Fantasy Cinders and Ashes (Completed)

[Ezri]

It was almost certainly not a smart idea. The acknowledgement of this fact did give Vivian pause, but it was the sort of thing a gossip like Jocasta might go on about— nothing morally bankrupt. What did she care, anyway? They had bigger things to worry about than some clutched pearls. Just once would be fine, just a little...

As her response kissed him and got to her feet, pulling him along after her.

 

[ArcticFox]

The evening sprawls into golden warmth and loving sweetness, and together, now, you cannot regret the path that led you here.

Dark dreams weave through your thoughts, wrapping themselves around you, pinning down the windows of your mind. The keystones are of paramount importance - the thought that keeps presenting itself, over and over again, is that it may already be too late.

You blink open your eyes. Grayish light illuminates the room - it is not quite dawn.

The deep breathing of slumber reaches your ears, and someone stirs from within the room: you are not alone. Wren. Memories of the previous night expand, chasing away the shadows.

He is sprawled next to you, one hand outstretched, hair a tumbleweed mess. A blush starting from your toes warms your face as you remember the beautiful intimacy you enjoyed together. He coughs and mumbles something in his sleep. He starts, blinks through slitted eyes, groggily takes the measure of the room, and of you.

"Vivian," he says, seemingly surprised. Then he smiles, tentatively, and the room is filled with sunlight, though outside, the sun is not yet risen. "Are you well?"

- Yes.
- Not sure.
- Worried about the keystones.

 

[Ezri]

For a few hazy moments after Vivian woke she was unsure that she wasn’t still dreaming; the early morning cast her familiar bedroom in a surreal sort of light. But no, this was reality. She sat up in bed and ran a hand through her hair, now very conscious of the presence next to her. Ill-advised as it might have been, the night before was maybe just what she needed. She only hoped Wren wouldn’t have any regrets when he woke up— he didn’t seem to.

“Well... better now, I think.” She answered, pulling up her knees and resting her cheek on her hand as she watched him. It might be in poor taste to bring up nightmares or their looming enemy after waking up with someone, even if the keystones were still at the forefront of her mind. Was there etiquette for this sort of thing?

 

[ArcticFox]

You stare at each other goofily for a few moments, and then the shadow of what may come to pass today moves in like a swift stormcloud.

He rises and bows, with stiff correctness. "I should go," he says with remorse. "Thank you." It is an oddly formal thing to say to someone who has watched the embers of the night with you, but this painful return to correctness belies the warmth of his smile and the true respect in his eyes as he gazes at you.

When you accompany him downstairs, Wren's face is impossible to read - there is something open there, something wondering and infinitely sorrowful. You have no idea what he reads in yours.

Your stomach growls loudly, breaking the moment.

- Ask him to stay for breakfast.
- Say goodbye.

 

[Ezri]

It was awkward, in a way— Wren’s stiff reactions were a little baffling at first, but it was hard to blame him. They were a bit impulsive, after all, and now that they were back in the bright light of mundane reality it was a reminder of more mundane worries. And less mundane ones, for that matter, but immediately Vivian’s concern was food. The demons could wait.

“I understand that you might prefer to be on your way,” she explained, trying to pretend like her stomach hadn’t growled at all. Her statement wasn’t meant with any malicious subtext— the longer he stayed, the more opportunity there was for someone to see something ever so scandalous. “But you’re welcome to stay for breakfast.”

 

[ArcticFox]

"Yes, I think I would like that," Wren nods and the mood between you two gets a little less awkward.

Bruno is careful to serve only the best and lightest food that you have in your pantry. Not like you know what you have in storage anyway, Bruno is the one that does all the shopping. Fresh fruit and crepes and honey, all serve to make a wonderful breakfast and Wren lightens up as you share that moment. Your openness dispels any awkwardness Wren might feel. Soon, you are enjoying a lively conversation, for all the world like old friends who have known each other for years, completely at ease in each other's company. Far away from the pressing matters, at least for a moment longer.

Once you have finished eating, he fetches his coat.

"I shall see you soon," he says. "We have much to do."

- Properly bow.
- Properly curtsy.
- Take his hand.
- Kiss his cheek.

 

[Ezri]

If Bruno had any opinions about their surprise breakfast guest, he didn’t voice them— not that she ever thought he would. But Vivian found herself eager to prolong these light, carefree moments for as long as she could, and not only because of Wren’s company. Once he was gone, her missions would resume— she’d yet to assist Danaer, there was her deal with Malachite, and the concerns about the keystones casting a dark cloud above it all. Some foolish part of her hoped that somehow stretch out these peaceful moments, make the seconds last longer.

It didn’t work, of course, and the sun kept rising as it always did.

“Yes, we do. Then until we meet again, Mr. Grufford.” She curtsied gracefully as Wren made to depart, a gesture too formal to be serious at this point and one that didn’t quite match up with her grin. They were far beyond those pleasantries, and he surely knew that: he’d probably see the humor in it.

 

[ArcticFox]

He grins and takes your hand to kiss it in return.

You watch him bound down the front stairs, and then return to your study. There is much to do.

Bruno knocks and enters, hands you a card. "This just came," he says in tones of deep importance. You turn it over - it is an invitation to the opera, from none other than Lady Eugenie. "I Dormiglioni Segreti" - The Secret Sleepers.

"I heard it is quite a popular opera in the city, Madam."

Not perhaps ideal timing - the issue of the keystones and the demons presses hard upon your mind. But when the town matriarch calls, one does not refuse. More can be gained from attending than from missing this event. It can help you to unravel the final pieces of this puzzle. All the important people to whom one would speak will be there.

The time has come to make good on your promise to assist Danaer. If you are to persuade Danaer's family to release him from this antiquated engagement, there are several angles from which to approach the issue.

Since you're so close to Wren, he might be a good ally to have. Indeed, it is a wonder that Danaer did not go to him to begin with. But perhaps he is ashamed to ask for help from her cousin.

Otherwise, it might be most expeditious to confront Mr. Roland Grufford head-on. If you have enough social influence - that your word and presence alone bears weight - this may be an efficient means of solving the problem. However, if you do not carry enough social consequence, it is unlikely to bear much fruit.

- Speak to Wren.
- Confront Roland Grufford.

 

[Ezri]

The invitation to the opera was not at all expected, and at first Vivian found it a little irritating. How could they care about a performance while all of their lives were in danger? But no, they weren’t aware of any of that. Well, at least one member of the gentry was, but that was beside the point. For that reason alone, accepting Lady Eugenie’s invitation could prove beneficial.

For now, until they learned more about their more existential threats, Vivian could at least make good on her promise to Danaer. And while it was a shame she only thought of it now that he’d left, maybe Wren would be a good person to ask. She didn’t know how well the cousins got on, really, but Wren had previously expressed some distaste for his uncle. Hopefully he could at least offer her some advice on the matter.

 

[ArcticFox]

You dash off a quick note to Wren, asking to meet him regarding a matter of urgent importance.

He is waiting for you in the park when you arrive. "I received your note. Are you quite well?" His eyes are bright with concern. "Has something happened?"

When you mention Danaer, recollecting his manners, he offers you his arm. "What is it?"

You walk together a short ways around the park while you quickly tell him of Danaer's trouble - it is a discreet enough location, at this time of day, not to be overheard.

When you are finished speaking, his face is grim. "Why did he not tell me himself? Of all the pigheaded, selfish schemes - he, of all people, should know that I would have supported him immediately."

- Say something.
- Stay silent.

 

[Ezri]

It was a relief to know that Wren would help, although his question was a good one— why hadn’t Danaer asked for his help to begin with? Vivian felt a little guilty as she considered the idea that he had some reason for hiding it, and she’d betrayed his confidence. But she doubted that she would get very far with Roland Grufford on her own...

“I’m not sure.” She said, frowning. She could only guess as to his motivations, and she wasn’t sure that she could do that accurately. “Although he seemed very reluctant to even tell me about it.”

 

[ArcticFox]

He presses your hand. "Thank you for telling me, Vivian. Not in any way. It is clear, this is all my wretched uncle's doing. Obligation aside, I have no particular respect for my uncle and Danaer should have known that. I will help you. We will end this - this utter selfishness - together."

You both stop walking and he kisses your hand formally. "There is much to do. I must speak to my uncle. I hope we shall see each other soon."

You watch his retreat, in his sharp grey coat and high boots, he cuts quite a fine figure.

--


You run into Danaer a day later at the corner of Silver street. "Vivian!" he calls, and takes your hand. He is grinning, beaming - happier than you can ever remember him appearing, in all your acquaintance.

"I cannot thank you enough," he says, practically levitating with good spirits. "If there is anything I can do for you, please, tell me. I shall always be grateful, my whole life."

- Answer.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian hadn’t expected to run into Danaer so soon, but even before he spoke his demeanor said it all.

“It sounds like your problem has been resolved, then?” She asked with a smile; Wren certainly moved quickly. How did he convince his uncle so quickly? In the end it didn’t matter; it was just a relief that the marriage wouldn’t go through.

“Oh, I didn’t do much.” she said to his continued gratitude, and it was probably more true than Danaer knew. Honestly, it was a little awkward to accept all this praise knowing that, and she felt a little bashful. “To be frank, I had help. But I’m just glad that you no longer have to worry about it.”

 

[ArcticFox]

When Danaer bids his farewell it is not quite afternoon - still plenty of time in the day.

Walking through the streets of Cinders, a strange scraping noise rises from the street below, and makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck. A hunched, black-polished carriage driven by the Fallen stops before you.

One of the thralls opens the door and the Malachite lord pokes out his head and hails you. "I bid you good-day, Miss Price," he says. "Would you like to join me? As you can see, I have made all the arrangements. I am eager to wait upon you."

It could be dangerous to go into the Wilds, and, if not dangerous, then certainly time-consuming. And time right now is of the essence. Yet, such an invitation, and such an opportunity to gather information, are rarely granted to humans without a cost.

There surely will be some cost, though. There always is, for transgressing. If you refuse, you risk offending the demons, if you are not polite enough.

And if you throw civility completely to the winds and call for help, offending them is almost certain - but so is getting out of the situation whole and unharmed.

- Accept.
- Politely decline.
- Run away,

 

[Ezri]

Vivian froze in place as the black carriage arrived, chasing all pleasant thoughts from her mind. She wondered if she could ever get acclimated to the sight of the Fallen, or to the sense of dread that looking upon a demon cast on her. Maybe it would be better that she didn’t.

She glanced around, hoping there wouldn’t be any prying eyes, but she realized it was a useless endeavor. No one else dared to look, anyway. She turned back to Malachite, giving a polite smile that hopefully masked the chill running down her spine.

Her decision had already been made, and with the matter of the keystones in question it was even more imperative that she learn more about the demon kind. Malachite regarded her with some amount of respect, and while she wasn’t positive why she couldn’t let this tether, frail as it may be, go to waste. “Good day, Mr. Malachite. Of course, I’d be happy to accept your invitation.”

 

[ArcticFox]

The chariot crawls along, black beetle in a sea of fieldgrass and empty, cracked earth.

Now is not the time to wonder, to measure scenarios and costs in your mind, but something in you does it anyway. The Fallen do not appear to breathe, but their edges hum slightly, flickering in the sunlight. You had never noticed this before.

Then again, your proximity to them had been quite limited, before now.

The crossing from Cinders into the Wilds is an audible shock that leaves you reeling. The windows of the chariot are glazed - now you wonder, gazing out at them, whether you would be able to even breathe, were it not for the sealed chariot. The air here is hazy, and dust and magic cling to the edges of the sky. Plumes of thicker air drift around you like long fingers, trails of magic like fumes that leave a palpable shimmer.

It is beautiful, in a fierce and dangerous way.

You feel:

- Free.
- Terrified.
- Trapped.
- Calm.

 

[Ezri]

It was hard not to look out at the wilds as they passed by, harsh and fantastical in a way completely different from the Wood and from Cinders. Vivian couldn’t quite shake concept that her only assurance of safety was Malachite and his chariot; she didn’t think she could survive a place like this alone. She wouldn’t want to try.

Looking out was better than looking at the Fallen, strange as they were. Thankfully she wasn’t panicking— she felt strangely calm, although maybe it was only because her fate had been sealed when she stepped into the carriage. There was no use in trying to backtrack now, even if she wanted to. She only hoped Malachite knew what he was doing, and wouldn’t turn her naivety against her. Right now, scary as the fact may be, she was dependent on him.

 

[ArcticFox]

You travel in this way for some time before any buildings are in sight. Now and then, a bit of scrub appears, a tree twisted by wind and magic past recognition, a red-chalk boulder resting upon the ground, but, for the most part, it is flat hinterland.

A person could get very lost indeed here.

Suddenly, the appeal of Cinders' verdant lands, with its woods and well-maintained rainfall, makes more sense. If demons even value such things.

A building, spiky and strange enough to make the pit of your stomach protest, can now be seen, near and far in the deceptively flat landscape. It looks like a cathedral built of hands, upraised fingers clasped together in feral embrace.

The carriage turns towards it.

This is Malachite's residence.

The Fallen hand you out of the chariot - the contact of your hand against one of theirs causes odd tingles to run down your spine. But then again, your senses are near-overwhelmed by the buzzing of the air around you and the strangeness of the building in front of you. The air is thick to breathe, but surprisingly syrupy - it does not taste noxious, as it appeared it might from inside, but tangy, like a citrus fruit from faraway lands.

Malachite stands just inside the pointed vestibule, wearing an enormous collared vermilion cloak, smiling.

"Welcome," he proclaims as you start up the stairs. "I am delighted you could visit. It is a thrill and an honour to meet with the person who thinks they can best me," he adds. He brushes past you with an odd laugh.

- Answer.
- Keep silent.

 

[Ezri]

Malachite’s home was somehow just as sharp and frightening as he was, as if every aspect of demon culture was made to be specifically off putting. Although it wasn’t ugly, exactly— there was something intriguing about that those jagged spires, jutting out of the flat wasteland.

She followed him up the stairs, half dreading and half anticipating whatever the interior of this building would look like. Malachite was as affable as he had been before, but she wondered if he was masking something else with that unnerving laugh. But as long as he seemed to respect her, she could only assume she had some advantage, something worth respecting.

“It’s an honor to be here, although I’m not quite sure what you mean.” she said pleasantly, hoping she could keep her cards close to her chest for now. Was he referring to their discovery of the keystone plot? She’d felt he was watching then, somehow, but how much could he know?

 

[ArcticFox]

The earnestness behind your words comes through your tone, and Malachite seems pleased. He takes you on a tour of his abode. There are many things that pass your eyes without resting in your mind, for they are outside the borders of your comprehension. For the most part, afterwards, you recollect many finely furnished rooms and halls, some embedded with mosaic, some richly panelled, some painted with vibrant murals depicting filigree-fine gold and silver trees, and birds.

There are a great many live birds in the place, too, you realise at some point. Brilliant tropical birds with scarlet and turquoise plumes, finches with extra crests and violet markings, white sparrows. They are oddly silent, or perhaps the buzzing in your head repulses additional sound.

Their quantity increases as you move towards a certain area of the house.

Malachite pushes open two handsome oak doors with a flourish, moving quickly. "My library." He says it in tones of significant pride, which you cease to understand when you see past him.

It is a distinguished, round room, with all the trappings of a fine library - save that it contains absolutely no books at all.

Instead, every shelf in the room is lined with cages. Inside these, ordinary birds of the world flit and scratch. Drab sparrows, wrens, and swallows circle. You even hear one skylark.

These are not silent. The air is filled with warbling sound.

Malachite observes you, then draws the doors shut. "That is enough for today, I believe. We shall take tea." With a discreet gesture, he signals to one of the Fallen standing mutely in the hall. The thrall nods and bows, and turns to go with slow movements, as if underwater. Malachite watches it go with eyes that deflect both light and consequence. "Shall we?"

The tea smells entirely ordinary, and Malachite assures you it is from the tea merchant in Baker Street. It would be rude to refuse, and, moreover, your throat is dry from the journey.

Malachite is watching you closely. "You hesitate. You believe me capable of wishing to poison my guests?"

- Definitely.
- Kind of.
- No.

 

[Ezri]

The tour proved Malachite’s home to be as extravagant and strange as she thought it would be. It was difficult to take it all in, as if she couldn’t quite make out most of what she was looking at, so maybe that was why she kept coming back to the birds, turning her head each time she saw one move. And the library, as he called it— it was fascinating, in the way that a museum exhibit might be, but also somehow unsettling.

Tea was a surprisingly normal affair, so far at least, but Malachite must have noticed her unease. “Please excuse me, I mean no offense. ” Vivian said, although after a moment she took a sip. At this point it seemed safer to drink it than not, and that aside... “While I don’t know you very well, I have a feeling you would choose a less mundane method if you wanted to kill someone.”

 

[ArcticFox]

Malachite's enthusiasm for showing you around seems genuine - it cannot be often that he has Willed or willing visitors from the human realm. If this was a trap, ample time for it has already passed.

Malachite seems to be watching the thoughts in your eyes. Suddenly, he looks bored. "Well, drink it or not, it is your choice. I care not."

You take a sip, and it is ordinary tea, after all. The show of good faith appears to raise Malachite's spirits - he beams a surprisingly good-natured smile. "You see? I am quite relieved. You do not believe me capable of poisoning my guests."

Malachite drinks the tea, with a little something from an egg-shaped container poured inside. "It is a tonic, for my health," he explains. "Well, now you have seen my home. And what do you think of it? There are some far grander residences here, but it is far from the least of them. A pity I could not show you the castle defences, some other time, perhaps, if ever you return. We demons are always at war against each other. It is not often I get to enjoy truly genteel society."

- Ask more about the demons.
- Ask him if he prefers the human world.
- Ask something else.

 

[Ezri]

It was strange to speak to Malachite like this, as if he were simply a person like any other. He was unmistakably a demon, of course, but he was also polite and... oddly conventional, once one looked past his more bizarre traits and interests. Very strange indeed.

“Well, I think it’s impressive. I’ve never seen anything like it.” she said, almost afraid to imagine what a ‘grander’ residence would be like. But all that aside, she’d learned something interesting already— she wouldn’t have guessed that the demons fought amongst themselves, but if they were all as ‘human’ as Malachite then perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise. “I’m sure the defenses are just as fascinating— but at war over what, exactly? If it isn’t impolite to ask.”

 

[ArcticFox]

"Find a pitcher in a bottle, and my kindred will find a way to smash it into bits and make a quarrel over the remnants," he says. "It is simply our way - we cannot be changed, though we can be polished up a little."

"But you have not come all this way for nothing," he says sharply, returning to his habitual manner. "I must give you a boon, in thanks for calling. I receive so few visitors. When things come down to the bone and gristle, I should not like to see you suffer for it, or for your civility to me. Allow me to help you. Let us visit my garden, for I could not let you leave without seeing it. It is one of the great attractions of this area, though I say it myself."

You follow him outside. The "garden" is a collection of rocks, set in the earth in waspish shapes. Their shadows form eerie pictures against the cracked ground, grasping, geometric patterns. It is dizzying.

"Is it not splendid?" he asks, beaming. There are a discomfiting number of teeth in his mouth - they are very slender and pointed. Malachite watches you, as if suppressing a grin. "I'll wager you never dreamed our lands held such beauties. If you join us, you can enjoy status unlike you have ever dreamed," Malachite says. "You can taste the delights of our courts, and live a long and profitable existence - I, personally, shall vouch for your safety and Will. In return, you will help us to take back the land that is rightfully ours, were it not for those meddling forest-rats and your fellow kind."

- Ask what would happen to Cinders.
- Ask what would happen to the people.
- Ask if you can save someone else's Will too.

 

[Ezri]

There was no telling what a demon’s garden would look like, after seeing his library and the rest, but once they reached it Vivian found herself strangely drawn to it, as long as she could look at it without her eyes straining. Demons, it seemed, had a very perverse sense of aesthetics; one would never call this a garden unless he had himself. She wondered if all demons were this way or just him.

“It is truly a sight to behold.” She admitted, squinting at the patterned shadows as if that would help her make sense of them. “I feel very privileged to have seen your estate— I can’t think of anything that could compare.”

“And that is a very generous offer, Mr. Malachite.” She said, with a tight-lipped smile. It wasn’t an offer he would make without reason, surely— he was very eager indeed to make an ally of her. “But what would befall the rest of my fellow kind, in that event? Would they all lose their Will?”