Coach on the Rose Wind, Dhemlan, Kaeleer
The Coach ride was interminable. They'd started on a Rose wind while Karla, utterly spent, rested and recovered her strength. Karla fuzzily remembered stopping somewhere briefly; she'd arisen from sleep in a panic as Morton opened the Coach door and prepared to leave, but even the panic hadn't been able to chase away the exhaustion. Morton had just squeezed her hand, promised to be back very shortly, and not to worry, they weren't in Glacia anymore. He returned with dinner; a stew with thick, crusty bread and a bottle of dark wine. It was good, warm and filling, and Karla roused a little after eating. But even then, she rode silently in a kind of half-daze, weariness and shock conspiring to keep her tractable. Morton tried to engage her in conversation briefly, but her slow and monosyllabic answers soon convinced him that his time would be better spent reading. She tried to be concerned about this almost unnatural lethargy, but couldn't muster enough energy to care.
It was a craving for poison that brought her back to true wakefulness. The need for poison crashed over her with startling intensity, leaving her weak and dizzy and hollow-feeling. She gasped with the pain, drawing Morton's eyes to her. "What is it Karla," he demanded, grasping her hands. "What's wrong?"
"Need...poison..." she wheezed. The original wave was ebbing, leaving her capable of speech, but still acutely aware of her need. "I caught one of them with my tooth...I think I used all of the venom. I need poison now, to make up for it."
"Do you have any on you?"
Even through the pain of withdrawal, Karla was enough herself to shoot Morton an angry glare. Who carried poison around with them on a daily basis? besides Surreal "Yes, right next to my dancing slippers and my pretty pink ballgown," she snapped, before doubling over again, her pale skin turning an unhealthy gray. Then she remembered, that yes, actually, she did. She'd called in her belongings from the Hourglass coven before the Coach had taken off, and inside her Healing kit was a vial of poisons that were brewed especially for her. Though a Black Widow needed poison to stimulate their poison glands, not just any poison could work. The wrong kind of poison was just as fatal to them as it was to the average population. So the coven had taught her what blend of poisons worked best if she couldn't just use her own, and she'd dutifully carried it around with her until she'd left the Hourglass.
Idiot, she thought. Then, aloud, "Pass me the rest of the wine, Morton?" She got out the vial as Morton uncorked the nearly empty bottle, and she added the poison, swished it around a few times, and then drank. She grimaced, but managed to finish the last drop. "Mother Night, that was horrid!" she said, looking for something to clean her tongue with. "I hope no one tries to assassinate anyone using that vintage. Blecch! The poison brings out the most horrid tannins!" Still, as disgusting as the drink had been, it had the appropriate effect. The poison immediately went to work, soothing the cramps and stropping the trembling. It was like the first sip of water after being seriously dehydrated.
As the poison circulated within her, Karla found that her unnatural lethargy had vanished. She felt more herself again, even though she was still quite tired. She'd nearly drained the Sapphire, and it would take a few days of rest before it filled again. Which meant that she'd be sporting the most impressive black eye and swollen lip for that time. The best way to make first impressions...
And with that idle thought came another. "Morton, where the Hell are we going?" She asked, sitting up straight.
"Not Hell. Dhemlan, in fact, we're almost there."
Hope filled her, and for the first time in two years, a genuine happiness. "Dhemlan? You mean--Jaenelle?" The attack was a price cheerfully paid if it mean that she'd get to see her best friend again.
Her excitement became ashes on her tongue when Morton shook her head. "No. She's still...hurt." Morton always danced around the subject of Jaenelle and her injury, telling her that Saetan SaDiablo, Jaenelle's guardian and the High Lord of Hell, hadn't given him any details. But he knew more than he was telling, Karla was sure of it. For some reason, Morton didn't want Karla knowing the full truth about Jaenelle's injury. "We're using the Dark Altar next to the Hall. I have permission from the High Lord to use it in such an emergency."
Karla's ice-blue eyes narrowed. "Speak, Warlord," she commanded, using Protocol to make Morton tell his Queen what he would not tell his cousin.
Morton recognized the shift, and straightened, giving Karla a small bow. He wouldn't meet here eyes, however, he kept his gaze down and shadowed. "The High Lord and I have been corresponding for some time now," he said slowly. "Though through another Dhemlan Warlord, so Uncle Hobart wouldn't be suspicious. The High Lord's been...worried about you. Ever since I told him about your concerns about the males at court, he's been preparing me for this eventuality. At first, I was hoping he'd tell me not to worry about it, that you were worrying over nothing--" He looked up at her, her angry intake of breath warning him of the impending explosion. "I wanted it to be true!" He said before she could speak. "I wanted to believe that you were safe, that our parents' deaths were accidents, that no one could hurt you! I knew better, of course, but that didn't stop me from hoping. But no...the High Lord was even more worried than you were. And then he told me about Jaenelle."
Karla knew what was coming next; he was going to tell her that her best friend was dead, shattered, broken. Tears pricked her eyes and sobs rose in her chest. Hearing about Jaenelle's death hurt her even more deeply than hearing about her mother's. "...she doesn't know anyone, but the High Lord thinks that she might be getting better. Her color's a bit stronger now--"
"What?!" Karla lunged at her cousin, her sudden movement rocking the coach. Her fingers curled around his collar, "What did you say about Jaenelle?"
"The High Lord said she's healing. He thinks."
The tears she'd been holding back refused to stay dammed. Relief rushed through her, so strong it left her weak-kneed and shivering. She's alive. My best friend is alive. "So why can't I go there? I can help the blood-sucking corpse take care of Jaenelle."
Morton rolled his eyes, but didn't correct her. Of all the ways she'd referred to the High Lord, that was actually one of the most polite. "Because the Dark Council is already on his back about adopting Jaenelle. If he took in another underage female, they'd...well, I don't know what they'd do. They might try to take both of you away from him, and he wouldn't stand for that.
"He was thinking of doing that anyway, consequences be damned, rather than see you end up like Jaenelle. But then he heard about this other place, a school called Fandom High."
Karla wrinkled her nose. More lessons to learn to walk and speak like a lady. Great. "Why would I ever go there? And what Territory is it in?" It didn't sound like anything she'd ever heard of, even in Jaenelle's wild stories about Tigrelan and the Fyreborn Islands.
"It's not in a Territory. It's not even in Kaeleer. It's in a different Realm entirely."
"Hell?"
"No, but we'll have to go through Hell to get there. Something about Hell existing in various forms throughout the multiverse. I don't know what he means, but Hell is connected to wherever this place is. We'll take the Gate from Dhemlan to get to Hell, and the High Lord has arranged an escort to bring us to Fandom High. You'll be safe there, safe from Uncle Hobart, or anyone else in Glacia."
"Can't I just stay in Hell? Why do I have to go there?!" Karla realized that she was perilously close to whining, but couldn't help herself. Too many surprises, too many emotions had broken down the wall of reserve she usually hid behind. "Why do I have to leave everyone behind? In Hell, maybe I could find our parents." Many of the stronger Blood became demon-dead, surely a Territory Queen and the head of the Hourglass would be strong enough. And six years wasn't such a long time, certainly not long enough for them to have faded into the Darkness yet...
Morton, face sad, gently shook his head. "No, Karla. You're going to Fandom High. We applied on your behalf and you've been accepted. You're going."
"You applied on my behalf?! You had no right!"
"I HAD EVERY RIGHT!" he roared, startling her. "I am--well, will be--First Escort when you set up your court in five years. I serve and protect. That is my right, my duty, and my honor, and NO ONE, not even YOU can take that away from me. And right now, I'm serving and protecting you by making sure that you survive these next five years. That you remain a whole witch, not some pathetic creature roaming the Twisted Creature, her mind and her magic both broken beyond repair!"
He quieted, the anger and the pain in his voice lessening. "Karla, I'm watching what Uncle Hobart does to Glacia, and I'm terrified. If what nearly happened to you today becomes the norm, you might not have much of a Territory to come back to. But Glacia can heal, if you're strong enough, smart enough, a good enough Queen. But you won't learn how to be those things if you're hidden away, even in Hell, until you're old enough to make the Offering to the Darkness and set up your court. So I'm serving and protecting Glacia, too. And I know, when you think about what's right for the people and the land, that you'll do the right thing."
Damn him to Hell. Protocol was a double-edged sword, and, with a year of actual court-training under his belt, Morton could wield it better than she. He was right; once he invoked her duty to Glacia, Karla could protest no further. She would go, she would learn, and when she came back, she would make Uncle Hobart pay for everything. Perhaps, if she was nice, the High Lord would let her continue extracting payment even when Hobart went to Hell.
But she said none of that out loud. "Be safe in my absence," she commanded quietly.
"Your will is my life, Lady."
Establishy post here. NFB, NFI, especially considering Karla's in a completely different world now. Open for OOC comments only.
It was a craving for poison that brought her back to true wakefulness. The need for poison crashed over her with startling intensity, leaving her weak and dizzy and hollow-feeling. She gasped with the pain, drawing Morton's eyes to her. "What is it Karla," he demanded, grasping her hands. "What's wrong?"
"Need...poison..." she wheezed. The original wave was ebbing, leaving her capable of speech, but still acutely aware of her need. "I caught one of them with my tooth...I think I used all of the venom. I need poison now, to make up for it."
"Do you have any on you?"
Even through the pain of withdrawal, Karla was enough herself to shoot Morton an angry glare. Who carried poison around with them on a daily basis? besides Surreal "Yes, right next to my dancing slippers and my pretty pink ballgown," she snapped, before doubling over again, her pale skin turning an unhealthy gray. Then she remembered, that yes, actually, she did. She'd called in her belongings from the Hourglass coven before the Coach had taken off, and inside her Healing kit was a vial of poisons that were brewed especially for her. Though a Black Widow needed poison to stimulate their poison glands, not just any poison could work. The wrong kind of poison was just as fatal to them as it was to the average population. So the coven had taught her what blend of poisons worked best if she couldn't just use her own, and she'd dutifully carried it around with her until she'd left the Hourglass.
Idiot, she thought. Then, aloud, "Pass me the rest of the wine, Morton?" She got out the vial as Morton uncorked the nearly empty bottle, and she added the poison, swished it around a few times, and then drank. She grimaced, but managed to finish the last drop. "Mother Night, that was horrid!" she said, looking for something to clean her tongue with. "I hope no one tries to assassinate anyone using that vintage. Blecch! The poison brings out the most horrid tannins!" Still, as disgusting as the drink had been, it had the appropriate effect. The poison immediately went to work, soothing the cramps and stropping the trembling. It was like the first sip of water after being seriously dehydrated.
As the poison circulated within her, Karla found that her unnatural lethargy had vanished. She felt more herself again, even though she was still quite tired. She'd nearly drained the Sapphire, and it would take a few days of rest before it filled again. Which meant that she'd be sporting the most impressive black eye and swollen lip for that time. The best way to make first impressions...
And with that idle thought came another. "Morton, where the Hell are we going?" She asked, sitting up straight.
"Not Hell. Dhemlan, in fact, we're almost there."
Hope filled her, and for the first time in two years, a genuine happiness. "Dhemlan? You mean--Jaenelle?" The attack was a price cheerfully paid if it mean that she'd get to see her best friend again.
Her excitement became ashes on her tongue when Morton shook her head. "No. She's still...hurt." Morton always danced around the subject of Jaenelle and her injury, telling her that Saetan SaDiablo, Jaenelle's guardian and the High Lord of Hell, hadn't given him any details. But he knew more than he was telling, Karla was sure of it. For some reason, Morton didn't want Karla knowing the full truth about Jaenelle's injury. "We're using the Dark Altar next to the Hall. I have permission from the High Lord to use it in such an emergency."
Karla's ice-blue eyes narrowed. "Speak, Warlord," she commanded, using Protocol to make Morton tell his Queen what he would not tell his cousin.
Morton recognized the shift, and straightened, giving Karla a small bow. He wouldn't meet here eyes, however, he kept his gaze down and shadowed. "The High Lord and I have been corresponding for some time now," he said slowly. "Though through another Dhemlan Warlord, so Uncle Hobart wouldn't be suspicious. The High Lord's been...worried about you. Ever since I told him about your concerns about the males at court, he's been preparing me for this eventuality. At first, I was hoping he'd tell me not to worry about it, that you were worrying over nothing--" He looked up at her, her angry intake of breath warning him of the impending explosion. "I wanted it to be true!" He said before she could speak. "I wanted to believe that you were safe, that our parents' deaths were accidents, that no one could hurt you! I knew better, of course, but that didn't stop me from hoping. But no...the High Lord was even more worried than you were. And then he told me about Jaenelle."
Karla knew what was coming next; he was going to tell her that her best friend was dead, shattered, broken. Tears pricked her eyes and sobs rose in her chest. Hearing about Jaenelle's death hurt her even more deeply than hearing about her mother's. "...she doesn't know anyone, but the High Lord thinks that she might be getting better. Her color's a bit stronger now--"
"What?!" Karla lunged at her cousin, her sudden movement rocking the coach. Her fingers curled around his collar, "What did you say about Jaenelle?"
"The High Lord said she's healing. He thinks."
The tears she'd been holding back refused to stay dammed. Relief rushed through her, so strong it left her weak-kneed and shivering. She's alive. My best friend is alive. "So why can't I go there? I can help the blood-sucking corpse take care of Jaenelle."
Morton rolled his eyes, but didn't correct her. Of all the ways she'd referred to the High Lord, that was actually one of the most polite. "Because the Dark Council is already on his back about adopting Jaenelle. If he took in another underage female, they'd...well, I don't know what they'd do. They might try to take both of you away from him, and he wouldn't stand for that.
"He was thinking of doing that anyway, consequences be damned, rather than see you end up like Jaenelle. But then he heard about this other place, a school called Fandom High."
Karla wrinkled her nose. More lessons to learn to walk and speak like a lady. Great. "Why would I ever go there? And what Territory is it in?" It didn't sound like anything she'd ever heard of, even in Jaenelle's wild stories about Tigrelan and the Fyreborn Islands.
"It's not in a Territory. It's not even in Kaeleer. It's in a different Realm entirely."
"Hell?"
"No, but we'll have to go through Hell to get there. Something about Hell existing in various forms throughout the multiverse. I don't know what he means, but Hell is connected to wherever this place is. We'll take the Gate from Dhemlan to get to Hell, and the High Lord has arranged an escort to bring us to Fandom High. You'll be safe there, safe from Uncle Hobart, or anyone else in Glacia."
"Can't I just stay in Hell? Why do I have to go there?!" Karla realized that she was perilously close to whining, but couldn't help herself. Too many surprises, too many emotions had broken down the wall of reserve she usually hid behind. "Why do I have to leave everyone behind? In Hell, maybe I could find our parents." Many of the stronger Blood became demon-dead, surely a Territory Queen and the head of the Hourglass would be strong enough. And six years wasn't such a long time, certainly not long enough for them to have faded into the Darkness yet...
Morton, face sad, gently shook his head. "No, Karla. You're going to Fandom High. We applied on your behalf and you've been accepted. You're going."
"You applied on my behalf?! You had no right!"
"I HAD EVERY RIGHT!" he roared, startling her. "I am--well, will be--First Escort when you set up your court in five years. I serve and protect. That is my right, my duty, and my honor, and NO ONE, not even YOU can take that away from me. And right now, I'm serving and protecting you by making sure that you survive these next five years. That you remain a whole witch, not some pathetic creature roaming the Twisted Creature, her mind and her magic both broken beyond repair!"
He quieted, the anger and the pain in his voice lessening. "Karla, I'm watching what Uncle Hobart does to Glacia, and I'm terrified. If what nearly happened to you today becomes the norm, you might not have much of a Territory to come back to. But Glacia can heal, if you're strong enough, smart enough, a good enough Queen. But you won't learn how to be those things if you're hidden away, even in Hell, until you're old enough to make the Offering to the Darkness and set up your court. So I'm serving and protecting Glacia, too. And I know, when you think about what's right for the people and the land, that you'll do the right thing."
Damn him to Hell. Protocol was a double-edged sword, and, with a year of actual court-training under his belt, Morton could wield it better than she. He was right; once he invoked her duty to Glacia, Karla could protest no further. She would go, she would learn, and when she came back, she would make Uncle Hobart pay for everything. Perhaps, if she was nice, the High Lord would let her continue extracting payment even when Hobart went to Hell.
But she said none of that out loud. "Be safe in my absence," she commanded quietly.
"Your will is my life, Lady."
Establishy post here. NFB, NFI, especially considering Karla's in a completely different world now. Open for OOC comments only.