By Thinning Breath
26st of February 2007 A.D.
"I'm like to speak to the lady alone please." Part of you still cringes a little at being
this blunt, but part of diplomacy isn't just knowing when to be polite and how much, it's when to part the veil of courtesy and feel what's on the other side. Do the dragon's kin answer to Monoc now or are they their own player in the game? Is the deal done other than the hand off or are they still fishing for a better one? The answer as it turns out is hopeful, the valkyrie departs, bearing the same expression she did when she came into the pool, only her hair now wet from the steam and water changed color, closer now to the color of blood.
"Yes?" Ragnhildur asks once you are alone, intrigued you'd judge but cautious.
"Do you know what
Donnar seeks at the bottom of the sea, the nature of the thing that tumbled to earth in A.D. 536?" You let the year 'slip' as a sign of what else you might know.
"A weapon, what else is the Lord of the Frenzied to seek as the age turns again? He has passed through the famine and now seeks again to be lord of the feasthall." The air shimmers with hear shadow before her face and her words catch an echo of the furnace's roar. "How did the poet put it? 'I have lived with shades so long,/And talked to them so oft,/Since forth from cot and croft/I went mankind among,/That sometimes they/In their dim style/Will pause awhile/To hear my say.' I know not from whence we came, but I know where we did not come from, no wizard's conjuring, nor angel's whim, we fit this world even less than the Wanderer does, less that the faerie kin who must fear iron like the plague, less than the wizards who set their will against the pillars of existence. We should be dead or truer still have never been born.
They know it too, the dead that are not dead, they rattle at our windows in the dark hours of winter, they fill our dreams with memories of ancient wonder that we should weep in morning's light when we open our eyes to a world made less, to fires that are hollow and victories that are dust. Why do you think I hunted the Black Court when I was young? To make them silent, to make them
stop."
Kristin looks on in awe and something like dread as her grandmother weaves a tale of old woes and half understood legacy.
"Year after year I look into the eyes of my grandchildren and hope that one of them is destined to kindle the old fire even as I dread it. The world is thin, the young gasp for breath as the man from the plains on the summit of a great mountain. But a mountain has two sides does it not? Wotan seeks a weapon for Ragnarock comes. Let him have his weapon, let the world be turned that dragons might spread their wings."
The reallization of what it is to be wield essence by heritage rather than come upon it through transfiguration of the soul hits you like a freight train. Why didn't Harry know these peole were here? Why did even Porter have only distant memories of those born who came before? Because with all the sacrifices of their kindred and all the artifice their cunning could conjure they can barely cling on, strangers born to a world that wants them dead.
What do you offer the Dragonblooded?
[] Your geomantic expertise to improve the Dragon Nest you are now in
[] A chance to rest in Sanctuary
[] Write in
OOC: Dragonblooded excelencies are not as powerful as Celestial ones, but as befits a leader she is specialized in this and she rolled very well, hence Molly being very moved. On the other hand as part of making this pitch Ragnhildur did have to reveal quite a bit.