eachdraidh | [ VIDEO ] LOCKED TO EITHER COURT.

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[ VIDEO ] LOCKED TO EITHER COURT.

SEELIE
[At approximately midday on the seventh, the lockets of all Seelie characters will vibrate. When they are opened, the following message will play:

High-Queen Solais is seated in her throne. While she is radiant, while light seems to surround her, she appears diminished. Her light seems softer, like it is being filtered through a shroud. The throne of High-King Ridire at her side is empty, his spear laying across it in two shattered pieces. Beneath it rests a blood-stained golden cloak.]

It is with a heavy heart that I must share this news. High-King Ridire - His Most Glorious, The Just, Lord of Light, and First Warrior of Glaschu - has followed his Avatar Clarisse La Rue - Marchioness of the White Citadel and Goldenspear - in death, just as she followed him in life.

[Solais stands. Previously hidden in her gown, it’s clear now that she is wearing a belt and sheathed sword. The sword is drawn, and the queen sets it on a cushion born by a servant. The gold and glimmer of her dress begins to fade, changing from bright to dark, mournful black. Across Glaschu and in other Seelie-controlled areas, bells toll.]

To honour his passing, we will set our swords aside for one week save for in great need. We will not wear the gold that he so favoured. We will remember him, the blows he struck and took for us, for our cause.

[Here she pauses, her strength seeming to momentarily falter before Solais pulls herself up taller.]

Remember our fallen King. Remember that all things must end so that others may begin. And above all, Look For The Light.

UNSEELIE
[It’s in the evening that each and every Unseelie locket will open no matter where they are across the Drabwurld. It is not Morla’s face that greets them, instead it is Reul. He is a dark figure, menacing still even when but a simple projection. Tonight he exudes smugness -- from the high tilt of his chin, to the way his eyes shine from behind helmet. It’s perhaps the closest anyone in the Drabwurld has come to his face and maybe some might now be wishing to never see the sight again.

Reul is a frightening sight, especially when pleased. ]

Greetings brothers and sisters; those who are my most loyal. [His voice is a calm baritone, a teasing lilt of delight if you listen closely. ]

I come to you with glad tidings this night: High-King Ridire is dead, slain with his wretch of an Avatar. Tonight we are not victorious, but we are blessed. He who would have us slain; he who would see us slaughtered is naught but a memory.

[It will become obvious now, that Reul himself is not holding the locket. It pans out now, revealing Reul upon his throne and beside him sits Morla, dressed decidedly in gold. There is something reminiscent of a smile that lingers on the edges of her lips; it's a tight thing, but present. Her hand sits atop Reul's armoured one, a rare show of closeness. It's fitting, this evening. ]

Tonight we celebrate. Tonight we cast aside our weapons and we wear gold so that we may honour such a worthy foe. We invited you to share this glory with us; intimately and with the passion we are known for.

[Morla says nothing still; she lets Reul finish. It's after that she lifts her chin, her voice steady:]

And after we shall shed our gold and let it burn in the fires most pure; we will take arms anew and begin again.

[And it's done. ]

MOD NOTE There will be no NPC responses to this post. Solais will not be taking any visitors. Unseelie… have fun at the orgy.

Threaded | Flat

... Anyone else wondering what the hell killed their king, when our monarchs couldn't? Any bets? [His voice is agitated and worried. Already, the news of the sickness has spread. He's less pleased about this, if only because it speaks volumes about something that he doesn't have a damn clue about.]

[So Thor really doesn't like the look of his side's king. Hm.

But that's not what he wants to know.] What will happen to Ridire now? Where do the slain of this land go after their deaths?

What? No! Have any of you ever picked up a history book? This is the part where a hyper-talented, super expansionist military leader usurps power and starts a massive war of conquest. It happens every freaking time. Better a moron you know than a Napoleon you don't!

But if wearing gold is like, a snub, I'm all for it by the way. Free alcohol, right?

[Well it's hard even for a guy as clueless as Hercules to miss the significance of this. He seems perplexed, puzzled even. This man was not his king, and he knew nothing of these monarchs beyond they ruled the courts, and for him it mattered little. Fae died, they were not eternal, but with as many titles as he possessed this Ridire was undoubtedly a worthy individual.]

A pity that his time came. May he find peace in Elysium, and the Theoi Khthonioi judge him fairly in his repose.

['Those who are my most loyal.'

May Reul eat her entire ass and then rot in the Hell of burrowing maggots.]

[Xion isn't really sure what to say or do. She's able to gather the jist of the message: The king of their enemies is gone, like the crew at Castle Oblivion. Like Roxas' friend Axel. But she - they, so far as she could see - hadn't done anything since they'd gotten here. Not yet.

She could try to ask somebody about it later, she hoped. Hiro, or some of the others she met at the feast, the day she got here. So instead she asks the only question she really feels able to here.]

There's another feast?

[Xion no]

[Dorian's widen, and something clicks. The High King has followed his Avatar in Death, just as she had followed him in life. For even as his mind regrets Ridire's passing, twists at the thought that they've only Solais left—for the sake of his own side's chances and for the fact that simply put, Dorian trusts Ridire more easily—his mind is settling on the puzzle.

How do you kill a king?

He knows what the word means, avatar, knows Hinduism as well as any other Earth religion. A God can't be killed, not easily, not in an immortal form, but a God descended to Earth—a soul chosen as an Earthly manifestation—

Like a portrait in an attic, when the soul is made manifest, it is made vulnerable.

The High King followed his Avatar in Death.

The Gods are going to war in this world, the elves had told him. The Gods are coming to slay one another. And in their deaths, the aspects of their magic are vanishing.

(—then the pyrii—?)

The pieces come into place. How do you kill a king? You kill a God. And how do you kill an unearthly thing? You make it manifest, able to do what Gods can't but vulnerable in its reality.

The High King followed his Avatar in Death. And Dorian understands: other Gods will, too. The Godswar has already started, and Seelie King Ridire is not even its first casualty from on high.]

I hope his Avatar was worth it while she was here.

A worthy foe, indeed. ( She would have expected there to be a body on display. A corpse, cold and gray to be shown to the people to show beyond a shadow of a doubt that this King is dead.

Yet there is none. Elizabeth does not voice it, does not show it; but she wonders. It is what her father, and her uncle both would have done. Are this King and his Queen more benevolent than even they? The smugness she has seen upon Reul's face is telling enough to answer that query.

So, then. A King is dead. No matter where his kingdom lies, no matter his deeds; he deserves to be honoured. This feels odd to her, though not entirely out of place.

She bows her head, and murmurs quietly: )

And an honourable one. May the gods assoil his soul.

Threaded | Flat

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