eachdraidh | [ 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Is death truly so feared here?

[He's died multiple times.]

It is feared in my homeland, as well. Is it not so in yours, my lord?

( Plus, she has no idea where her soul would go were she to die here. Especially when her relaitonship with the Almighty is not as defined as it had once been. )

The gods of the realm of Asgard know their fate- the honourable go to the halls of Valhalla, to feast in glory forevermore. [The dishonourable find their end in darkness and misery in the land of Hel.]

Do the gods of this land not have simliar tales of what awaits them?

Ah! You speak of the gods of the Northmen. One of them numbers among my ancestors. Might I ask: is that truly what occurs?

( She grows silent, then, and glances downward. )

One may lose their shard, and survive. But no one knows what happens to someone who should perish without one. I would not wish to be the one to discover it.

There exists a god of Death here, known as the Black Shuck. Those who are more wretched and foul than the orcs, he condemns to a terrible end. They may bid one person farewell, and then they are no more. Every October, there is a week-long night. It is His time, and masks must be worn so that He will know our likeness not if He should decide to chase us down later.

And in England, it is believed that Heaven awaits the righteous, while the souls of sinners are condemned to Hell for eternity.

[Thor wonders if she means a god is one of her ancestors, or a northman? He'd not felt anything from her when they'd first met at the banquet, but he was coming to understand that anything was possible in this world.

He listens carefully as she shares about this world. There are stories around the universe of black dogs which represent death, but he'd never thought himself to ever become subject to one.

He'd like to know what fate the worthy have in this world. Are they under this Black Shuck's domain also?]

For the Aesir, it is true. I have been to Valhalla myself on more than one occasion. As to the fate of humans- [He shakes his head.] Such secrets are not mine to possess.

( A river goddess is apparently at the root of her maternal ancestry, and with the power she possessed even before arriving here; she can believe it. And on her father's side, Robert I of Normandy was a baptised Northman. She does not elaborate, because she is far too amazed to think of aught else but what he's just told her.

First Aphrodite. Now, a Viking God? She finds herself smiling, because this is now an established trend: all gods seem to be real. While her own very well might be, He has been eerily silent. )

But.. ( Oh, no. Her smile fades, as she processes what that means; not simply that he is divine, but that he has died. ) I am honoured, Your Grace. You do indeed seem valiant enough to have earned a place in that hall several times over.

( She keeps her sympathy and sorrow for the death(s) he has suffered private. It would not be his way to think of it as a sad thing, but rather a triumph. )

God has been silent since my arrival here, and even prior to that date. But I believe something awaits us after death here. If only for comfort's sake.

Thor, please. [Though raised to be king and lord of all Asgard, Thor does not wish for such titles from human lips. His is not their lord or master; nor does he have dominion over them. He smiles at her, reassuringly.] It is a challenge I face newly every day, my lady; to be worthy of those of have faith in me.

[There is a depth to his words, for he has spent lifetimes learning and relearning what worthiness truly is.]

If the Black Shuck sends some to a dark end, then there will also be a creature who judges the rightness of a person's heart. Your hope will not be unfounded.

( Her moment of stupefaction is prolonged, as she gazes at him wide-eyed for a while. Then, her smile returns again. The God of Thunder! A great hero, as she recalls. )

We are well-met, Thor. My name is Elizabeth. At home, I am a princess of England. Here, I am honoured to be considered your equal.

( Because he is divine and she is.. well, not so much, really. At all. Her features soften, then, and she nods. )

The White Hart, yes. I know not any of the Seelie legends attached to Him. But I think you are right.

And you, Elizabeth of England. [He inclines his head, to the degree proper when greeting a princess. He's spent little time in England, but has heard it to be a great nation.

He has the feeling she is not from the modern England of the time he's from. Her manners and speech speak of an older time.]

Perhaps that is where I ought to seek answers. Stories of this White Hart and its role in the life and death of Drabwurld.

Please, call me Elizabeth. It is only fair. ( Her smile holds a hint of mischief for a moment, as she eases back into herself and regains her composure.

Tilting her head, she nods once. That is not a bad idea at all. Though.. )

I have heard troubling things, that He is not in good health. If that is true, I worry for the fate of this world. I would see that blasted void to an end.

( She knows what manner of balance the White Hart provides this land; integral, irreplaceable. Invaluable. )

Of course, Elizabeth. [He smiles also, though it fades as he hears what she has to say next.

If the Black Shuck is the embodiment of death, then the White Hart is likely a symbol of life. If it's failing...] That is troubling indeed.

It seems we are beset by troubles on all sides, with little suggestion of how to make things well again. [Thor does not like that.]

I thank you. You have been kind to me from the first, and I appreciate it very much.

( He's also very handsome, which certainly does not hurt. Elizabeth can feel her own smile fade, matching his expression, as she nods gravely. )

Our mandate is to destroy the Void, and for that, we require shards. Which can only be gained from shardbearers when they perish or vanish from this world.

( She will not dare say it in this particular venue, but: she refuses that out-right. There must be a better way than this. )

[And Thor, without any powers of mindreading-] Is there another way? Is death the only answer?

[He has friends on the Seelie side, and he will not lift a hand against them.]

( Bless him. Elizabeth glances up, her face a mask of calm neutrality.

Her words, however, are spoken in a gentle cadence. And at once, she locks this conversation as best she might. )

Perhaps. But we cannot speak of the matter here. I will contact you privately, and we will discuss it.

( Her heart has leapt high into her throat, with the hope that she might have found another like-minded soul. )

[ VIDEO ] LOCKED TO EITHER COURT.

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