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Post by Wayland on Nov 10, 2021 11:04:57 GMT -8
They lied to her. Because of course they had. Lying is the thing the True Fae do best. They can even do it while telling the truth. Perhaps that is why the Wyrd binds them so tightly when they actually swear to an oath. Binds them all. Recompense for all the lying. Perhaps without it, the lies would just build and build and make them all sick inside.
The urge to try to convince Isla of the truth is so strong, Wayland almost gags on it. But what can she say? Would Isla understand that she was being used? Would she take the word of strangers over her fairytales? Would she even be able to accept that their Keepers were also their kidnappers, their abusers?
In desperation, Wayland casts a glance backwards at Eis and Blaze, hoping one of them has a better idea than her opening her mouth again. Because if Isla doesn’t get her way, it sounds like things could go very badly, very quickly.
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Post by Blaze on Nov 10, 2021 13:07:36 GMT -8
Up until this point Blaze was groping blind about who the unicorn might actually be, but now that Isla provided something approaching a description, a little lightbulb flashed in the Ifrit's head. It was the satyr-like guy that she never really got a chance to speak to. A writer of some kind. Also, recently deceased. Something the girl Huntsman seems to be unaware of and that doesn't need to change for now.
"I think I know of him. We could... help you." Even after she convinced herself that it's the only thing to do, the acquiescence had a hard time coming out of her mouth "In return for your gift."
She wanted to keep the terms vague in case their words would be taken as an oath by the Wyrd.
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Post by Krakenbox on Nov 10, 2021 14:36:03 GMT -8
The small Huntsman hovered in front of Blaze, bouncing on her ankles as she looked up at her.
"I pledge to give you freedom, if you help me find my target, so I can go home."
She extends her hand.
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Post by Blaze on Nov 11, 2021 14:13:33 GMT -8
Blaze looks at Isla for a long moment. She never had children, but the little girl could be her daughter... except, she reminds herself, that's not its real skin. If it thought it'd be more useful, the creature wearing Isla's name could appear as a hunched hag, or a lanky man, or something completely inhuman. The pledge may hurt her like an arrow to the heart, but there's still solemnity to her words and gestures when she shakes the Huntsman's hand, as befits the sacred promise witnessed by the Wyrd.
"It shall be so."
And like that, the fates of all four beings gathered here are changed forever.
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Post by Krakenbox on Nov 14, 2021 20:44:52 GMT -8
Isla nodded, handing Blaze a Forget-Me-Not flower from her braids in the form of a Faerie Favour, magic twining through their being as the blinding light pulsed a chromatic symphony.
"Anyone else want one?" she asked, sounding calmer. The Hobgoblins, however, still stalked their gathering.
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Post by Wayland on Nov 17, 2021 13:34:26 GMT -8
He's dead. The one Isla's looking for is dead. Wayland keeps trying to remind herself of that, but it's a cold comfort. She can feel the heat of Summer simmering just below her skin. This is wrong. Making deals like this? Selling out your own? Wrong. Even if the person in question is beyond caring. Wayland embraced Summer as a way to claw back some sense of agency, to force the Fae to acknowledge them as people not playthings, to pay for every moment they were denied their personhood. And that very denial is what this feels like. It's like going backwards. It's like giving up some of her agency again.
The Ogre swallows bile. "Agreed."
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Post by Krakenbox on Nov 17, 2021 17:27:35 GMT -8
 Each bestowed a flower of the ethereal, disappearing with words of power. Isla skipped through the brambles with abandon, her sword the bane of magic as the Hedge retreated in its glint; the wisp—a friar's lantern—leading faeries back home where mortals would come to perish. In her revelry, other Hobs trickled from the shadows, joining them in a colorful promenade as the heroes are given a proper send-off on their quest. The Wayward Knight grew serious as they tore from a Gate in Boulder City, making sure her friends made it back to their Freehold in one piece.
Eis waited until the trio crossed the threshold to break it to Isla that Agrippa had passed away.
It was a clever notion, that perhaps the child would be free of her Wild Hunt with the revelation that the quarry was gone. The Huntsman froze as well, looking unsure as her head turned left and right, waiting for the chain to fall from her soul. The Herald arrived, flitting to her thin, bloodless shoulder as she whispered to its master. A painful gasp wheezed through her tiny throat as her expression twisted with divine revelation and untold bliss, the antlers tearing through her eyes as she stretched and unfurled like streaks of lightning, encompassing the horizon. A wordless song bore through the minds of the gathered and drove them to madness and threatened to drown them in their own bubbling laughter as they beheld the tree of life, and the roots of endless trails.
The Herald danced in chaotic twists, with colours unseen and nerves strung in an orchestra as they were given their task: It was the Bridge Troll's fault—the nymph of emerald escape doing the unthinkable—filling his coffers with clever games and honeyed words. A mournful call screeched for him to answer for his crimes, for he would always be welcome back.
The Pledge hummed with the words of the Gentry: help the Wayward Knight find her target, so that she might go home.
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Post by Krakenbox on Nov 17, 2021 19:44:10 GMT -8
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Post by Wayland on Nov 18, 2021 15:46:13 GMT -8
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