Fantasy Cinders and Ashes (Completed)

[Ezri]

Vivian watched the old woman with wide, almost fascinated eyes. Part of her wanted to catch up and ask what she thought she was doing, but she was long gone by now and Vivian knew better. Staying away from the Wood was just a matter of course— there was probably a reason no one went near it, Fae or no Fae. It was difficult to pin down why she felt that way, but she was quite convinced that it was not a normal place.

While Vivian couldn’t claim she never wondered what was lurking there (she did often, when she was younger) she was more concerned about what she might find if she did. If what Danaer said had any truth behind it, she was right to be cautious...

 

[ArcticFox]

You've drifted towards the gate, you realise before you can gather your wits and turn again towards home.

But, before you can take more than a few steps, a black, liquid shape, about the size of a hunting hound, slips out in front of you.

It's a cat, one of the wildcats that infest the area around Cinders. Unusual to see one so close to town, but, in the dusky light, the chill of the Wood has seeped into your bones, and anything is possible. Some cats are benign, but others, infected with a poison that causes sickness and, in extreme cases, death.

The cat watches you. Its eyes are like parallel moons reflecting the light.

You cannot tell which kind it is, benign or venomous. But its teeth, when it hisses at you, are large enough for worry.

You back up. The cat advances towards you, forcing you through the gate.

Now there is only one way to flee, and that is into the Wood. You back up slowly through that yawning gap between the trees.

The air is cooler here beneath the trees. The cat is still behind you, stalking you like the prey you are. It is clear now that the stories were true in some respect: despite the taboo, others have entered the Wood before you. There is a gate, after all. There is a path, though but lightly trod.

The trees grow denser, the air fresher still, dark and mulch-like. It is quiet, as before the rains. The crack of a twig breaking disrupts the peace - the cat is still moving towards you, eyes intent. It is but a few feet away, and if you run, unless you are very fast, it will pounce.

- Observe the cat for hints.
- Run back the way you came.
- Back away slowly.
- Threaten the cat to make it back down.

 

[Ezri]

Well, now she’d done it. If she ever wanted to explore the Wood, even now that she was here she couldn’t allow herself a moment of distraction. There was no way she could outrun this cat, and even trying might provoke it. It was a wild animal, and she wasn’t exactly the athletic type— the odds here were not in her favor, although if it came down to it she didn’t intend to go down without a fight.

But so far, the cat hadn’t attacked her, and that seeked like a good sign. It could do so whenever it wanted, if it were so inclined. Maybe it was just toying with her, but regardless she didn’t want to continue to be at its mercy.

“Listen, you.” she said to the cat, and although she felt a little foolish for doing so she kept her voice steady and stern and drew up a little taller. If she appeared big and tough it might leave, animals could sense that sort of thing. “I don’t want to hurt you, all right? So leave me alone.”

 

[ArcticFox]

The cat clearly decides you are not much of a threat, and approaches.

It leaps at you, claws unfurled - you only just now see that they are tipped with an orangeish liquid. Pain rips through you as the cat slashes your arms, pivots, and scrambles off into the trees.

Your wounds are raw, shallow slashes running across your forearms. A scratch is less harmful than a bite, but this one could have been infected. You are, hopelessly, turned around - what's more, a strange sensation of being drawn in among the trees possesses you. You find it difficult to distinguish yourself from the forest - the Wood itself is binding you even as you walk.

While you are concentrating on stilling your breath, a supple shade of silence denser than you've experienced so far falls upon you - you feel someone's gaze upon your back.

You are no longer alone.

A shape unfolds itself from the trees, so swiftly you suspect it was there all along. A tall silhouette ruffled as if with leaves or fur, slowly solidifies before your eyes into a human-like form: two legs, two arms, a body - and an energy field that is simply wrong;. It hurts the mind to look upon, at first.

It is a Fae, you know it now. The buzzing feeling subsides - bit by bit, you can make out the Fae's features. She raises her silvery sword toward you.

"You are far from the town, human." Her voice is like the creak of wood in the autumn gales. The words sound in another language, but somehow, in your inner ear, you understand the words. "And you are trespassing on our lands. Tell me, why should we allow you to go free?"

- Escape.
- Bargain for spina.
- Talk to the Fae.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian hissed a curse as she felt her skin rip, stinging and sharp. To her surprise, however, the cat retreated after that one attack, leaving her injured and panicked but very much alive. It was a chance she didn't want to pass up, but before she could even think about which way to run she was blocked by something even more formidable. It was hard to look right at the Fae, like her eyes were having trouble focusing on her.

"I don't want to be on your lands, believe me." she told the Fae-- with everything that had happened today, part of her was already reconciling her inevitable demise. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or her frustration with her lot in life finally coming to a head, but she was lacking the reverence she might have had otherwise. All she could do, really, was plead her case and hope for the best.

"You might not think it's much of an excuse, but I was chased here by one of those ghastly cats." she explained, gesturing to her wounds. "I didn't want to be here. This is your place and I know that. If you allow me to leave, I'll never come back. Or if there's some other way I can atone..." She grimaced at her arms, muttering under her breath. "Although I suppose I might die, regardless..."

 

[ArcticFox]

She nods as if in understanding and lowers her blade, a little, but does not look wholly convinced.

"You are bound as well as injured." Her voice is rough. "We can help you with both, but know that it will cost you. Dearly." She cocks her head and looks at you, unblinking.

After a moment, she approached you, looking you up and down, then reaching out to take your injured arm.

"It is infected. You will die and it will hurt. And even if you survive it, the demons will take you all soon." She walks around you, coming close enough that you smell the verbena and woodbine of her coat. "If you want my help, surrender to me all your memories before the age of ten."

- Agree.
- Say it's too much.
- Ask if there's something else.

 

[Ezri]

Her fears were quickly confirmed, the Fae’s words sounding like a death knell. Vivian forced herself to breath, each inhale and exhale a conscious thought; she didn’t want to die. Refusing wasn’t an option, but the price...

“What do you want that for?” she huffed and looked at the ground in front of her, although she wasn’t really expecting an answer. Until now she had never even considered what it might be like, to lose memories like that— why would she? But her childhood was happy, and now she could lose all those moments.

For a long moment she was silent, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were turning white. “... if that’s the only thing you’ll accept, I don’t have much of a choice, do I? If you’ll help me live and get out of here, then I’ll do it.”

 

[ArcticFox]

"That is just the tender," the Fae smiles. "The balance is something else. It is a tithe of hard labor on behalf of the Wood. As woodbound, you will be required to perform certain duties for us. You will know when you have them."

The weight of the bond sinks into you, and you reel against the heft of it upon your shoulders and in your bones. It makes you sluggish, bleary. For a moment, you feel your arms and legs interlaced with wooden fibers. Her voice continues, calm and steady, full of those liquid, interlocking syllables.

"You do not know how many of your brethren are bound thus. Some might even say it is a privilege, to serve the Wood."

Arkana's flat expression (her name pops into your head unaided, and a shiver runs through your body) has become even more inscrutable. If she were human, you would attribute this to extreme boredom. As it is, you have no way to attribute any human emotion to it.

"This is what has been set forth and the protocol we follow. In exchange for this, you will receive your life and spina to sustain you until there is time to deal with the demon kin. Do you accept these terms?"

- Accept.
- Haggle for better terms.
- Refuse.

 

[Ezri]

Being Woodbound sounded like anything other than a privilege, and as her body grew heavy Vivian burned to fight against it. Just by living in Cinders she felt so trapped, and this was even further beyond that. She desperately wanted to cling to whatever autonomy she could, and being shackled to the Fae would chip away at her even more.

“No, I— I don’t recall saying anything about spina.” She argued, trying to stifle the panic welling up in her chest. There had to be some way to get out of this, or at least mitigate it as much as she could. “I don’t need that from you, all I want is to survive this poison. So, in that case— the ‘balance’ should be reduced appropriately, shouldn’t it?”

 

[ArcticFox]

When you finish, there is a long silence, stirred only by the wind through the leaves.

Then Arkana dips her head. "You will need spina if you wish to survive long enough to be of use to us," she says in a soft voice. "But perhaps your memories are too precious." She places her hand on your injured arm. There is a swoosh and you feel suddenly lighter, your emotions clearer. A calmness settles upon you, but you feel a different presence inside your mind, rummaging, invading. After a long moment your thoughts focus back on Arkana and you see her smiling, "You are an interesting human. I'll accept this glimpse into your thoughts and feelings as a tender."

She moves away and you see your arm heal slowly, turning into a silvery scar.

"That is far from enough payment," the Weyr says. "At the moment of the tithe, you will be taken into the compulsion to fulfil our terms."

Arkana nods decisively and, before your very eyes, becomes one with the trees behind her, dissolving into their shadows. You catch a last glimpse of those gleaming, cautioning eyes, and then, they, too, fade into nothing. The forest feels different. The heavy silence that was upon you has been broken by the birdsong and gusts of wind, and all the normal sounds of the forest.

You are not your own. You belong to the demons and now to the Wood.

The spina arrive an instant later, melding with the others you possess in the pouch.

You have 18 spina.

- You feel anxious.
- You feel positive.
- You are angry.
- You are indifferent.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian cursed again, whipping around in hopes of finding a proper exit to this place. At least she had kept her memories, and she should be glad for that. But she still had to do Arkana’s bidding, whatever that would entail, in addition to working around the rules laid out by the demons...

She’d learned something important, although it took her until now to fully appreciate it. The Fae seemed to be working against the demons as well. But even finding that clue felt like a hollow victory; really, she’d just jumped from the frying pan into the fire. She was sure that she would calm down eventually, and maybe her situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed to be, but for now she was still burning from frustration.

 

[ArcticFox]

You pass a restless night caught in dreams of unfurling thorns, piercing your body through. You wake up, covered in a sheen of sweat.

The sky is a bright blue and cloudless that day, perhaps in contrast with your mood.

Bruno enters with the mail as you have breakfast. He stands a moment too long above the plate, and clears his throat. "With your permission, Madam, this came for you. I believe it is of a time-sensitive nature." He hands you a small piece of paper and waits.

You unfold it to read:

Broom Hill, at the road. 11:00. Do not disappoint me, Vivian.
- R.

It is just Rowan, sound very urgent, yet he is known for his drama.

- You are glad to meet with him.
- You don't really want to do it.
- You wish it was a letter from someone else.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian, still shaking off her lethargy from a poor night’s sleep, squinted at the note and sipped her tea. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when Bruno handed her the paper, but it wasn’t something like this. Do not disappoint me, Rowan wrote— he had a lot of free time on his hands, didn’t he? It wasn’t as though he knew about her problems, but in the face of them Rowan’s carefree attitude was a little vexing.

But that line of thinking was a bit unfair— of course he wasn’t trying to spite her, he had no idea. It was hard to imagine that it was anything important, but she might as well go and see what he wanted. Maybe a little levity would be good for her.

 

[ArcticFox]

"Ahem," Bruno says,perhaps noticing your expression. "It appears that some of the gentry are out racing today." Then he explains, "Equipages, Madam. Chariots, curricles, and the like. I believe it will be well-attended."

Race day. An annual affair that starts at the edge of town, up by Broom Hill. It curves around the outskirts of the city and then winds up near the commons, so that everyone may congratulate the winners and retire to the assembly rooms for refreshment.

It is a peculiar Cinders sport, practiced by the gentry. You have never heard of a similar event taking place anywhere else, not in such numbers, not as such a tradition. Here, the winding roads and bluestone markers offer a dangerous challenge. For though the chariots here are light, small conveyances, more suited to whisking around corners than the stately coaches the wealthy drive in the city, they are high, wobbly, and prone to overturning when driven without great skill.

Such a sport cannot be without risk, but its allure has clearly not diminished. Now that Cinders cared more about rules and custom than ever, you will be expected to attend. It is one of the best occasions to see and be seen, and to gain influence and respect.

- Attend and plan to just watch.
- Attend and plan to compete.
- Don't attend.

 

[Ezri]

“Oh.” Vivian exhaled after Bruno’s explanation, returning to her tea. “So that’s what he meant.”

Of course Bruno would be excited about this event, and clearly he had expectations that she would participate in one way or another. But she hadn’t even thought about driving a chariot in years, let alone racing one. There was no chance she could truly be a competitor, she’d be lucky not to fly off the track.

But she should go, lest she be swarmed with questions from Rowan or the likes of Jocasta. Events like these were about more than just the race, after all, and she could find a way to make it worthwhile.

 

[ArcticFox]

Rowan is there on the track, looking bright against the sky, in a sharp riding habit and jaunty feathered hat. His equipage is there, a fine dark-polished chariot on two wide wheels. The balance and springs look to be in good order, and a footman is currently checking it over. There is a special spoke for improved balance - nevertheless, this is clearly a vehicle designed for speed and little else.

You look around at the other vehicles and note that Rowan's, at least, looks more stable than some.

A few paces off, there is a very wild-looking, ruffianish gentleman. He is evidently intoxicated already, and is roundly scolding his stablehands. One of the stablehands follows your gaze. "Edevane," the stablehand says, and the comment includes a good deal of trepidation, ridicule, and fear. If you think of racing, this driver will be one to watch. His horses are much finer than their driver, and his chariot looks to be in good condition, but still. The horses' ears are flicking back in anxiety at his tantrum.

Rowan notices you looking over and beckons. He is standing within a group of people, and, judging by the number of interested faces that turn towards you, he has just been talking of you. "No, you are all wrong, I'll wager," he is saying. "Miss Price is quite a different sort of person than you imagine," he says. You find yourself in the unenviable position of being the center of attention without the least idea why.

"And a good morning to you - is it not a splendid day for it?" Rowan pronounces as you approach. He is positively brimming with anticipation and a glee that one could find suspect. "I was just telling our friends that you're much too prudent to do such a thing."

It is impossible to tell whether he simply has a natural talent for goading you, or whether he has invested considerable time and effort into cultivating it.

- Smile.
- Ask what's he talking about.
- Get angry.
- Something else.

 

[Ezri]

The racers had really given it their all; Vivian found her gaze trailing from one team to the next, partly impressed by their enthusiasm and a partly wondering whether it was really worth all the fuss. She eyed Edevane’s cart with suspicion— racing must be difficult enough without worrying about unstable competitors as well.

But she was here to socialize first and foremost. As she approached Rowan, however, even thay didn’t seem to be off to a good start. She didn’t relish the thought of other people gossiping about her, especially when she didn’t know what about. Still, Vivian smiled when she addressed Rowan, although the look in her eyes didn’t quite match her lips. “And what is it, exactly, that I am too prudent to do?”

 

[ArcticFox]

"Why, to race, of course," he says, and turns the full force of his smile upon you.

"Mr. Beeker," a lady in a pink bonnet says, giggling shrilly. "You mustn't!"

Rowan smiles at the lady. "I, most certainly, shall. Miss Price, we have been debating. Miss Egers says that you will not race, but I thought that you would like nothing better."

It is a dare, plain and simple. If you refuse, you will stand Rowan up. However, he has purposefully put you in a corner, so perhaps a little lack of courtesy is warranted. Besides, this is a potentially dangerous activity.

As to the race itself, there is only room for one in the driver's seat.

If you take the offer and acquit yourself well, you'll gain considerable influence among the gentry. And if you do very well, winning would raise you in everyone's esteem. However, in taking the reins, the full responsibility falls upon you. You risk injury and ridicule, should you do poorly. And, as a newcomer to this sport, you know neither the roads nor the driving habits of the other competitors.

Rowan is, by far, the superior driver, and, judging by the maniacal glint in his eyes, he has much more experience than you at these kinds of races. He knows the road and the other drivers better than you possibly could. Also, giving him the reins will naturally raise you in his estimation. It might be sensible to ride with Rowan, but to insist that he drives.

Or perhaps the most sensible option altogether is to keep your feet firmly on the ground.

- Join and drive.
- Join and let Rowan drive.
- Watch and cheer for Rowan.
- Just watch.
- Try to stop the race since it's dangerous.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian laughed, although what part of Rowan’s statement she might have found funny was unclear. Really she was just buying time while she formulated a response. That man really had a lot of nerve, didn’t he? They weren’t children anymore, but he was more than happy to keep playing little pranks...

“I would love to, of course...” She said, as polite as ever for the sake of the onlookers. Rowan wouldn’t be satisfied with this answer, but she was unsatisfied with his gossip. Fair is fair, and he must know he couldn’t get what he wanted all the time. “But maybe next year. I know when I’m outclassed— I haven’t had any chance to practice, you know. But I’m sure you’ll do very well out there.”

 

[ArcticFox]

"I do not race for acclaim," he pronounces, clearly not thrilled.

But there is little more time for conversations and you have to move to the sidelines.

You try to get a good view of the race, but there are too many people already in the way, and you don't radiate sufficient enthusiasm for them to make way for you.

In the end, you miss most of the race, behind someone else. When Rowan's chariot comes around the final corner, you could barely see it.

A hubbub breaks out some ways away from you - raised voices cause you to look over.

A vivid, poorly-attired young woman appears to be having a vicious argument with Jocasta Smythe. Her dark hair is half springing out of its knot, and her clothes have been made over so many times that there appears to be little original garment left. Her skin is the color of milky tea. You can't quite catch what she is saying, but her expression is impassioned, close to tears.

Mistress Smythe's face is calm, but her narrowed eyes let you know that the consequences for this social misstep will be grave indeed. Jocasta responds with quiet, snapping remarks that appear to cut to the quick.

Rowan catches you as move over and comes closer.

"Miss Melantho Farrier," he says. "There are times when..." He sighs. "It is well to grant a person the benefit of the doubt. However, we know Mistress Smythe never forgets, once slighted." Jocasta says something inaudible that causes the girl's face to heat. You both watch in silence. "Perhaps I should intervene," Rowan says neutrally. At that moment, however, a footman comes over. "I am sorry, but I am being called away." He gives you an apologetic look and goes with him.

This leaves you to observe the argument.

"All I wish is a chance! You never believed us, and now you cannot bear to admit that you are wrong," Melantho is saying, voice taut. "You know very well that it isn't fair. But you're so caught up in your own-" She throws her hands up and makes a wordless noise of frustration. "Gentility, my foot."

"This is not the time, nor the place," Jocasta says primly. "For all you and your family may seek to subvert the Rules, there are persons here who can be harmed by your interference. In any case, I do not understand what it is you want." Her tone is falsely honeyed.

"My family has nothing to do with this, and I thank you to leave them out of it!"

"You can have nothing more to say. I am in no debt to you and I shall not entertain any such attempts to control me." Both women notice you suddenly, and the air grows expectant. "Well now, Miss Price! I trust you will not bear any slander."

Melantho lets out another sound of frustration. "You would twist it around like that."

They expect you to choose a side, though the disagreement is not entirely clear. What is abundantly clear is Melantho's low status, and the potential damage Jocasta could do to either of your reputations. However, you know Jocasta, and it is likely that she has twisted the situation around somehow so that it looks as though Melantho is in the wrong.

- Side with Jocasta.
- Side with Melantho.
- Walk by.

 

[Ezri]

If Rowan were still here, he would probably do something like pacify Jocasta with some flattery or an invitation elsewhere, diffusing the argument without really addressing it one way or the other. That would be a reasonable plan and save everyone some face, except for maybe Melantho. But Rowan had gone.

"Slander? I would never." Vivian shot Melantho a sympathetic look, although it took all of her strength not to roll her eyes in front of Jocasta instead. But, why was she concerned about Jocasta anyway? What more harm could come to her, really? Compared to that blasted cat from the wood, an uptight gossip shouldn't seem frightening at all.

"I'm just a little surprised," she said delicately as she approached. She was careful not to raise her voice, not for the pretense of propriety but more because Jocasta would have enough of a field day with this conversation as it was. "You're usually so eager to listen to what people have to say, I thought. It wouldn't hurt to hear Miss Farrier out, would it?"

 

[ArcticFox]

Jocasta glares daggers at you. "I hardly think that should be necessary," she tries, but you are firm.

"I-" Melantho appears to be tongue-tied. But casting your mind back on the rumours surrounding the Farriers, you can guess that it is some kind of malignant gossip, which Jocasta has decided to confront her with.

"I have not been doing anything improper," Melantho finally says. "However it may seem. You must believe me."

Jocasta is fuming behind her fan. "Well," she says, and snaps it shut. "I shall not impose where my opinions are not wanted. Forgive me, I wished only to be of help," she says in a biting tone, and compresses her mouth into a thin line.

You'll definitely not hear the end of this anytime soon. She gives a just-short-of-courtesy bow and stalks away, back rigid.

Melantho is looking at you in horror. "What have you done?" she whispers. "She'll hate us even more now."

- Reassure her.
- Scold her.
- Something else.
- Leave.

 

[Ezri]

"Oh, she's heard worse, I'm sure." Vivian waved her hand, as if dispersing the heavy atmosphere. As expected Jocasta hadn't reacted well, but she was gone now and that was a plus. "Once something more interesting comes along she'll move on."

"Until then I'll share some of that ire, instead of you bearing it all by yourself." she said, softening a little once she realized how worried Melantho really was. She was curious about what they'd gotten so heated about-- something about the Rules-- but even though Vivian might not worry about her reputation that deeply, obviously not everyone shared that view. "I'm not sure what that was about, but knowing her I'm sure you didn't deserve it."

 

[ArcticFox]

Melantho leaves, looking a bit better. A messenger finds you as the races come to an end to give you a card notifying you about the philosophers' club meeting.

The philosophers meet alternatively in the Grufford library, or in the town's new coffee shop, having recently been thrown out of the municipal lending library. This week, it is at the Grufford residence.

You arrive just a little late. The house seems much livelier than last time you called - the dull hum of conversation echoes in the entrance hall. A different servant admits you to the house and leads you to the library. The room holds a scene of more mundane chaos than the last one you saw. Now there are only books and a few intense, scholarly-looking persons present. Any evidence of the near-catastrophic magic working of the other day has been neatly tidied and sponged away, and only a few traces cling to the bookshelves and hover above the long table.

Wren and these motley persons are conducting a lively debate, and do not seem to notice you when you come in.

Danaer does, however. He is hovering near the door, and greets you cordially. "Are you staying for the Meet?" he asks, but then adds, "I have better things to do with my time than Wren's little experiment," he says, with familial scorn. "My apologies," he adds quickly.

- Answer.
- Go further into the room.

 

[Ezri]

Now that she was away from the pressure of the racetrack, Vivian was in a much lighter mood as she entered the Grufford’s library. It wasn’t a surprise that the philosophy club was a lively bunch, now that she’d met Wren, and she was more than happy to hover and listen for a little while anyway. But she hadn’t expected Danaer to be mulling around here too.

“I can imagine, you must be very busy.” She said, with sincerity— Danaer probably had quite a lot on his plate, even without his... independent investigations. She smiled. “I will be staying, though. I’m curious to see what all the fuss is about.”