|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu Apr 19, 2007 4:50 pm
 Storm galloped up the winding cliffside at breakneck speed. She remembered the custom. It was impolite to enter Katilenuck on wings, unless you were a royal. It was a way of exuding status and power she supposed.
It didn't take her long to find him. Illusion or not, the magical had a special connection - or rather she could sense it because she was a seer. When she'd seen him as a younger mare he'd still had the same colt-like appearance. He probably had no idea who she was or that she even existed.
"Hey!" she shouted, slowing down into a trot. At this distance perhaps her horn wouldn't be noticeable. Perhaps that would give her the element of surprise if anything turned drastic.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 19, 2007 5:03 pm
Luckily for Storm, Mordre was not the sort to take offence at being so sharply addressed. He turned his small head and regarded the approaching mare with impassive eyes.
"What do you think, 'Cai?" he remarked softly to the slender stallion beside him. "Trouble, or just a little rough around the edges?"
"I should say the latter, my Lord," Mordrecai answered, his head on one side. "Though - unless my eyes deceive me - she does appear to have...an interesting accoutrement upon her forehead."
Mordre blinked, squinting at the mare as she came closer. "Good grief, so she does. Couldn't see it for a moment with all that white mane. Well, she looks Jala but for that - I suppose they'll let her be."
"So it would appear, my Lord, if she has come this far."
Nodding slowly, the illusionist watched the golden mare approach. He even made so bold as to take a few steps towards her, his bone and amethyst necklace clicking as he shook the dust from his mane. "Hey yourself," he called. "What can a mere illusionist do for you, golden child?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 19, 2007 6:28 pm
Storm had expected repulsion, anger, attack from at least one or the other. Neither one came. At first she simplied thought it was because they knew her as a Jala, simply visiting with the hopes of finding a nice stallion and settling.
Their minds said otherwise. It seemed there was some sort of tolerance amongst these two that most of the herd did not posses - and she had not had upon her upbringing near these parts. Perhaps her mother taught her the ways of the Katilenuck too well and just when she was beginning to love, out of trueness instead of lust or envy, Aku had to go and stab her in the back. It seemed the rat not only had to annoy her, he had to deprive her of happiness, and there was no mistaking which side Melantho chose and would continue to side with. Not that there had been a side to choose, Aku had made one. Storm would have lived, and tolerated; but she couldn't now. She had to remain true to her word.
Perking her ears at the question she took a few good careful glances around the area, searching for anything that was amiss. There was no one that she could see. If Melantho was nearby or coming, she'd know, her mind was open to anything and everything. It was amazing what one could learn from listening to their surroundings.
"This," she said, turning to display the obvious horn on her head. Obviously she didn't want him to break it off, but he could create an illusion could he not?
"I need to see the queen," she explained. "It's urgent." It was apparent there was no meeting the lady in her current crossbreed state.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 20, 2007 6:36 am
Mordre almost laughed. "Good grief, is that all?" he snorted. "Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me - that's the skinny grey pipsqueak with the pretentious jewellery - to hide your horn - that's the sharp pointy thing on your forehead - so that you - that's the golden girl with no manners, no markings and no conversation - can go and see the Queen - that's the curly-haired claybank with the sacred marks - for a reason hitherto unexplained. Am I right?"
Beside him, 'Cai was swallowing chuckles. Oh, Mordre was a showman. Any place, any time, any audience, and he'd play. Encouraged, he pressed on. "So essentially, what you're asking me to do is let you in to see my Queen - that's my Queen, the highest ranking member of this herd and a personal friend of mine to boot - with a concealed weapon about your person. Well, I'm sorry, sunshine, but though I might not be the sharpest horn on the Jala I haven't lived this long by being that stupid."
His tone was more serious now, but it still had the jovial undertones of one who has lived long enough to know that life is there to be laughed at. "Now here's what we're going to do. You're going to explain to me what you want with the Queen, and I will speak to her. And no funny business, mind - I wiggle my little nose and this place will be swarming with guards before you can say "oops". Is that clear?"
And 'Cai was still trying not to laugh. Mordre half hoped that the golden mare wouldn't take offence, but hey - it might be amusing to watch her try landing a hit on him. There was something naggingly familiar about her, though. Had he seen her somewhere before? Heard her described in detail, perhaps? Ah well. He'd find out soon enough.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 20, 2007 4:54 pm
Storm was a stickler for insults - and the fact that this one had the intentions of beating her down with cold words right off the bat caused her blood to run cold. She gave him a light, sweet smile, as though hearing him out.
"Manners, Mordre, are reserved for those with herds, lives, loves, and infatuations with the lovely queen." She shook her head. "I, however, have none of those - and I'd like to see your guards track me down in the time that it takes me to slit both your throats with this horn of mine."
She flicked her tail absently, pretended to be bored with his insolence. "We can do things your way - where I march in and see the queen myself or. . . you can cooperate. Who knows, maybe I'll let you in on it, Jala b***h."
The words almost caused her to stumble backwards. Never once had she raised to hard of a tongue against the ones looked highly upon in the herds. Never once had she had to act out as though she were not Jala. It was strange and sickening; but he deserved it.
The old, ugly man.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 21, 2007 6:19 am
Well, well. Apparently she wasn't going to see sense the nice way. Hardly surprising, really - after many years Mordre had gained something of a knack for reading body language, and everything about this mare said Belligerent Idiot. He sighed patiently, gesturing to Mordrecai. The stallion nodded once and trotted off. Mordre, meanwhile, turned to the mare.
"Your attempts to insult me are amusing, to say the least," he said, his voice still the perfect pipe of a colt. "I do not care who knows that I love my queen, but that love is no mere infatuation. Only someone who had known no other love could mistake it for that. Infatuation happens to us all in a flash - perhaps our eyes alight upon some pretty mare, and it begins. Perhaps our interest is caught by the manner of her walk, or the tone of her voice. Perhaps she speaks in beautiful words, and we cannot help but answer in kind. But then perhaps we speak some harsh words, or she does, or we both do, and all is lost. Perhaps we are too proud to speak softly, perhaps too convinced of our own brilliance to apologise. Perhaps we are alone again, and find it easier to hate than mend, but still her image haunts us in our sleep and makes us weak. That is infatuation, the echo of love that plagues us all from time to time. My love for the Queen, on the other side of things, is born of respect and trust, founded upon a long and fruitful working relationship and a history of supporting one another. I pity you, newcomer, for clearly such love has eluded you thus far."
He couldn't speak from personal experience, not unless you counted second-hand. Folk seldom took an interest in him: all the infatuations he had experienced in his youth had been silent, one-sided, and never come to anything. Maybe it was better that way, he thought to himself, considering the heartbreaking alternative.
"Anyone within sight, 'Cai?"
On cue, the servant was returning. "No, my Lord. All clear."
"Very good."
The illusion fell away like a cloak, revealing a thin, quietly handsome Jala with a diginified expression. Mordre was old, yes, but he was still as healthy in body as someone of less than half his years. The only suggestion that he might be of any great age were the tiny crows feet that crept in at the corner of his eyes.
"The trouble with your kind, my dear," said he in his own voice, watching her levelly, "is not that you're convinced nobody knows what you are. And don't think I can't tell; the undisciplined magic is rolling off you like mist off the morning hills. No, discovery is never a trouble for a Seer. The big problem, the one you always seem to walk into, is that you think there's nothing anyone can do about you. You think you're invincible. And, in your case, you also seem to think it gives you the right to treat everyone around you like dust beneath your hooves. That's your first mistake."
Down below the plateau, well out of sight, little red lights had been appearing in front of every stationed guard. They knew what that meant: Red Alert. Find the Queen and all members of the Royal Family, and protect them at all costs. Mordre had begun sending out the warning signs around the time of "the lovely queen". He hadn't even had to think about it. Such small magics were second nature to him by now.
"Your second mistake," he carried on, stretching out his legs as he moved closer to Storm, "is believing that you are immune to my magics. I know what a Seer sees, colours of thought. I can create that illusion as well as any other. You open your eyes to fight me, and my magics will trap you. You close your eyes, concentrate on sensing my mind instead, and I wish you luck in trying not to stumble. The ground has no mind to be sensed."
By now there would be guards stationed all around the Queen. One Nequus, no matter who they were, would have severe trouble getting at her. Mordre let his little moment of triumph be completely transparent - he didn't care that the Seer knew he had the high ground. It was too late now. It had been too late the minute she tangled with him - she was only a real danger to the Queen, and the Queen was safe.
"...And your third mistake," he finished, "is believing that I respond well to threats. I'm not afraid of you, child. Not of your horn, nor your hooves, nor your teeth, nor your clever little mind. I am perfectly confident that you won't damage me beyond what I can handle."
A few brightly coloured ribbons of nothing swirled around him as he put up the colt illusion once more.
"Of course," he added, once again speaking in that high, clear voice, "you're very welcome to try, what with all these Katilenuck watching you."
It wasn't a crowded area of the red mountain, but there were enough big strong stallions around who would leap at the chance for a fight. Mordre grinned internally. Miss Muffet had bitten off more than she could chew with him. Big surprise. This was his country, and this was his game. It'd be a pretty poor showing if he wasn't a better player of les buggeures risibles* than this hotheaded young fool.
"Now, are we going to carry on like this ad nauseam** or are you going to do as you're asked?"
* - that immortal game, Silly Buggers. XD
** - Latin, something like "until we're sick of it"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 21, 2007 8:33 am
(( Dare, I don't know how Mordre thinks she's a seer, but Storm said nothing to hint that she was one. ))
Storm shook her head. It was all very calming, his speech, but she was not the least bit worried.
"The problem with you," she began. "Is that you think you know everything. I have known love, and now he is dead, and the world has become cold. Perhaps in your perfect world you've forgotten the harshness outside to woods. Perhaps you've forgotten that some of us don't care to die." She looked him down and turned on her heel in the opposite direction.
"I know you won't kill me, for if you are not a fool as you say, you've already found out exactly who I am." It was hard to say what exactly had calmed her about what he had said, perhaps it was the mention of love. His love was sick, disgusting, and treacherous, as was his mind and his intentions. He wished for manners, but he couldn't hold to terms of why she had none.
"You know I'm only here for aid, but what that is you do not know, and that, I think, is too much for you to handle. I'm telling you nothing, for your manners have been far worse than mine." Then she began walking away, and it wasn't out of the Katilenuck lands. Guards or not, the Illusionist could not and would not have a death on his hands. He already knew of his stubborn nature, and besides, she was a seer, could she not talk to the mind of the queen? No, this was for her to know and the Illusionist to weep about.
He pushed things to far by shoving her down for her raising. In the end, he was the most prejudice of them all.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 21, 2007 11:58 am
Watching Storm walk away, Mordre didn't need to be a seer to sense the tension that shrouded his servant's body. "Relax, 'Cai," he said gently. "Mission accomplished. She won't be going anywhere near anyone important with that horn of hers. She's a Seer - she won't bother trying to get past the guards if she can just contact the Queen mind-to-mind. And then, with any luck, she'll go."
"And if she does not, my lord?" Mordrecai ventured quietly. "You may have made a dangerous enemy in her."
"I've a score of dangerous enemies, lad. One more isn't going to make much difference, horned or otherwise. Besides, in order to kill me someone either has to be incredibly strong, incredibly fast and incredibly lucky, or they have to outwit me. The latter requires subtlety. I assume you noticed a...shall we say an unfortunate dearth of that in our friend Storm."
"...Then you do know who she is?"
Mordre nodded. "It took some remembering, but I know of her. She was promised to Xla'lanin at one point, though she had no magic or horn then from what I know."
The servant winced visibly. "Ooh, ouch."
"Mm, yes. Certainly gives her all the reasons to leave that I'd ever need."
"So is that why she's so ill-mannered?"
"Hm?"
'Cai tried again. "So long living out in the barbarian lands, I mean, with no herd to teach her otherwise. Used to fight or flight. Animal living."
"Partly that. The other part is that she has no sense of diplomacy. You walk into someone else's country and you follow their code of conduct - it's a matter of common courtesy, and far more likely to stop you getting killed than any amount of heroism. When in D'ob, do as the valley-dwellers do. What she was essentially doing when she marched in here all fires burning was speaking her own language, very loudly and slowly, with the absolute certainty that the stupid bloody foreigner would not only understand her but also be inclined to assist her. It's amazing how many people think that works."
The servant blinked. "Good grief."
"Very important lesson, lad. Speak softly..."
"...And employ a big Aeri with steel shoes?"
Mordre chuckled, shaking his head. Just when you felt like you had to tell the boy everything, he was suddenly leagues ahead of you. "Usually just the first part is enough, but yes, I'll grant you a steel-shod Aeri is a useful sort of fellow to have on your side..."
And they headed down to the valley, colt and stallion, master and apprentice, in search of some lunch.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
