Roleplay from Brigdha Dubhaine
Negev
10 days before the wedding
“What do you mean she was killed? I’d know if she were dead Leopold - or do you take me for some dull-witted country dame!” Brigdha’s usual cool demeanour had turned to a raging inferno of rage, Leopold staggering backwards as the full fury engulfed the room. He’d served as his cousin Aednadh’s captain long enough to have some inkling of the power contained in the Flow but that had done little to stand before a Balancewalker unveiled. The air all about crackled with liminal energy and the very stones of the keep seemed to press outwards as if to flee the Margravine’s wrath.
“She was killed by Cymak Fireborn ma’am, with a sword,” it took every ounce of courage he possessed to stand there and say those words, true though they were.
Brigdha took a slow breath and centred herself, reaching out into the High Firmament in search of answers. There were none. It was as if her grandniece had never lived.
“That ill-born duellist?” she said after what seemed a lifetime, though was probably no more than a few heartbeats, “How on earth could a non-entity like him kill the most experienced special forces commander in Sirion?”
“I do not know ma’am. It all happened so quickly,” Leopold struggled to organise his memories of that awful encounter when but the emotional charge was too much to bear and they tumbled at him as they had during his forced ride across the leagues of Sirion.
“Forgive me Leopold, you’ve ridden hard to bring me this news and now I must ride you harder if I’m to make sense of it,” the Priestess fixed him with her marksman’s eye and he was once more in the aftermath of Slimbar’s fall, in the camp of Sirion’s victorious army. There was an unsettling queasiness as he sensed the priestess inside his thoughts, building to an intense synaesthaesia as a flood of repressed emotions and sensory data screamed for attention.
"Stand down Captain, your master's had this coming for quite some time," Aednadh flexed the fresh-cut birch stave, her green eyes sparkling in the firelight as Cymak's second-in-command sought to block her path.
"My Master's currently indisposed your Ladyship," he seemed a reasonably stout fellow, brave no doubt in his own way, but this was no battle line with a dozen equally desperate lads to watch his back and the woman before him openly displayed scars no man should bear and live to tell the tale.
"Indisposed you say? Hmm... I think not Captain. Leopald?"
"Yes Ma'am?" a smartly dressed officer in the muddy-grey livery of the Ghost Watch stepped from her shadow.
"Have you the writ of challenge?"
"I have indeed Ma'am," he handed the parchment to her, its seal indisputably that of Count Cymak.
"Do you recognise this? And its purpose?" she passed it to the now squirming officer stood in front of her.
"Ye-yes your Ladyship," he backed slightly away from her, scanning the encampment for possible assistance. There was none. Everywhere he turned his eyes the feared veterans of the Ghost Watch seemed to study him in perfect silence, blades and shafts at the ready.
"This is a breach of military discipline in time of war, Captain. I'm sure I don't have to remind you what the punishment is likely to be for a commoner complicit in such a crime. Now as I'm quite determined to impose on the Count's hospitality and you clearly wouldn't be so stupid as to aid and abet your Master's folly, might I suggest you retire for the evening?" Aednadh smiled wryly as she idly slapped the birch stave in her leather-clad palm.
"I... erm...," he stammered for words as the blood drained from his face. A moment later he was gone and the Count's tent stood unguarded.
"Oh Cymak...! Are you ready to honour me with your company young Lordling?"
The tent flap moved aside and a surly young nobleman with straggly hair and beard emerged, barely more than a boy, in his hands matched duelling sword and dagger. Without a word he struck, steel moving with inhuman speed barely blocked by trained reflexes as he effortlessly spun and struck again at Aednadh’s back with the main gauche. The blade barely pierced her leather jerkin.
The scene hung motionless in Leopold’s mind’s eye as Brigdha studied every detail, matching facies with factum to form a single transfluence. This moment. This was the death blow. The colour of it was sharp and discordant. Pulsing with derision.
“I’ve felt this presence before,” Cymak seemed to fill Leopold’s senses as every detail was analysed. Fireborn. How apt. Brimstone suckled it like a mother’s milk.
“We’re done here.”
Leopold’s anger and pain evaporated as his senses crashed back into the waking world.
“I’m sorry Mistress, it was all over before I could do anything,” a deep sigh shook his body.
“There are many powers in this world Leopold. Powers beyond the principalities of men or even the judgements of the Balance. Powers whom the Balance serves, and powers who would see it destroyed. The transfluence makes it clear that Cymak is a pawn of such power, though I doubt he realises it. And if they can place poisoned steel in the hand of one man, they can do much more. We must be swift if we’re to avert a much greater tragedy than that which has befallen our House. The fate of the north is at stake.”
“I can have the Ghost Watch here in 24 hours Ma’am,” Leopold snapped to attention, military training overriding all else.
“No. If I take up the sword again then these powers win. Send word that A company are to guard Lady Aednadh’s body and take fresh orders only from myself or the new Duke when he's appointed. B company are to disperse and join us in Krimml one week from now. Rollo will provide travel documents and cover stories so they can pass unnoticed on the road.”
