[ORP] The Secret Life of Northvale
Posted: Mon Jan 04, 2021 5:48 pm
Just over the border between Southfenshire and Northfenshire, not far off the road to North Fenia, the heavily wooded hills parted to reveal a lush green valley studded with red-roofed white buildings. The hills, ominously rocky and craggy with sharp grey fingers jutting out here and there, concealed many secrets that only the residents of Northvale would ever know. From stalactites to skeletons, spiderwebs to smuggled goods, in the intricate network of caverns beneath the foothills of Northvale lurked any number of mysteries to unveil.
The land was both treacherous and precarious, leaving little livable space on which to build. Other than the valley village, the only other building of note within the barony was Northvale Castle, known locally simply as "The Vale." The castle's keep and sole tower perched atop a particularly rocky hill on the north side of the valley, pointing straight upward as if to challenge the heavens themselves to knock it down. It was built into the rock of the hill, its dungeons carved out of the caves below. Rumor had it that a series of secret tunnels led from the castle dungeons into other caves scattered across Northvale. Some even theorized that one tunnel led as far as Surxia. The villagers liked to tell stories of the various grisly murders they imagined had taken place in the hidden tunnels, even claiming a long-lost king's bones were to be found in one cavern, appropriately named the "Skeleton Cave." Of course, this was all mere gossip - not even the villagers of the valley knew where most of the caves and tunnels were to be found, nor for what purpose they were used today...
Zehara and her personal servant Martine arrived at the Vale a week after the King's announcement. With her new larger income, Zehara had hired an army of brawny lads to pack up her belongings from Nettlebane Tower and cart them up to Northvale. Zehara and Martine followed a few days later on horseback, a method of travel that Zehara loathed. She fidgeted in the saddle for the millionth time that day, muttering, "Who in the name of all the fae gods invented this absurd contraption? I won't be able to walk straight for weeks!"
Martine sighed but kept her gaze on the road ahead. "The pain fades quickly, Lady Zehara. And it's still easier than riding side-saddle, believe me!"
Zehara stared at her maid. "What, you mean I could've been sitting sideways on this thing all this time?" She whooped gleefully, and swung her leg over the horse to sit comfortably with her legs dangling together off the side. "Ahhhh that's so much bett---AAAAAGHHHH!" All it took was one dip in the road and Zehara was jolted off the horse's back, falling into the mud with a resounding, squelching splat.
Martine sighed again and pulled up on her horse's reins. "I tried to warn you, my lady..."
Zehara pushed herself up, muck dripping from her face. "You did that on purpose!" she accused, wiping her face on her sleeve. Since this was also soaked in mud, it made no difference whatsoever. Growling, Zehara flicked her fingers at Martine, sending a small (verrrry small) bad-luck curse her way. "See how you like to be the clumsy one for once," she grumbled. Zehara managed to get enough mud out of her eyes to look around. Her sharp fae hearing soon caught the sound of rushing water nearby. "I'm going to jump in the river," she said, and set off through the trees with her head held high.
She returned to the horses a few minutes later, soaking wet but mud-free. "No more shenanigans, Martine, we've got somewhere to be!" she said, leaping nimbly up onto the horse's back, and settling her legs properly in the stirrups once more (though not without a groan of pain). Martine merely let out a loud exhale and kicked her horse onward.
Fortunately the day was relatively mild for January, and the sun kept Zehara warm enough not to catch pneumonia. Her clothes were only damp by the time they split off from the main road and entered Northvale Valley. As the valley widened, the castle soon came into view past the trees on their left. Zehara grinned and pulled up her horse to admire it. "Creepy and imposing. I approve. Now how in the realms do we get up there?"
Martine pointed to a lane that veered away from the road into the village, winding its way around the sharp hill until it reached the peak. A bridge from the main hilltop to the castle's own crag was the only way to reach the isolated house. Unless of course one was blessed with wings. "That looks annoying. I'm going to fly," Zehara announced, preparing to dismount.
"If those guards see a giant black-winged faery flying up the side of the cliff, I guarantee you they'll shoot you down, my lady," said Martine sternly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Zehara froze with one leg in the air, glared at Martine, and then grumbled, "Fiiiiine, torture-creature. We'll do it the hard way." She flopped back down into the saddle hard enough to make her horse snort and fidget anxiously.
The climb was slow-going, and by the time they reached the drawbridge the horses were nearly spent. Martine announced Zehara's identity to the guards, and they bowed slightly before stepping aside. "Hmmm, I could get used to that!" Zehara grinned. "You see, Martine, that's what proper servants do." Martine's only response was a loud sniff.
Across the bridge, they passed through a gatehouse manned by two more guards in uniform. A small round room to the right seemed to house the guards mess hall and barracks. Zehara nodded to them in what she considered to be a stately manner, but what Martine silently described as pompous. On the other side of the guardhouse lay a small inner courtyard, filled with trees, a small grassy area, and a few benches. A groom met them across the courtyard and offered to take their horses. Martine directed him to bring the saddlebags inside to their rooms. She then rapidly took possession of the rest of the staff, quickly introducing the handful of maids, the cook, gardener, and butler to their new baroness. Zehara stood rather dumb-founded, looking around herself in awe, and randomly smiling at each person Martine presented to her without remembering a single one of their names. Martine seemed to realize her mistress was overwhelmed, because she soon shooed the staff away with directions to bring drinks and a bath to the baroness's chambers.
The castle itself was compact, but tall. On the ground floor were a few larger halls for dining, lounging, dancing, and praying (hah, as if, thought Zehara with a scoff), as well as the kitchen, stables, and servants' offices housed in a series of interconnected outbuildings. The second floor consisted of a large set of suites for Zehara's use, including a bedroom, dressing room, private sitting area, and writing room. On the third floor were other bedrooms and a larger study, and above that were the servants sleeping areas and various storage rooms. Descending again, the bad luck charm finally took hold. Martine slipped on the stairs, landed smack on her bottom, and slid down to the next landing, much to her mortification. Zehara managed to bite back her laughter with very creditable poise, and said in a voice of simpering innocence, "Careful, Martine, we can't have you laid up with a broken leg!" Martine was not amused.
Returning to her own rooms, Zehara collapsed on the bed and stared up at the embroidered red canopy. "This is so not me..." she muttered to herself. Imagine the look on Queen Rania's face if she were to see me now... Zehara giggled aloud at the thought. She was certain Rania had laughed herself stupid after banishing Zehara from the fae realms, assuming (quite correctly) that Zehara would have no idea how to fend for herself amongst mortals. But she had figured without Zehara's distant family of witches and warlocks, who had soon found her and taken her in, teaching her dull but practical skills that allowed her not only to survive, but to thrive here. And now here she was, a baroness and mistress of a daunting castle. Yet, amongst all this grandeur, the first thing Zehara wanted to do was drop an ugly vase from the highest tower of the castle down the sheer-faced cliff and see it shatter into a million pieces hundreds of feet below. Zehara giggled again. Yep, she was definitely going to have to do that, right now. After all, why not? It was her ugly vase, now.
The land was both treacherous and precarious, leaving little livable space on which to build. Other than the valley village, the only other building of note within the barony was Northvale Castle, known locally simply as "The Vale." The castle's keep and sole tower perched atop a particularly rocky hill on the north side of the valley, pointing straight upward as if to challenge the heavens themselves to knock it down. It was built into the rock of the hill, its dungeons carved out of the caves below. Rumor had it that a series of secret tunnels led from the castle dungeons into other caves scattered across Northvale. Some even theorized that one tunnel led as far as Surxia. The villagers liked to tell stories of the various grisly murders they imagined had taken place in the hidden tunnels, even claiming a long-lost king's bones were to be found in one cavern, appropriately named the "Skeleton Cave." Of course, this was all mere gossip - not even the villagers of the valley knew where most of the caves and tunnels were to be found, nor for what purpose they were used today...
Zehara and her personal servant Martine arrived at the Vale a week after the King's announcement. With her new larger income, Zehara had hired an army of brawny lads to pack up her belongings from Nettlebane Tower and cart them up to Northvale. Zehara and Martine followed a few days later on horseback, a method of travel that Zehara loathed. She fidgeted in the saddle for the millionth time that day, muttering, "Who in the name of all the fae gods invented this absurd contraption? I won't be able to walk straight for weeks!"
Martine sighed but kept her gaze on the road ahead. "The pain fades quickly, Lady Zehara. And it's still easier than riding side-saddle, believe me!"
Zehara stared at her maid. "What, you mean I could've been sitting sideways on this thing all this time?" She whooped gleefully, and swung her leg over the horse to sit comfortably with her legs dangling together off the side. "Ahhhh that's so much bett---AAAAAGHHHH!" All it took was one dip in the road and Zehara was jolted off the horse's back, falling into the mud with a resounding, squelching splat.
Martine sighed again and pulled up on her horse's reins. "I tried to warn you, my lady..."
Zehara pushed herself up, muck dripping from her face. "You did that on purpose!" she accused, wiping her face on her sleeve. Since this was also soaked in mud, it made no difference whatsoever. Growling, Zehara flicked her fingers at Martine, sending a small (verrrry small) bad-luck curse her way. "See how you like to be the clumsy one for once," she grumbled. Zehara managed to get enough mud out of her eyes to look around. Her sharp fae hearing soon caught the sound of rushing water nearby. "I'm going to jump in the river," she said, and set off through the trees with her head held high.
She returned to the horses a few minutes later, soaking wet but mud-free. "No more shenanigans, Martine, we've got somewhere to be!" she said, leaping nimbly up onto the horse's back, and settling her legs properly in the stirrups once more (though not without a groan of pain). Martine merely let out a loud exhale and kicked her horse onward.
Fortunately the day was relatively mild for January, and the sun kept Zehara warm enough not to catch pneumonia. Her clothes were only damp by the time they split off from the main road and entered Northvale Valley. As the valley widened, the castle soon came into view past the trees on their left. Zehara grinned and pulled up her horse to admire it. "Creepy and imposing. I approve. Now how in the realms do we get up there?"
Martine pointed to a lane that veered away from the road into the village, winding its way around the sharp hill until it reached the peak. A bridge from the main hilltop to the castle's own crag was the only way to reach the isolated house. Unless of course one was blessed with wings. "That looks annoying. I'm going to fly," Zehara announced, preparing to dismount.
"If those guards see a giant black-winged faery flying up the side of the cliff, I guarantee you they'll shoot you down, my lady," said Martine sternly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Zehara froze with one leg in the air, glared at Martine, and then grumbled, "Fiiiiine, torture-creature. We'll do it the hard way." She flopped back down into the saddle hard enough to make her horse snort and fidget anxiously.
The climb was slow-going, and by the time they reached the drawbridge the horses were nearly spent. Martine announced Zehara's identity to the guards, and they bowed slightly before stepping aside. "Hmmm, I could get used to that!" Zehara grinned. "You see, Martine, that's what proper servants do." Martine's only response was a loud sniff.
Across the bridge, they passed through a gatehouse manned by two more guards in uniform. A small round room to the right seemed to house the guards mess hall and barracks. Zehara nodded to them in what she considered to be a stately manner, but what Martine silently described as pompous. On the other side of the guardhouse lay a small inner courtyard, filled with trees, a small grassy area, and a few benches. A groom met them across the courtyard and offered to take their horses. Martine directed him to bring the saddlebags inside to their rooms. She then rapidly took possession of the rest of the staff, quickly introducing the handful of maids, the cook, gardener, and butler to their new baroness. Zehara stood rather dumb-founded, looking around herself in awe, and randomly smiling at each person Martine presented to her without remembering a single one of their names. Martine seemed to realize her mistress was overwhelmed, because she soon shooed the staff away with directions to bring drinks and a bath to the baroness's chambers.
The castle itself was compact, but tall. On the ground floor were a few larger halls for dining, lounging, dancing, and praying (hah, as if, thought Zehara with a scoff), as well as the kitchen, stables, and servants' offices housed in a series of interconnected outbuildings. The second floor consisted of a large set of suites for Zehara's use, including a bedroom, dressing room, private sitting area, and writing room. On the third floor were other bedrooms and a larger study, and above that were the servants sleeping areas and various storage rooms. Descending again, the bad luck charm finally took hold. Martine slipped on the stairs, landed smack on her bottom, and slid down to the next landing, much to her mortification. Zehara managed to bite back her laughter with very creditable poise, and said in a voice of simpering innocence, "Careful, Martine, we can't have you laid up with a broken leg!" Martine was not amused.
Returning to her own rooms, Zehara collapsed on the bed and stared up at the embroidered red canopy. "This is so not me..." she muttered to herself. Imagine the look on Queen Rania's face if she were to see me now... Zehara giggled aloud at the thought. She was certain Rania had laughed herself stupid after banishing Zehara from the fae realms, assuming (quite correctly) that Zehara would have no idea how to fend for herself amongst mortals. But she had figured without Zehara's distant family of witches and warlocks, who had soon found her and taken her in, teaching her dull but practical skills that allowed her not only to survive, but to thrive here. And now here she was, a baroness and mistress of a daunting castle. Yet, amongst all this grandeur, the first thing Zehara wanted to do was drop an ugly vase from the highest tower of the castle down the sheer-faced cliff and see it shatter into a million pieces hundreds of feet below. Zehara giggled again. Yep, she was definitely going to have to do that, right now. After all, why not? It was her ugly vase, now.