Karla's family seat, Glacia, Kaeleer
May. 7th, 2009 02:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glacial_queenEstablishy post here. NFB, NFI, especially considering Karla's in a completely different world now. OPen for OOC comments only. Behind lj-cut due to
Karla new something was up the moment she opened her bedroom door. There was a sense of nervousness, of anticipation, and a predatory glee in the psychic scents that permeated the air of the hallway. As puzzled as she was by the odd psychic scents, it took her a moment to notice that all of the lamps in the corridor were dimmed, and a moment more to notice the three males who were lounging across the way, mostly hidden by shadow. Those moments were all the time they needed. They sprang up and forced Karla back into her room, closing her chamber door behind them.
"Hello little witch," one of them said, leering. Karla recognized all three, but didn't know their names. They were a few of the males from Little Terreille that her Uncle Hobart had brought to Glacia to help shore up the authority of his 'Ruling Council.' They were also the ones most persistent about spreading lies: that respectable witches deferred to the wiser, more knowledgeable males, that Blood males shouldn't have to serve or yield to a Queen because they were the stronger gender, that the only reason that Queens and Black Widows wanted the power to control the males was because they were sexually and emotionally incapable of being real women.
That males had the duty to force Queens and Black Widows to become 'real women': silly, useless things with delightful, simpering manners, who looked to males for guidance...who didn't say no when a man wanted something. Anything.
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful They're here to break me!
Karla was both a Queen and a Black Widow. If these males were here to make her more 'tractable,' there were few people left in Glacia who would be willing to say they had done wrong. She was also Glacia's most powerful Healer, which meant that if they had their way, there'd be no one left who could put back the pieces of her broken body and shattered mind; never mind help her heal her inner web. She'd be broken back to basic Craft.
A Blood male can get around a witch's strength if he waits for the right moment and has help. She hadn't realized that she was being prophetic when she'd said those words a few nights ago.
One positive--for Karla anyway--was that her attackers clearly had spent too much time dealing with witches who had been frightened or cowed into submission. She could tell by the way they grinned at one another, taking their time, letting her supposed fear do their job for them. Breaking a witch was much easier when she was half out of her mind with terror, anyway. But they hadn't listened to her uncle's exasperated comments, hadn't really paid attention to the Sapphire Jewel she wore. She wasn't frightened--she was pissed.
Well, maybe a little frightened. But if she was barely willing to admit that to herself, she certainly wasn't going to let them know about it.
"Get away from me," Karla demanded aloud, pleased that her voice didn't waver. "You're not going to like what happens if you don't."
"You're the only one who's not going to like what happens next, witchling," said one, a Purple-Dusk Warlord.
"She might, Jameson," another answered. "She's a Black Widow, and they like all kinds of things. She might end up begging us for more before we're done." He was the only Darker-Jeweled male among them, an Opal. Karla paused to breathe a small prayer to the Darkness; not only did her Jewel outrank them, there were no Warlord Princes among them. Even though she wore the Sapphire, she didn't want to chance herself against a Warlord Prince rising to the killing edge. Still, there's were Jewels of rank; if they drained their Jewels, they still had the power their Birthright Jewels to fall back on. That might be enough of an edge to let them overpower her.
Deciding that discretion was the better part of saving her life, she hurled a psychic thread at her cousin with all of her might. *MORTON!!!!* Together, even though he only wore Birthright Rose, they could defeat him. As long as Uncle Hobart didn't send a group after him, too...
She raised her hand and let loose a burst of Sapphire-power at the males. Taken by surprise, they didn't adequately shield, and one, wearing the Yellow, dropped to the ground. She doubted she had taken him out of the fight altogether, but two-on-one odds were infinitely better than three-on-one. They were wary now, she could tell by the way their posture shifted. Gone was their bravado, their contemptuous smirks. They were coming to understand that their prey might not be the tree hare they'd been told, but an Arcerian cat.
Unfortunately balls outweighed brains, and they sprang at her as one. Karla tumbled out of the way, pulling up her own shields with a nigh-audible snap. Her rooms were not large, but they were filled with clutter, and rather than wait for them to come for her, she staggered to her feet and dashed behind a large chair, flinging items at them. What Karla lacked in aim, she made up for in temper, and many of her missiles hit their targets. Neither man flinched, instead doggedly pursuing her, items bouncing off their shields. They were also unleashing measured blasts at her; she could feel the magic impacting with her shields, wearing them away. Karla gave up the idea of trying to attack them any further; she needed to pour all of her strength into her shields if she wanted them to stay up. A hundred tiny spider-web cracks would appear in her shields with every blow from the Opal, at least, and she was forced to send another surge of energy through to repair it.
She lead them on a merry chase as endless minutes ticked away with no sign of Morton. Her ability to airwalk gave her an advantage as she didn't have to sacrifice time or speed dodging furniture and fallen objects. Her room was a disaster: black burn marks zigzagged along the walls, her bed was a mess of feathers, cloth and splinters, and it was possible that the floor and ceiling were not going to be structurally sound after a few more minutes of abuse. Even if I do survive this, I'll never be able to live in these rooms again, she thought wildly. On the other hand, I always hated the view--
A bolt of Yellow power came crashing into her, knocking her into a wardrobe. The Yellow-Jeweled Prince she'd knocked down before grinned malevolently at her. Karla cursed herself for forgetting him. He sent blast after blast at her, making it impossible for her to stand up, or do much more than pray to the Darkness that her shields lasted longer than his reserves. But even so, she knew that wouldn't happen. She could feel the energy drain from her Jewels, drop by drop, as the other two came to join him.
The Opal Warlord had just switched to his Birthright Summer-sky when her shields fell. She just couldn't hold onto them any longer without shattering the Sapphire, and she wasn't willing to do that yet. There was still the slightest chance that she could get through this, mind and web intact...
They reached for her, and she lashed out, kicking and biting, and clawing. She was dimly aware that her serpent's tooth had slid out from under her nail as she raked her nails across the face of the Purple-Dusk Warlord. Due to her 'unladylike' habit of dressing in Morton's old cast-offs, her movements were not hampered by skirts and constricting clothing; that being said, she knew she was no match for their strength and numbers. She felt herself being borne to the ground, almost crushed under their weight.
"KARLA!" Morton's voice, and, thankfully, in her room, not in her head. Before her attackers had a chance to react to his cry, Morton leapt into the room, bowling them off of her with a surge of Rose-Jeweled power. Once they were out of melee range of Karla, he called in his sword, and lunged for the nearest man. Ice coated his sword, and frost, soon followed by blood, slickened the floor underfoot. If she hadn't been watching it with her own two (admittedly dazed) eyes, she never would have believed her cousin had it in him to go cold.
Tired out by their fight with Karla, neither male put up much of a challenge. The Yellow-Jeweled one even attempted to surrender, but Morton was having none of it. He stabbed the unarmed man directly in the stomach, twisting the blade as the man writhed. Finally, when the body stopped twitching, he kicked it off the sword and looked around the room for something else to kill. The other two males were still and silent on the floor, and Karla's trembling drew his cold and flinty gaze.
"M-Morton, could you please help me up?" Karla stuttered. She wasn't certain if her shivering came from the cold in the room, her nerves, or the blankness in Morton's face. But her use of Protocol worked; at her request for help, Morton's eyes cleared, and the cousin she knew returned.
"Karla!" he yelped, dashing to her side, and scooping her up. "Did they hurt you?" On the surface, it was a stupid question. Already, she could feel her left eye getting puffy and swollen, and a bruise forming on her cheek. One lip was split, and she was sure that her wrist was sprained. But she knew what Morton meant.
"No," she answered. "Nothing that I can't heal with a simple web, or a few days of rest. I'm...whole. They didn't get a chance to break me."
"They nearly did," he whispered, voice guttural. "If I'd been even a few minutes later... Uncle Hobart demanded my presence on a hunt today--we were miles away when I got your thread."
"He was trying to make sure you wouldn't be able to save me." Even though she'd known--intellectually--that her uncle was behind the attack, just like he'd been behind the death of her parents and Morton's, the confirmation was like a blow to the stomach. "Put me down!" As he set her on her feet, Karla doubled over and retched, making sure to aim directly for the body of one of her attackers. Moton had a glass of water handy by the time she stood.
"How soon can you get ready to leave?"
She looked around, and realized she wanted nothing from this room. Anything she truly cared about was still with the Hourglass coven before she'd been called home, to the bosom of her 'loving' family. "I'm ready now," she said. Morton called in two heavy coats, and draped one around her shoulders.
"Then let's go," he said.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere far, far away. Somewhere they'll never find you."
Karla new something was up the moment she opened her bedroom door. There was a sense of nervousness, of anticipation, and a predatory glee in the psychic scents that permeated the air of the hallway. As puzzled as she was by the odd psychic scents, it took her a moment to notice that all of the lamps in the corridor were dimmed, and a moment more to notice the three males who were lounging across the way, mostly hidden by shadow. Those moments were all the time they needed. They sprang up and forced Karla back into her room, closing her chamber door behind them.
"Hello little witch," one of them said, leering. Karla recognized all three, but didn't know their names. They were a few of the males from Little Terreille that her Uncle Hobart had brought to Glacia to help shore up the authority of his 'Ruling Council.' They were also the ones most persistent about spreading lies: that respectable witches deferred to the wiser, more knowledgeable males, that Blood males shouldn't have to serve or yield to a Queen because they were the stronger gender, that the only reason that Queens and Black Widows wanted the power to control the males was because they were sexually and emotionally incapable of being real women.
That males had the duty to force Queens and Black Widows to become 'real women': silly, useless things with delightful, simpering manners, who looked to males for guidance...who didn't say no when a man wanted something. Anything.
Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful They're here to break me!
Karla was both a Queen and a Black Widow. If these males were here to make her more 'tractable,' there were few people left in Glacia who would be willing to say they had done wrong. She was also Glacia's most powerful Healer, which meant that if they had their way, there'd be no one left who could put back the pieces of her broken body and shattered mind; never mind help her heal her inner web. She'd be broken back to basic Craft.
A Blood male can get around a witch's strength if he waits for the right moment and has help. She hadn't realized that she was being prophetic when she'd said those words a few nights ago.
One positive--for Karla anyway--was that her attackers clearly had spent too much time dealing with witches who had been frightened or cowed into submission. She could tell by the way they grinned at one another, taking their time, letting her supposed fear do their job for them. Breaking a witch was much easier when she was half out of her mind with terror, anyway. But they hadn't listened to her uncle's exasperated comments, hadn't really paid attention to the Sapphire Jewel she wore. She wasn't frightened--she was pissed.
Well, maybe a little frightened. But if she was barely willing to admit that to herself, she certainly wasn't going to let them know about it.
"Get away from me," Karla demanded aloud, pleased that her voice didn't waver. "You're not going to like what happens if you don't."
"You're the only one who's not going to like what happens next, witchling," said one, a Purple-Dusk Warlord.
"She might, Jameson," another answered. "She's a Black Widow, and they like all kinds of things. She might end up begging us for more before we're done." He was the only Darker-Jeweled male among them, an Opal. Karla paused to breathe a small prayer to the Darkness; not only did her Jewel outrank them, there were no Warlord Princes among them. Even though she wore the Sapphire, she didn't want to chance herself against a Warlord Prince rising to the killing edge. Still, there's were Jewels of rank; if they drained their Jewels, they still had the power their Birthright Jewels to fall back on. That might be enough of an edge to let them overpower her.
Deciding that discretion was the better part of saving her life, she hurled a psychic thread at her cousin with all of her might. *MORTON!!!!* Together, even though he only wore Birthright Rose, they could defeat him. As long as Uncle Hobart didn't send a group after him, too...
She raised her hand and let loose a burst of Sapphire-power at the males. Taken by surprise, they didn't adequately shield, and one, wearing the Yellow, dropped to the ground. She doubted she had taken him out of the fight altogether, but two-on-one odds were infinitely better than three-on-one. They were wary now, she could tell by the way their posture shifted. Gone was their bravado, their contemptuous smirks. They were coming to understand that their prey might not be the tree hare they'd been told, but an Arcerian cat.
Unfortunately balls outweighed brains, and they sprang at her as one. Karla tumbled out of the way, pulling up her own shields with a nigh-audible snap. Her rooms were not large, but they were filled with clutter, and rather than wait for them to come for her, she staggered to her feet and dashed behind a large chair, flinging items at them. What Karla lacked in aim, she made up for in temper, and many of her missiles hit their targets. Neither man flinched, instead doggedly pursuing her, items bouncing off their shields. They were also unleashing measured blasts at her; she could feel the magic impacting with her shields, wearing them away. Karla gave up the idea of trying to attack them any further; she needed to pour all of her strength into her shields if she wanted them to stay up. A hundred tiny spider-web cracks would appear in her shields with every blow from the Opal, at least, and she was forced to send another surge of energy through to repair it.
She lead them on a merry chase as endless minutes ticked away with no sign of Morton. Her ability to airwalk gave her an advantage as she didn't have to sacrifice time or speed dodging furniture and fallen objects. Her room was a disaster: black burn marks zigzagged along the walls, her bed was a mess of feathers, cloth and splinters, and it was possible that the floor and ceiling were not going to be structurally sound after a few more minutes of abuse. Even if I do survive this, I'll never be able to live in these rooms again, she thought wildly. On the other hand, I always hated the view--
A bolt of Yellow power came crashing into her, knocking her into a wardrobe. The Yellow-Jeweled Prince she'd knocked down before grinned malevolently at her. Karla cursed herself for forgetting him. He sent blast after blast at her, making it impossible for her to stand up, or do much more than pray to the Darkness that her shields lasted longer than his reserves. But even so, she knew that wouldn't happen. She could feel the energy drain from her Jewels, drop by drop, as the other two came to join him.
The Opal Warlord had just switched to his Birthright Summer-sky when her shields fell. She just couldn't hold onto them any longer without shattering the Sapphire, and she wasn't willing to do that yet. There was still the slightest chance that she could get through this, mind and web intact...
They reached for her, and she lashed out, kicking and biting, and clawing. She was dimly aware that her serpent's tooth had slid out from under her nail as she raked her nails across the face of the Purple-Dusk Warlord. Due to her 'unladylike' habit of dressing in Morton's old cast-offs, her movements were not hampered by skirts and constricting clothing; that being said, she knew she was no match for their strength and numbers. She felt herself being borne to the ground, almost crushed under their weight.
"KARLA!" Morton's voice, and, thankfully, in her room, not in her head. Before her attackers had a chance to react to his cry, Morton leapt into the room, bowling them off of her with a surge of Rose-Jeweled power. Once they were out of melee range of Karla, he called in his sword, and lunged for the nearest man. Ice coated his sword, and frost, soon followed by blood, slickened the floor underfoot. If she hadn't been watching it with her own two (admittedly dazed) eyes, she never would have believed her cousin had it in him to go cold.
Tired out by their fight with Karla, neither male put up much of a challenge. The Yellow-Jeweled one even attempted to surrender, but Morton was having none of it. He stabbed the unarmed man directly in the stomach, twisting the blade as the man writhed. Finally, when the body stopped twitching, he kicked it off the sword and looked around the room for something else to kill. The other two males were still and silent on the floor, and Karla's trembling drew his cold and flinty gaze.
"M-Morton, could you please help me up?" Karla stuttered. She wasn't certain if her shivering came from the cold in the room, her nerves, or the blankness in Morton's face. But her use of Protocol worked; at her request for help, Morton's eyes cleared, and the cousin she knew returned.
"Karla!" he yelped, dashing to her side, and scooping her up. "Did they hurt you?" On the surface, it was a stupid question. Already, she could feel her left eye getting puffy and swollen, and a bruise forming on her cheek. One lip was split, and she was sure that her wrist was sprained. But she knew what Morton meant.
"No," she answered. "Nothing that I can't heal with a simple web, or a few days of rest. I'm...whole. They didn't get a chance to break me."
"They nearly did," he whispered, voice guttural. "If I'd been even a few minutes later... Uncle Hobart demanded my presence on a hunt today--we were miles away when I got your thread."
"He was trying to make sure you wouldn't be able to save me." Even though she'd known--intellectually--that her uncle was behind the attack, just like he'd been behind the death of her parents and Morton's, the confirmation was like a blow to the stomach. "Put me down!" As he set her on her feet, Karla doubled over and retched, making sure to aim directly for the body of one of her attackers. Moton had a glass of water handy by the time she stood.
"How soon can you get ready to leave?"
She looked around, and realized she wanted nothing from this room. Anything she truly cared about was still with the Hourglass coven before she'd been called home, to the bosom of her 'loving' family. "I'm ready now," she said. Morton called in two heavy coats, and draped one around her shoulders.
"Then let's go," he said.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere far, far away. Somewhere they'll never find you."
