on by a lifetime amongst the Druchii, serving them, lording over them, perhaps. Either way, to her credit, the moment you see it, she senses it within herself and closes her expression off. It takes her a few deep breaths before she opens her eyes again and exhales slowly, contrition plainly writ there as she looks over to you and mouths apologies in silence.
You choose to accept the apology for what it is.
One could say that they would be wholly unaffected by their circumstances, upbringing, and experiences, even if it were for more than a thousand years, but either that individual was an absolute liar or some form of otherworldly entity. The things that she has done to survive amongst the Druchii are no doubt nightmarish. To establish herself in a position of power and influence, even more so. How far she's drenched herself in blood, to submerge herself in the horrifically formed society and culture that she was quite literally kidnapped into. All just to live, to someday perhaps even escape, and in the meantime aid others in doing so in some small measure. So in this moment, this case, you choose to forgive it. Because you have to. To save your wife. To save Sadrina. To get off this Ark. To get home. But no sooner than you make that decision than there is a twitch of her fingers, and a near imperceptible whistling of air just passing by your ears.
"Did you not wonder," Hultressa murmurs to you, her voice at full conversational volume despite the sound clearly not actually emanating beyond just her mouth. "Why the potion of loyalty and the potion of cheer are so well known to me?"
"I imagine that you will tell me," you murmur back, not even surprised that the sound of your own voice sounds strangely muted to your own ears.
This is clearly a conversation between the two of you alone.
"Because those two are, more than even most poisons, the most commonly produced alchemical concoctions throughout all of Naggaroth and upon all the Black Arks," she says, placing her chin atop her child's head as she holds Gwendolyn close. "Can you guess why?"
There is not nearly enough alcohol in you to even begin to try and muddle your thoughts. Not even slightly. You are Frederick von Hohenzollern, and despite all evidence otherwise, most of the time you are no fool. And it is for that reason that the yawning horror of the implication becomes immediately evident to you, and you find yourself discovering new wells of absolute disgust and hatred for what Malekith the Witch King, his bitch of a mother, and the Hag Queen Hellebron have created. It is enough for your hands to start curling into fists before you remember that you are currently holding Eldyra and must then expend that much more willpower to force them to unclench. It does not stop something molten and hot in your belly from bubbling upwards, so much that you almost taste bile in your throat, before a greater pressure is exerted on it. You take that red hot blade of emotion out of the forge of your heart and begin to quench it in cold determination.
"…they use it on you, don't they," you mutter, eyes wide and unblinking as you stare at her. "They use it on
you. On themselves."
"Very good," she almost imperceptibly nods, her head still leaned atop Gwendolyn's.
A gallows grin carves its way across her marble white skin, a dead thing without any humor or joy.
"When you are a child, amongst the Druchii, or at least amongst orphans, every single week of your life you are taken to the Temple of Khaine, to witness the glorious sacrifices there. The tortures. The flaying. To watch. To learn. To feel and commune with Khaine," she allows one hand to drift upwards as Gwendolyn shifts in her lap, and those fingers begin to twist and gesture in the air.
In front of her, between the two of you, a tiny little silver goblet shimmers into existence.
"And though every drop of blood spilt is a benediction for Him, a sacrifice to Him, meant solely for Him and those who call upon Him, his murderous rage and burning wrath is to be shared with all, including the true
joy," she draws out the word like pulling an arrow out of the chest, "Of murder and slaughter. Instead of the meager and flavorless food and drink that the orphans are granted to keep them alive, it is the one time they are allowed something…sweet."
Another gesture, and the silver goblet tips over, pouring out a dark wine which dissipates as it hits the floor.
"When you drink it…and are then drawn to the foot of the altar along with all the other milling crowds…," her voice becomes an awed, aching whisper.
A pained desire that exists in her even now.
"You have no
choice but to find pure joy and laughter in what is done there," she continues quietly. "All those horrors are not horrors – they are glorious. Wonderful. Good. In all your pained life, between beatings and torture and work and treachery amongst the rest, it is the
one time a week that your heart and mind are made to sing. Sunlight you can look up at and bask in where you spend every other moment toiling with your head towards the earth."
Unbidden, your head begins to shake from side to side slowly.
"Every week. Again, and again. Asur. Humans. Dwarfs. Lizardmen, once or twice. And you learn to cheer, Frederick von Hohenzollern. In all the darkness of your existence, you learn to
smile," she says, that awful not-grin on her face widening like a serpent opening its maw. "If you are lucky enough to be seen fit to go to other temples, those dedicated to the Cytharai, then you may have a second moment of pure happiness as you witness
their acts of devotion."
"That's…," you cannot even find the words to express the emotions flooding through you.
"It is one of the greatest expenditures of the vast wealth that the Druchii take from the world, and give unto the temples and orphanages and noble houses," she goes on, relentlessly. "And it works. Because in time, you don't even really know that the communion wine that they give you – that you
must drink – is changed and no longer altered. Because eventually…,"
"It doesn't need to be," you say in quiet revulsion.
She lifts her head up from atop Gwendolyn's just to make sure that you can see her nod.
"By the time that you are twenty years old, you know perfectly well what it means when some poor fool who dared oppose the Druchii is flayed alive upon the altar. You know what it means to see a human child, broken and unmoving, beneath your boot. A sobbing grandmother beneath your blade. It
means…," her lips peel back to reveal her flawless teeth. "
Joy. It means warmth. It means good. It means that your most treasured childhood memories are here, come again, renewed and made all the stronger. And when they hand them the knives, invite them to cut upon the pleading and begging prisoners and slaves, you do so with naught but joy in your heart for what you do."
Another twitch of her fingers, and more goblets appear, illusory images joined with dancing knives and swords that you have seen in Druchii belts and sheathes. Of spears. Repeating crossbows. All of it and plenty more, all the implements of war and death that you have seen wielded. It is joined with globes of dark fire, of green light, of representations of magical pain and death and misery.
"You drink, and you gaze upon the Death Hags, and know they are your masters for they are the Brides of Khaine. You drink, and you gaze upon Malekith when he stands upon the balcony, to your lord, and this lord, and your father, your mother, your
taker," she lets her teeth click together as she grinds out that last word. "You are loyal to the one who has made you. You are loyal to the one who forged you. You are loyal to their words, their wishes, their demands, their dreams. Because now, those dreams are yours. And you feel happiness when those dreams are fulfilled."
She chuckles mirthlessly at the naked horror on your face.
"The Witch King is proud, very proud of the Druchii that he has
made," she gnaws on the word, as if trying to destroy it before it can properly escape her mouth and reach your ears. "But make no mistake, Frederick von Hohenzollern. Druchii
are made. And once they are, he and all those still alive from the time of the Sundering ensure they remain as they are made, like how you would take care to maintain a blade," she tilts her head to the side. "You sharpen them. Temper them. Clean them up. Because at the end of the day, if you do not, then someday, your weapon, your tool, might break and become useless to your purposes."
The illusions fade with a mere flexing of her will.
"…is that what happened to you?" You finally ask into the ensuing quiet.
"Oh no," she offers you that un-smile yet again. "What I suffered was much worse. All kidnapped Asur are subject to much worse, those children that are not flung upon the altars so that the eldest crones might bathe in their blood," she shakes her head a single time to each side before recentering on you. "Unlike others, we must be especially…
purified," she finds the word after a moments thought, nodding at it. "Yes, purified is how they consider it. We are made murderers and torturers in excess before the first year of our imprisonment is complete…and at that age, one's resistance to many concoctions and spells is miniscule at best."
She idly flips her upraised hand around so that she can look at her own palm there, fingers extending and closing slowly. What she is seeing there, on her hands, you can only begin to imagine.
"If you are
very unlucky, you are taken with other friends or," she pauses, swallowing and then continues with a more forced casual air. "Or family. Can you imagine, Frederick von Hohenzollern?" She flicks her eyes to you, lids lowered until her eyes become slits through which the faint dark purple glow still emanates. "Can you
imagine being force fed a potion, to gaze upon the woman who turned your parents into malformed flesh and ash with naught by utter faith and loyalty for her, and then handed a knife…," her voice trails off as her tightly controlled voice wobbles just the slightest bit. "And told…,"
"You don't have to-," you begin, but she interrupts you with a shake of her head.
"No. I want you to know. To understand," she says, unblinking. "You had the potions, despite your odd resistance to them, so you have some small measure of comprehension. But that you
did resist them means that you cannot ever truly, fully know what it is to drink them time and again. To be given a knife, and have her given a knife," her words continue on faster than you can interrupt, "And then both of you are made to cut at each other again and again and again. And the entire time you just. Can't. Stop. Laughing," she bites each word as it comes out.
The faintest glimmer appears in her own eyes before she inhales deeply and quite simply suppresses them with an act of will or perhaps even outright magic.
"She puts her knife in your belly, and spreads your intestines out, makes of them rope to skip with, and you sever her fingers to play with like they are pick up sticks. And then you are healed. And you drink. And you cut. And you are healed. And you drink. And you
cut," she finally halts herself with a single shuddering breath. "And the entire time, you are filled with joy and laughter and cheer. Because you cannot be anything but. And the woman who slew your parents, why, she is your master, and you are loyal to her, and all she says and asks of you."
The words feel like they are being dragged out of you by heavy chains.
"…and that was Screamtaker."
Her lips curve upwards.
"She wanted apprentices that she could mold from the ground up, even if it meant breaking them down utterly first. To ensure their utility and also to ensure their loyalty. Not simply recruiting into her coven from outside, but to create one from within. Those who had no other loyalties."
"Orphans, even if she had to make them such," you conclude, to which she nods in silence, before something else even more depraved makes itself known as a thought in your mind.
It is the quiet, pragmatic, ruthless part of you, intruding to offer its insight no matter how much you wish you didn't even have to begin to have the thought at all.
"You had a sister," you rasp out, throat dry as moisture seems to flee from the implication alone.
And the gallows smile returns.
"Oh, Frederick," she gives you the saddest and most broken smirk you've ever seen. "You've already met her. She almost killed your wife."
"No…," you whisper, but she nods, and then stands, gathering Gwendolyn up in her arms at the same time.
"Yes," she confirms. "My older sister by three years."
She begins to stride away, her steps and movement utterly silenced by her magics.
"Tanrala and her older sister Sanrielle were taken from Ulthuan's shores more than a thousand years ago," she gives a faint, dreadful chuckle that sizzles akin to acid in your ears. "My, one can only imagine what they must have become in the meantime. Sleep well, Frederick. We will converse more tomorrow."
Then she is gone, the doors opening and closing in magically induced silence, leaving you with nothing but horror and disgust in your gut.
All the while, Eldyra still wept and weeps still in silence.
Until she, too, finally finds herself too drained to manage that much and falls into a dreamless slumber.
You wish that you were so lucky.
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When morning finds you, it is not because of sunlight punching through nonexistent windows and instead from Eldyra pushing herself up off of you blearily. Both of you are more than well trained enough and experienced enough to spring to wakefulness immediately when needed, and this is certainly one of those times. Her eyes are wide, though again the storm grey is darker than it used to be, and though she practically leaps to her feet, she leaves one hand on your shoulder like an anchor while the other is on the hilt of
Death Thorn. Her chest is beginning to heave faster and faster as she examines her surroundings properly with an actually conscious mind rather than the murderous half-mindless state of yesterday. Before she can begin to panic further, however, she twitches violently and whirls on you as you place a hand atop the one she's got on your shoulder. For a second, she just stares at you, blinking hard as if trying to banish lingering sleep in her eyes or more likely an assumed illusion.
"It's real," you grunt at her, and the whole of Eldyra wobbles in place before her legs half-give out which causes her to collapse onto the recliner. "I'm here."
She doesn't drop
Death Thorn, but the hand she had on your shoulder shifts about so that it is clasping your hands as well, once more delivering the same bone crushing force from before that required a night's sleep with the
Light of Summer on your neck to heal. Eldyra hunches forwards until she is practically bent over double as she sits, still breathing hard. You don't begrudge her that. What was done to her is not something that is going to be simply dealt with and left behind after a single day. Progress, perhaps, and a major step had been taken, but she surely has a long journey ahead of her. You just hope to give her that time to manage such. She is tearing up again, but this time has the conscious capacity to keep them back, blinking hard and sucking down hard shuddering breaths into her lungs.
"W-where…," she finally gasps out. "W-where…,"
"We're relatively safe, for now," you say gently, reaching out with your free hand to make small circles on her back again.
"B-but…," she looks up and rather pointedly looks at the various pieces of furniture and architectural accoutrement which are quite clearly of opulent but undeniably Druchii design. "W-where…,"
"We are still on the Ark," you admit, and her next hard breath is interrupted by a coughing shudder as her insides appear to try to spasm as one. "But- but! We are not alone here," you say as she starts to huff again, bending forward to the point that her chest is against her knees.
"Wh…hnnn," she is desperately trying to contain her breathing.
"My wife, Natasha, is here as well. As is Roland of Bretonnia, a Questing Knight and friend of mine. A few others…," you trail off as Eldyra sits up slightly and looks around with wide eyes as if expecting to see them there. "But not here. We're temporarily separated," you say quickly. "But for the moment, yes, they're on the Ark."
"But…but how…," she is looking around more and more now, her superior elven senses telling her who knows what compared to your own.
You just can't drag this out forever.
"We have another ally," you grit your teeth. "But you may not…it is…,"
"Oh for Isha's sake," Hultressa announces with an audible rolling of her eyes as she enters the room in bombastic fashion, the doors to the hallway leading to her chambers opening with a single thumping gesture. "Just come out and say it."
Immediately, Eldyra springs into action, going into a defensive posture with blade held in guard position, her expression hateful. She leaps over you, using you as a springboard to do it, while shifting presumably to try and shield you as well. In contrast to whatever it is she expects, Hultressa appears to just be standing there with her hands on her wide hips as you slowly pull yourself halfway up the recliner to look at them both properly. Unlike yourself and Eldyra, the sorceress appears wholly un-disheveled. If anything, she somehow managed to get a full night's sleep and then some, her lips and eyeliner a plush dark plum, black wingtips for her eyes, and dressed in particularly fancily gold and silver embroidered sorceress garb. By which you mean that she is wearing black high heeled leather and metal greaves which extend just past her kneecaps, absolutely nothing between there and a shining black silken wrapping that then extends its first half down to those same knees in the front and the same length in the back. Again there is nothing but finger-thick golden coils to only barely protect the modesty and support her chest, a fluted black and gold mantle over her shoulders, and a face-framing headpiece with glimmering purple runes along the sides. A staff with a burning black orb capping it and a foot long silver spike at the bottom remains perfectly upright without wavering despite nothing visibly holding it up.
"Eldyra," you drawl, carefully watching as the rage and defensiveness on her face starts to get joined by confusion. "Meet Hultressa. Our ally. The one who healed you."
"What?" Eldyra whispers, her voice becoming a strangled rasp in that single word. `
"Greetings, Princess of Tiranoc," Hultressa says sedately as she bows low, extremely low, to the point that as she sweeps her arm out to the side her fingertips skid along the voluminous carpet of the floor. "Indeed, he speaks true," she then straightens and nods in your direction. "I am your rescuer, who stole you from the abattoir of the captor Frederick slew."
"What?!" Eldyra repeats, disbelief and rage fighting for dominance.
"She's been helping us all out. We've caused damage to the Ark thanks to her, she's ensured my wife, Roland, and the survival of others," you add in.
"What?!"
This time you reach out and place a steading hand on Eldyra's arm.
"Eldyra," you murmur. "Calm yourself."
"She cannot trust you as assuredly," Hultressa sighs, glancing at you. "For now she presumes you may be ensorcelled, perhaps. Enchanted. Addled. He is not, of course," she says looking back at Eldyra, and then very carefully takes another step forward despite it causing Eldyra to tighten her grip on her weapon once more.
"Explain yourself, sorceress," the Asur hisses, eyes twitching. "Immediately!"
"Very well," Hultressa nods. "Would you prefer the long or the short version?"
"Talk!" Eldyra shouts, sword pointing towards her, and though the squire herself is shaking somewhat the blade is deadly still.
Hultressa nods, her expression still placid aside from a small quirk of her lips.
"My name is Hultressa of Ghrond, but before my kidnapping and indoctrination by the Druchii Supreme Sorceress known as Mellis Screamtaker, I was Tanrala of Tiranoc."
Eldyra ceases breathing entirely, her eyes going wide and remaining that way without a single blink.
"I have spent the last thousand years gaining power for myself, to protect myself, from the society I was stolen away into," Hultressa continues, and this time she takes a step forward once Eldyra continues to not react. "I am one of but a few of the Cult of the Hidden Heart, those who still feel the grace and love of Isha within the Druchii."
Another hip-rolling step with the sorceresses' chin held high is taken forward.
"I have sent forth five hundred and eleven innocent children into the hands of the Shadow Warriors of Nagarythe, sometimes with the aid of Druchii with weakness in their hearts, sometimes without," Hultressa proclaims proudly, the emotion behind it bubbling to the surface after being carefully restrained at almost all other times. "And another fifty besides to be found by Asur whilst on farther ranging expeditions."
The faintest waver makes itself known the otherwise peerless grasp that Eldyra has on
Death Thorn when Hultressa takes another step.
"I have had contact, through his servants, to the Shadow King himself, Alith Anar, and yet when I begged for succor not just for myself but for my
daughter," Hultressa hisses, her rage at this Alith Anar something hot and fierce, one fist raised to clench in the air, "He refused me."
"She saved my life," you say, making Eldyra tilt her head just enough to glance at you with those still unblinking eyes. "I was going to die, otherwise. Outright. Instead, she 'claimed me' as a prisoner, saved me, saved you, helped save my wife. She wants out. All the way out."
"Indeed," Hultressa nods. "We are going to escape this Ark, Princess Eldyra. We are going to rescue the Handmaiden of the Everqueen Sadrina-,"
Eldyra gasps once more, finally blinking rapidly as she twitches and seems to shake herself free of the stupor that had been falling upon her.
"And others, including Frederick, his wife, and his allies."
Now is the time that you see the most fervent and zealous fires bloom into being in Hultressa's eyes, the purple and black of Dhar literally beginning to trail from her eyes up into the air.
"And I am
going to save my daughter from the grasp of Khaine. Whether by the Everqueen or the Queen in the Woods, she. Will. Be. Saved."
Before Eldyra seems to have realized it, Hultressa is in her face, the larger Druchii simply looming over the already naturally tall Asur, as she would have even despite her heels. Some part of you wonders, no, thinks it actually quite possible, that the master fleshcrafter may well have enhanced herself in some manner over the past thousand years. She is taller than most every other Druchii, Asur, Asrai, or Eonir that you have ever seen save solely for the Avatars of the Gods, and even then it was not the outer body of the Everqueen but the divinity that suffused her which made her so imposing. Hultressa would, without her heels, stand above her – physically at least. In this moment, the sorceress appears to be so tense that she is clenching just about everything, which causes a considerable amount of the musculature that is normally somewhat hidden on her body to come to the fore.
"You need not approve of me," Hultressa continues after the tense moment grows longer, "You need not like me," she reaches down and with two tips of her fingers draws
Death Thorn up and places it against her neck just deep enough that some of her blood trickles down the length of it. "But I have brought horror and ruin to many, and will do so again and again, as much and as many times as necessary, so that I may free myself and my daughter from this place and these people," she presses the blade deeper, and the blood flow grows worse, but Hultressa does not waver as she stares down into Eldyra's eyes. "We need never speak again after we escape the Ark. But in the meantime, Frederick and I and others have agreed to a pact of aid, of mutual escape. Will you aid us in this or not?"
Eldyra swallows.
"She's aided us greatly so far," you offer. "Put herself at risk time and again to do it, too."
"I did not partake in the raid which struck your ships from the seas," Hultressa continues, though you have no idea why that is the direction she went in, as it just makes Eldyra's nose flare and tense further, and actually start to press the damaged edge of
Death Thorn further into her neck. "Nor did I partake in the auctions afterwards."
"But you have slain Asur before," Eldyra growls.
"I have," Hultressa admits. "But I had no great desire to, nor do I have that desire now."
"We
need her," you push yourself off up and over the recliner and land on your feet at the midway point between Asur and Druchii. "We're inside the Ark's Tor of Dominance. I'll bet good odds I can maybe kill a good few Druchii, but there's no way I'll be able to get out of the Tor on my lonesome."
"The Tor of-," Eldyra cuts herself off, eyes dancing between you and Hultressa. "Then we
are prisoners!"
"Oh, not at all," Hultressa can't shake her head, the blade is already pressed deep enough into her neck that if it had been placed on the side with the jugular she'd be dying already. "You may leave at any time, and be slain immediately by the rest of the Coven and other higher military personnel within the Tor and all their servants and all their guards."
The Asur's breathing is not steadying, instead it is becoming a jagged, increasingly uneven thing.
"But fear not, Princess," Hultressa looks down at her without a hint of fear in her heart despite the fact that her own blood is now thoroughly coating her shoulder and chest. "For an opportunity has come upon us thanks to the deeds of Natasha von Hohenzollern and her allies, and the act of…another," she glances towards you before back to Eldyra. "An opportunity to bring anarchy to the Ark, to cast down its Supreme Sorceress, and in that chaos, a true and genuine opportunity to escape fully."
"You…you lie…," Eldyra hisses, "Druchii lie. You all lie! You…you promise and threaten and…and…," she wobbles in place, all save for her grip on her sword, as new tears start to come down her cheeks.
"I could swear an oath, but you would not take it seriously," Hultressa muses, "You do not possess the knowledge or capacity to tear my soul out and bind it into service. A most difficult endeavor."
Behind the three of you all, within perfect view of Eldyra and yourself, comes a meek Gwendolyn carefully balancing two enormous silver platters on her arms that are absolutely laden with pounds of food. Ahead of her, and behind, are two terrors, one to open the doors for the child and another behind to close them. All three adults in the room go completely still as she enters, while it takes a few more steps for Gwendolyn to come to a halt, half-turn on her heels, and then also freeze up with her pitch black eyes as wide as dinnerplates. The terrors, bereft of any other orders, politely close the doors, and then when they too turn about they pause before there is a bestial growling which begins to emanate from their concealing helms. They are reacting, you presume, to the fact that their master and creator is currently heavily bleeding.
"No," Hultressa declares in Eltharin, very specifically not Druhir, and yet that is enough when accompanied by a small gesture of her hand.
Just like that, the terrors go completely placid once more.
"Gwendolyn," the sorceress says, her tone once more pleasant and conversational as if she isn't coating her right side in her own blood. "I thought I told you to not come out until I called you."
"B-but it was getting cold," the child says quietly, still not blinking as she stares at the sight of her mother bleeding. "A-and I thought…I thought…f-food…," the trails off.
"Are you going to kill me in front of my daughter, Eldyra of Tiranoc, or shall you partake in the hospitality that my daughter wishes to offer you?" Hultressa asks, one eyebrow raising, her voice still calm.
The squire's eyes are locked onto the blatantly scared face of Gwendolyn before looking your way, then back to the child, then to Hultressa herself.
"F-fine," she finally hisses, and then tugs her blade free of Hultressa's neck, the sorceress immediately staunching the blood with her index finger coated in Ghyran to heal the wound.
"Excellent!" Hultressa smiles widely. "Let us share a meal together."
In an act of either stunning courage or absolute surety, or both, she then outright turns her back to Eldyra and strides forward to the table. It is another application of magic which causes all of her own blood to suddenly become more solid and sticky, peeling off of her, her clothes, and the ground like some kind of leather that gathers itself up into a small squished sphere which is then consumed in black flame until nothing remains. Eldyra does not immediately follow, though her eyes do twitch to you when you move to stand in front of her and very carefully place your hands on hers as they tightly grip the hilt of
Death Thorn. The Asur just stares at you, square in the eye, for a long amount of time before a single shuddering sigh makes it through her and the blade lowers down. She does not speak again but follows you to the table, and very deliberately sits on the other side than the one that Hultressa and Gwendolyn seat themselves at. She also, rather pointedly, puts the blade onto the table itself so that it is well within reach.
"We thank Isha for this bounty," Hultressa bows her head momentarily, something that Gwendolyn does as well, the grace something you're not accustomed to her giving normally. "May there be naught but peace between Her children for the duration of this meal and beyond."
Ah.
There it is.
"Thank you for the food Gwendolyn," you cough, which gets a quiet and shy nod from the girl who seems to be unable to stop herself from staring at Eldyra.
The spread is not the most elaborate, but the flavor is most certainly there along with the sheer volume. Poultry and eggs, the juice of various fruits, some greens, all thoroughly spiced. It takes until you eat for Eldyra to finally pick up a knife and…knife. She apparently thinks the fork would not be as good a weapon if necessary in a pinch, and rather aggressively spends her time stabbing the pieces of food she wants and putting them into her mouth while the other hand keeps the knife at the ready. Still, even the suspicious squire cannot help but pause momentarily when she tastes the food that had been made. You have to assume that it is at least acceptable enough for her to consume, maybe even like, given how her chewing slows for a bit before she swallows.
"I would be careful about eating too quickly or too much, I sustained you through my magic during your convalescence," Hultressa notes after Eldyra's started to speed up, a previously unseen ravenousness growing evident. "Your stomach may not so easily accept the volume it demands of you."
You can practically feel it in the air as the Asur grows completely tense where she sits all over again.
"I see," Eldyra finally says after a small sip of a drink of juice, blinking for a moment at the taste of it. "My…t-thanks," she finally grinds out, though it clearly cost her something to do so.
"It was no trouble at all, barely an expenditure of my will," Hultressa shrugs.
Gwendolyn swallows again and glances between the three adults at the table before ending up just looking at you. She looks nervous, worried, and is actually barely eating. The only one at the table who seems unrestrained by anything is her mother, who is eating as if her throat wasn't half opened a short time ago. You give her what you hope is a reassuring smile, and for a wonder, a small smile flickers into being on the child's face as she looks at you, though it shrinks slightly as she glances at the glowering Asur sitting next to you. Or, rather, as you realize out of the corner of your eye, as the glower of the Asur actually does seem to turn onto Gwendolyn for a moment for reasons you can't quite discern.
"H-how long…was I..,"
"Oh, many, many days. It has been more than a month since the Battle of Salkalten," Hultressa says casually, and it is that which makes Eldyra almost drop her knives.
"What?!"
"We won," you say quickly, which makes her almost break her neck with how quickly she spins to you while remaining seated. "For the most part."
"He's right," Hultressa nods, making Eldyra spin again in her chair, eyes widened as far as they can go again.
"W-wha…I don't…," the younger elven woman begins to twitch and writhe where she sits, her eyes starting to blink and flutter unsettlingly. "W-wha…,"
"They came right at Salkalten, both Arks," you interject, forcing her attention to center on you and therefore relax ever so slightly compared to how intensely she was reacting to Hultressa's words. "Slammed right through most of the Sea Walls, save the last. Landed, and we gave them a taste of gunpowder and steel," you grin toothily, and it seems that is the exact right thing to say as Eldyra begins to calm somewhat.
"Y-you beat them back?" She says, almost dazed. "Truly?"
"Slaughtered us, more like," Hultressa says with a bit of dark humor. "Stacked the bodies of the Druchii upon that beach like cordwood, if anything."
Eldyra's gaze slowly pans over to the sorceress, incredulity mixing with joy and rage and a great many other emotions.
"Oh, you would have loved it, Asur," she continues, and then with a few twitches of her fingers, you see Eldyra flinch wildly before the sounds of cannon fire and dying elven screams begins to drift into the air.
Besides the table, you see an illusory tableau spring to life. It is one that you are both familiar and unfamiliar with, specifically because it is from the opposite direction and from a good distance away. But not as far as you would have expected. Either way, in an instant, both of the younger elves at the table become entranced as they stare at what is quite clearly the Battle of Salkalten from the Druchii perspective. Or, at least, the perspective of those upon the
Claw of Dominion. You can watch, as they did, as whole ranks of the Druchii start approaching the walls and are rendered into so much broken bone, meat, and metal. Eldyra's breath catches in her throat, and you cannot miss the shock being slowly subsumed by what looks like a disquieting hunger in her eyes.
"The assault was led by Caledor's Bane, our Death Hag, and the Bane's son, all upon black dragons," Hultressa's fingers twitch, and you can see them flying out even now, the image resetting and spinning backwards towards the beginning of the battle as the Druchii first began to advance. "I believe that is when Frederick here first appeared…hmm hmm," she chuckled throatily.
It is incredibly strange to listen to Hultressa narrate the battle, showing images and visions of what she saw from far away. At times the images bounce and sharpen, other times it is fuzzy and distant. Different moments of scrying and increasing vision through Azyr or other means, it seems. You get the privilege of knowing that some of those great sorcerous bolts and spells cast from the Ark itself were ritualistically performed with Hultressa aiding Screamtaker, which is certainly something to think about. But overall, Eldyra seems utterly entranced with the sheer amount of death to the Druchii that you were causing, her head especially riveted upon the aerial combat which takes place. As it turns out, you were being very closely watched at that point. Very closely. As in, the Coven was extremely focused on the Dreadlord in charge of the lesser Ark potentially fighting and dying, and so a good portion of their effort was focused on you. Only, at that point, Hultressa pauses the imagery and sounds by turning to you, causing the squire and Gwendolyn to do the same.
"You were…quite fast," Hultressa inclines her head to you. "Though the exact details did escape us as a result, aside from the fact that you flew with your wife and elven aid with you."
Ah.
Your grimace is not missed by the three elves at the table.
"What did occur, with Caledor's Bane, most fearsome foe to the Caledorians, Frederick von Hohenzollern?" The sorceress asks you with amusement glittering in her eyes. "The speed of the duel, the rotation, the clouds, it was too much for us upon the Tor to eye precisely as we focused upon the greater battle."
"Well," you grunt. "After we slammed together, me upon Oskana and him upon his dragon, I shoved
Brain Wounder," you draw the Runefang out of its sheathe and balance it by the flat of the blade upon your palms. "Right up his dragon's cloaca."
Gwendolyn coughs on her juice, sputtering.
Eldyra just blinks at you, not quite comprehending immediately.
Hultressa's eyebrows creep up as high as they can go.
Then all three elves look down to the blade.
"Then I sort of," you take the hilt and then pantomime a general equivalent to the movement you made in that furious aerial duel. "Swirled it up in there. Got smacked in the face by two barrel sized chunks of…," you pause, glancing at Gwendolyn, "Reproductive organs," you choose to say instead of the cruder term you were originally going to go with. "As well as a lot of blood, fluids, and, frankly, scat."
Again, the three elves are silent.
"Wasn't enough, of course, so I had my wife put chains of ice on me, and some hooks, and jumped the gap. Kerillian – the Asrai – came with me. Tell you one thing, bastard didn't make it easy," you admit before going on to describe the duel in more vibrant detail.
Not a single interruption stops you, aside from a single sharp intake of breath from Eldyra as the egg went flying out of Maranith's hands, until you get right towards the end.
"You…leapt? Dropped?" Gwendolyn asks, disturbingly excited by the tales of death and bloodshed, whereas Eldyra and Hultressa are still just staring. "How did you survive?"
"There was a…device," the sorceress murmurs, "We had never seen the like before…,"
"A safety device my daughter invented for our flyers," you nod. "Anyhow," you turn back to the one most receptive member of your audience, "We got right down there to the ground after he and the dragon crashed. Imagine my surprise that both weren't dead yet!"
"What happened next!?" Gwendolyn asks quickly, stars in the fathomless black depths of her eyes.
"My brother, an ogre named Urgdug Greatbellow, brained it and then grabbed the beast right by its neck and snapped it," you demonstrate with your hands,
Brain Wounder once more laid on its side. "While I found the Bane himself. Broken, but still living. So I got that oversized…," you rethink your words and start again without almost any interruption, "I grabbed his precious lance, the one he made his name on and then egotistically named after himself, and got him stood up thanks to Kerillian. And then," you close your fingertips together to form a small tunnel, and then with your other hand push a knife down through the gap. "Introduced Caledor's Bane to Caledor's Bane."
"Wow!" Gwendolyn breathes, staring at you with her mouth open.
"Then came the slaughter," you continue, looking to Eldyra. "Bodies, pulp. So on. And then…," you trail off looking meaningfully at Hultressa who blinks a few times before clearing her throat.
"Yes. And then your reinforcements arrived," she says, making the Asur turn towards the images once more. "With ships of their own and those stolen out from our raiding fleets as well."
The sight of Nordlander flags have never been a more beautiful sight to you, and even more so as Eldyra watches as Stephan essentially beaches his entire fleet, stolen and otherwise, onto the other Ark. Hultressa doesn't have all the details, some you have to fill in, but on the tale goes until it is you who are invading the Druchii and not the other way around. The tale up until that point is, for the most point, joyous for those who hate the Druchii. They are dying. Though Eldyra froze up again when she heard about Tullaris showing up, she relaxes as a half-hysterical chuckle escapes her when he flees. Then she freezes up all over again when she hears that you were the ones who flew to the top of the Ark. Throughout the description of the final battle, she is unmoving, eyes locked onto the imagery from Hultressa's perspective which, you only realize now, allowed her to actually witness you killing Tullaris. It helps that she was already keeping herself back on a Dark Pegasus, out of the way from most of the fighting, presumably hoping that the rest of the Coven would outright die.
"You nearly killed him!" Is the first thing Eldyra concludes as she turns a powerful glare on Hultressa, who shrugs in response.
"I did. But then I did the opposite."
"And now we're here," you add in before an argument can truly begin.
"Indeed," Hultressa changes the imagery entirely, and now everyone locks onto the image as a bastion of murder and bloodshed replaces the previous battlefield. "And now. We're. Here."
She stands and comes to loom over the image of what can only be the Temple of Khaine of the
Claw of Dominion. It is not just a temple, despite the name. It easily dwarfs the Grand Cathedral of Sigmar back in Nuln, by simple virtue of the fact that it is an entire complex which centers around a central pyramid and altar which is surrounded by subordinate buildings around it in a defensive square. It has its own walls, towers at the four corners, all of which are characteristic of Druchii design and aesthetic. Spikes and darkness abound. Of course, there are massive statues of Khaine as well, in an aspect that is undeniably elven, blade held high in one hand, blood seemingly eternally dripping from the other. Gwendolyn audibly swallows as she stares at it where she sits.
"Alyssa Voidreaper, current standing Supreme Sorceress of the
Claw of Dominion, cannot countenance further challenges to her influences and rule after the destruction caused to the aquafarms, the killings of your vampiric ally-,"
"Your what?!" Eldyra whips to you.
"- and the general malaise and frustrations caused in the aftermath of Salkalten. Half the Coven is dead, but the remaining half is bound to her into loyalty. The Cult of Khaine was gutted upon the field until they are but a few thimbles worth of blood, and so seek to gain favor and prominence once more. Thus the Auction will take place here, to shore up the positions of both. We have about three days, rather than the weeks we assumed we might yet have."
"And pride of place goes to Sadrina, doesn't it," you glance at Hultressa as she scrutinizes the temple from above.
Something she's actually likely had plenty of time to do, up in the Tor. Even if she hadn't been on the Ark for decades or even centuries at a time to scout it out, she has had a perfect aerial view of the place for more than long enough.
"Indeed. She will go last. Other prisoners taken, the humans from the northern isles, what few surviving Ostlanders there might be from your own sailors, then the remaining Bretonnian knights, likely the Asrai after them – for she is, after all, an elf."
"Of course," you grunt, frown deepening at the mention of the Ostlander captives they might have.
Thus far, as far as you know, your wife has not seen hide nor hair of the sailors who boarded the Ark so bravely and desperately. Part of you hopes that they are already dead, not forced to suffer the horrors that the Druchii inflict on their prisoners and slaves. Another hopes they live still, and in able enough states to fight and hopefully escape.
"How many we can save, I do not know, but the Handmaiden must take precedence," she insists, "We will of course do our best with the others," she adds as she sees your discontent.
But, she doesn't outright come and say, she desperately wants to save Sadrina more than any other. It is the greatest bargaining chip that she can offer to save herself and her daughter, to gain entrance into Ulthuan even if it is only temporarily.
"We're talking about trying to ruin the auction, make off with all the slaves, and escape onto some ships, all in one go," you snort, looking at the image as it slowly rotates. "Hell of a thing."
"But not impossible," Hultressa says, shaking her head as she glares down. "Her control over the military leaders is in danger of fully solidifying, but it is not fully complete. The Cult of Khaine is barely existent. Other rivals and noble families will be clashing already for influence and prominence against one another. Her authority is growing, but it is not inviolable just yet."
"I know, I know," you rub at your chin, looking at the different buildings in the complex. "Some of these are what, dormitories?"
"Yes," she points with her finger. "Where the majority of the Brides reside, where the Death Hag is meant to have her personal quarters," she marks out an entirely separate building, "Attended to by their slaves, lesser initiates, and take petitioners to the Cult. These," she points out another two square buildings, "Are their armories, sanctification shrines, and so on, to bless and maintain their holy arms and armor."
"What little of the latter they have," you drawl, and unbidden Hultressa chuckles darkly which makes Eldyra just stare between the two of you with one twitching eye.
"Yes. This building is where the Blood Cauldrons are meant to be kept, warded by powerful spells wrought by agreement by the Coven and protections from Khaine himself," she points at a building right next to the central pyramid and yard surrounding it. "Whereas this, I do not believe needs to be explains."
"Looks big enough for everyone important to stand around drinking wine and eating pastries while sacrifices are being made, or for even more than that to cram in shoulder to shoulder," you narrow your eyes at it.
"Correct. The main altar. Ordinarily? I doubt that even the Supreme Sorceress would dare to use it as their stage, lesser pyramids in the complex would be used for that, or in fact the main slave markets," she gestures to an area in the middle distance, "Just off the docks. Or at her estates, or the Tor. But the Cult is
weak, and desperate to maintain their image and favor, and so hitch themselves to the rising power. In turn, by showing even the slightest amount of dominance over the local Cult of Khaine, her stature becomes all the greater, for it is a rare few who may do so."
"Making it all the worse if the event is disrupted," you conclude.
She snaps her fingers at you, pointing and nodding.
"Wait, wait, stop," Eldyra finally speaks up, shaking her head. "This is insane," she says with a disturbing cackling laugh, "Y-you're talking about trying to assault a Supreme Sorceress at the height of her power, surrounded by her coven, and all the most powerful members of a Black Ark's society, in the midst of a Temple of Khaine!"
"Yes," you and Hultressa say at the same time.
"It's impossible!"
"No," you and Hultressa once more mirror each other's words.
"We have agents already on the ground in the form of his wife, the vampire, and others," Hultressa points out, "And the destruction and disruption so far is considerable. If enough of a mess is made at the Auction, then the most ambitious of the Druchii will not be able to resist striking for favor and victory. To lay the defeat at Salkalten upon the two previous Supreme Sorceresses, a culling sufficient, and appreciation and favor might well be won from the Witch King. Or, failing that, a reprieve of years to rebuild and re-establish, to prove themselves."
"You will be utterly outnumbered," Eldyra stands up from her seat, pointing down at the floating image of the temple. "Utterly!"
"Have been before," you note. "We're not just going to go in swords waving around like idiots, or at least I assume not."
"No," Hultressa shakes her head. "I've worked it out. I can bring slaves, servants, ensorcelled captives ready to be offered for sacrifice, these are all perfectly reasonable things to have, especially if I am offering them to the temple to enhance the festivities."
"But-," Gwendolyn starts before her mother's face goes granite and furious.
"Absolutely
not," she growls at her own daughter. "The risk is too great. I will not countenance it!"
"Your plan has to go off after arriving, but if you could be in the temple beforehand, we could plant b-bombs or something! There's more t-tactical flexibility!"
"Bombs?" Eldyra looks perplexed.
"Black powder, I taught Gwendolyn how to make bombs with me."
"You what!?"
Honestly, at this point, Eldyra might need to lay back down for a bit of time. She's getting terribly twitchy again, and has outright laid a hand down onto the hilt of
Death Thorn again. Thankfully, however, when you reach out a hand she clasps it desperately, crushing down and squeezing so tight you might end up needing healing again for it. She is not handling the situation well, you can recognize it easily enough. She is not truly recovered, not in the slightest, despite the fact that physically she may well be perfectly fine. It is her mind, her soul, which remain bleeding and scarred from the ordeals she suffered. When you met her last, aside from a few specific moments and times, she was utterly composed and full of poise. Every movement was precise and made with intent, with no wasted movement at all. Now she hunches, curls, clenches her fists, grinds her teeth, her eyes twitching and very occasionally blinking out of sync with one another. You had thought it in the past, and cannot stop the comparison from showing up yet again – there is a feral aspect to Eldyra now. Animalistic and frayed. One that she can't even really control despite repeatedly attempting to do so with deep breathing exercises.
"And we can bring them with us," Hultressa insists, "And lay them about in the interim between arriving and the auction beginning. I can ensure that they go undetected!"
"But-,"
"We are not discussing this!" Hultressa interrupts over her child, a billowing black smoke seeming to seep from her very skin.
"Yes we are!" Gwendolyn squeaks back, and then everyone is forced to back away slightly as she hops up to stand atop her seat, thick lines of red tinged darkness pouring out of her eye sockets and drifting towards the ceiling. "I can do it!"
The illusion fizzles out completely as the sorceress' attention is completely captured by her daughter.
"You cannot!" She shouts.
"I CAN!" Gwendolyn squeak-shouts back, her voice beginning to deepen with an unnatural echo. "If…If I can't resist Him, then I would never have resisted Him! H-he showed…," she points at you, a warble in her voice. "He said! And you even met her! From the story! So I can! I will! I'm strong!"
"It has nothing to do with your strength!" Hultressa pleads, stepping forward before she can outright grasp Gwendolyn from her armpits and hoist her into the air. "It has everything to do with
His!"
"Mother!" Gwendolyn says loudly, kicking in the air, "I can do it! If…if you're there, if I have the bombs, it's…it's to help! M-maybe the other Gods will even help! Like Loec! Or Isha! Or-or-,"
"What are they talking about," Eldyra finally asks you, the food on the table now thoroughly abandoned.
"She's cursed, or blessed," you sigh, listening as the two Druchii begin to escalate to screaming at each other in rapid Eltharin to the point that your basic fluency is incapable of keeping up. "By Khaine."
Eldyra immediately recoils from where Gwendolyn is being shaken in the air by her mother, closing ranks with you until her shoulder is practically against yours. Her grip on
Death Thorn is all the tighter now.
"She is of-,"
"Not of that bloodline, as near as we know," you interrupt, frowning at the utter fear and revulsion in her voice. "No. Just…cursed before birth. Hultressa got…messed with, manipulated, into a Death Night in Har Ganeth, something she'd normally managed to avoid."
The Asur's disgust and horror only grows, as does her grip on your hand until you hear something begin creaking.
"But she is more than that, Eldyra," you say, making her look at you instead of the Druchii pair. "This, I swear to you. She is curious, and cautious, and loves stories and games. She is clever beyond belief, and she has struggled every day of her life to be free of Khaine's touch on her soul and mind. Every single day is a fight for her, and yet it is a fight that she keeps up all the while," you stare the disbelieving Asur down. "She loves to cook. She likes spicy food, and sweet flavors, and hates sour and bitter ones. She. Is. A. Child. An unusual one, but a child all the same. And the Cult of Khaine wants her, desperately, for she is blessed with power and strength beyond her by that God that she rejects. But even now, in this time, in this moment, to help rescue Sadrina and the others, she wants to help by offering herself up as a prospective Bride of Khaine. A blessed murderer, and presumptive future Death Hag."
A badly done attempt at slow and controlled breathing follows your words, instead resulting instead in a staggered choked thing.
"I see," she croaks out.
"And she's willing to risk her very soul and mind being subsumed by him so that we can do this. So that we can save some and ruin others," you add, pursing your lips before you glance back at the two.
Both Hultressa and Gwendolyn are crying tears of black pitch-like liquid as they scream at one another. Neither seems willing to budge on the word of the other alone. In most other circumstances you would never dare try to intervene. You would support the parent of the child, especially if that child was not even halfway into their second decade of life. But Gwendolyn is no regular child, and though it may seem a bit arrogant, you know something about that kind of thing. Including children that some around you considered cursed and afflicted by something otherworldly. You can still remember the quiet and little excited request of Agatha and Alisa to hack off your very hands for some ritualistic purpose or another. Hultressa's entire being and mind have bent itself to keeping her daughter safe. But you cannot help but wonder how much that protectiveness might cause her to refuse even contemplating things that might be objectively better in the bigger picture. Then again, you could be entirely wrong on that front as well, for who knows what the elven mind truly sees and comprehends beyond what the mortal human mind kind?
But it is Sadrina.
And it is you.
And Natasha, and Roland, Jaques or Jaqueline of Parravon, and Kerillian, and Eldyra, and apparently Johanna of all people amongst others. It is more than just Hultressa and Gwendolyn now.
Is that enough, however?
Three days, or more realistically, two.
Two to make a difference, to prepare, one way or another. To prepare those already outside of the Tor, and those within. To possibly try and prepare the field all the more, or not.
Two days and some change to try and prepare to light the match of the powder keg you've made of the
Claw of Dominion.
Frederick Speaks Up:
6 Hour Moratorium - DO NOT MAKE THIS DECISION LIGHTLY
[] To Support Hultressa: To surrender the advantage that would be offered by having far greater access to the Temple of Khaine, a Cult that is desperate for influence, power, prominence, and members. That access would be great, the privileges considerable, all to allow Hultressa and Gwendolyn to prepare the temple itself for the Auction in a way that no one should or would suspect of them. To keep Gwendolyn all the safer in mind and soul from a fate that has hungered for her all her life. It would mean that you would be relying solely on what you can do the very day of the auction, and more than that, the very short time between arriving at the auction and its beginning. Which might be all the difference between success and truly horrific failure.
[] To Support Gwendolyn: She desires to help, and it is undeniable that that aid would be quite possibly invaluable depending on how things turn out. Hultressa dares not even think of it, but if she were present to aid Gwendolyn, to keep her grounded, then it might make all the difference. Not just for Gwendolyn, walking upon ground consecrated by the God of Murder, but for the Auction itself, and all you have planned for it. That kind of preparatory advantage, before most all the other nobility and military commanders would venture there, cannot be underestimated. Is it worth the risk to the child's soul? Can you afford
not to risk it? She believes, this girl, in standing up to a God in the name of others. A belief you may have inflamed in her heart.
