Re: A Rocky Tomb
Posted: Tue Feb 09, 2021 7:22 pm
Even in the frigid air, the Fenian queen slipped away from the royal palace with her thick white wolf-furred cloak over her shoulders. In terms of a normal human pregnancy, she seemed to be about seven months ago and with the growth of the newest Winterbourne came more human risks, like being cold. Long hair flowing free, she had a petite gold and turquoise circlet on with matching earrings that nearly touched her shoulders and somehow did not tangle into her locks upon movement. It was the only jewelry she had on besides her wedding rings, though those were covered with dark gloves. A heavy tunic hung from her growing frame, going past the top of her trousers in elegant drapes of fabric, yet still too short to be a dress. Her more casual, although colourful, clothing was finished with leather boots. It was an outfit for business and daily grind, but for a different role beyond her husband's borders.
With a hand upon the rough, black scales of her Netherbeast, the bedroom swirled into a blackness that turned to the blinding white of snow. Bright eyes adjusted quickly to the scenery of vardos, bonfires, and people. The intricate wooden wagons were settled amongst the fresh snow, but the firepits portrayed the long duration of the camp itself. The air seemed to still and conversation quietened upon the Kralisi's arrival, a stiffness casting over the daily routines. Aishe inhaled deeply, a small comfort arising from a kick inside her womb. When her hand retreated to her side, Greg vanished just as quickly as they had appeared, leaving her seemingly stranded.
This was how she had been managing things, since her return to Fenia in November. There were many things to be done in undoing the decades of hatred and twisting of culture. She moved forward, greeted by her grandmother who was genuinely pleased to see her. Maraah fawned over her granddaughter's belly, while others adjusted to her presence. The cheerfulness of the Romany people were lacking, but Aishe held hope things would change. Any change in leadership would have growing pains... If it could be called a 'change in leadership'.
Aishe had been sitting at the warmth of a fire with individuals who had the important tasks or positions of the Vitsa, reviewing things since her last visit three weeks prior, when a strange twist wrenched her heart. Her sentence stopped abruptly, eyebrows furrowing. Was her latest experiment actually working? She placed a hand on her chest, feeling a small pulsating of magic. The vibration carried into her hand, confirming her suspicions. Much to her dismay, it dawned on her that what she had initially pawned off as some sort of heartburn was actually the crescent sigil carved into her skin beneath her shirt. When had she noticed it first? It had been some minutes now, if not heading into a half hour. The only reason her panic was not on immediate display was because of her precarious throne amongst these people. Inhaling sharply, she sent out the mental ping that had taken over a year to learn and manage.
I have to go. Her words were a said in haste while she rose to her feet. Darkness collected at her side with the netherbeast emerging. She did not say anything else, immediately placing a hand back onto Greg and letting him follow the magical trail. She had no idea what she was heading into, but one of her people was in distress. The magic beacon was new and few in Boreens Durri had it yet, so she had an inkling of who to expect, but not what to expect.
When they materialized, blue eyes quickly swept over the scene. It was chaotic, yet there was organization in the mess. She grabbed the nearest person, covered in soot and disheveled. What's happened?
Ye-yer Majesty, He scrambled, probably wondering why he had not realized he was beside the queen. Mine collapse. Near everyone is out, 'cept..
Her heart stopped, grip tightening out of the rising fear someone she loved was under there... Like her wife, who spent way too much time inside her beloved mines for a pregnant queen. Who?
The Marquess. He was overseein' us.
Her brows furrowed together, releasing the man. She ran over to the people at the collapse, finding a small sense of relief when spotting bright red hair and hearing her sister's raspy words. She looked over the barrier, biting her lip. It was impossible to tell what lay beyond, but her beastie was from rocky and treacherous terrain. If there was really just one person in there now, she wondered if that would be the best route. Closing in on the others, she spoke up, hiding her uncertainty: Greg may be able to port us in there safely. Is it just... Just Jandar left?
With a hand upon the rough, black scales of her Netherbeast, the bedroom swirled into a blackness that turned to the blinding white of snow. Bright eyes adjusted quickly to the scenery of vardos, bonfires, and people. The intricate wooden wagons were settled amongst the fresh snow, but the firepits portrayed the long duration of the camp itself. The air seemed to still and conversation quietened upon the Kralisi's arrival, a stiffness casting over the daily routines. Aishe inhaled deeply, a small comfort arising from a kick inside her womb. When her hand retreated to her side, Greg vanished just as quickly as they had appeared, leaving her seemingly stranded.
This was how she had been managing things, since her return to Fenia in November. There were many things to be done in undoing the decades of hatred and twisting of culture. She moved forward, greeted by her grandmother who was genuinely pleased to see her. Maraah fawned over her granddaughter's belly, while others adjusted to her presence. The cheerfulness of the Romany people were lacking, but Aishe held hope things would change. Any change in leadership would have growing pains... If it could be called a 'change in leadership'.
Aishe had been sitting at the warmth of a fire with individuals who had the important tasks or positions of the Vitsa, reviewing things since her last visit three weeks prior, when a strange twist wrenched her heart. Her sentence stopped abruptly, eyebrows furrowing. Was her latest experiment actually working? She placed a hand on her chest, feeling a small pulsating of magic. The vibration carried into her hand, confirming her suspicions. Much to her dismay, it dawned on her that what she had initially pawned off as some sort of heartburn was actually the crescent sigil carved into her skin beneath her shirt. When had she noticed it first? It had been some minutes now, if not heading into a half hour. The only reason her panic was not on immediate display was because of her precarious throne amongst these people. Inhaling sharply, she sent out the mental ping that had taken over a year to learn and manage.
I have to go. Her words were a said in haste while she rose to her feet. Darkness collected at her side with the netherbeast emerging. She did not say anything else, immediately placing a hand back onto Greg and letting him follow the magical trail. She had no idea what she was heading into, but one of her people was in distress. The magic beacon was new and few in Boreens Durri had it yet, so she had an inkling of who to expect, but not what to expect.
When they materialized, blue eyes quickly swept over the scene. It was chaotic, yet there was organization in the mess. She grabbed the nearest person, covered in soot and disheveled. What's happened?
Ye-yer Majesty, He scrambled, probably wondering why he had not realized he was beside the queen. Mine collapse. Near everyone is out, 'cept..
Her heart stopped, grip tightening out of the rising fear someone she loved was under there... Like her wife, who spent way too much time inside her beloved mines for a pregnant queen. Who?
The Marquess. He was overseein' us.
Her brows furrowed together, releasing the man. She ran over to the people at the collapse, finding a small sense of relief when spotting bright red hair and hearing her sister's raspy words. She looked over the barrier, biting her lip. It was impossible to tell what lay beyond, but her beastie was from rocky and treacherous terrain. If there was really just one person in there now, she wondered if that would be the best route. Closing in on the others, she spoke up, hiding her uncertainty: Greg may be able to port us in there safely. Is it just... Just Jandar left?