Fate - First Reply 01. the tempest's eye

[Ryiek]

Deep in the wild's Valen did Ryiek's willowy frame pay grace. Palms uplifted, lips turned in gratitude, he pranced with each limber step; pallid lurch and trickling tumble tossed him to and fro, laughter cooing from his throat. Deigned a merry tenor, it ensconced the wide canopy of trees, stirring brush and leaf as he hopped from sun kissed shadows. Crowned in whimsy and delight he struck feet to soil. Sauntered a dauntless cascade. It was no pleasant sound.

The bob of a head, an openmouthed grin. His throat twisted and clenched, releasing a dissonant trill. The day drew young before him, and in it, he found freedom. Wrists light, ankles unfettered, shoulders loose and absent the cords of a tension so often found in the mundane.

Ryiek, swathed in raw silks and a regalia of hide, crooked a finger to the sky. Bade it welcome. Energy cracked the corners of his eyes. Green, effervescent when set upon by the sun's peerless rays. Pulsing, thrumming, the hum and canter broke cadence. A cackling cacophony that coursed the blue of his veins; lightning answered his call.

Purple and red and gold slated hues sundered the air. As a rod, his raised finger collected the energy, scintillating with power. In subliminal space, suspended through all iterations of time, it hung about Ryiek. A mantle he drew tight about him. Thick, sluggish, it oozed into his pores, synchronizing with the mad laughter that pierced from the wells of his belly.

Release.

The pale snow of a feathered dove leapt from his palm. Erupted in thunder, clapped as wings lifted ever up, pursuing the open sky. Sudden silence fell, a veil spreading from the heart of the wilds. An echoed still. Cries of terror took flight behind; a cavalcade of movement, of hooves and paws and wings so frenetic in hopes of escape. Beasts of a feather clawed in haste from Ryiek.

Sheets of rain pelted down, misted and fogged as it touched the ground. The eyewall of the storm shuddered. Like a breath, it expelled first gently, then violently from on high. Wind whipped and cracked and whirled about. And Ryiek skipped from toe to toe. Open palms filled with water (as grains of sand; they dripped from him, a trickle that vanished into the coming downpour).

Thus was the tempest called, its gaze stretching over the Valen, slicking the wilds in murk and mud. The tremulous lifeblood of nature's own laughter.

 

[Fray]

They ran with the winds of violence and betrayal buffeting from behind, nipping at their aching heels. When they grew tired, they paused long enough to drink and eat, but never a moment longer. The hairs on the back of their neck stayed raised, so Fray stayed running.

How long they ran, the Unseelie quickly lost track of. They blundered on in a blind, exhausted panic through courts, seasons, and deltas, across lands familiar and unfamiliar. They did their best to be clever. A quick dip into isolated pockets of underbrush, a snakelike weave in between groves–any advantage they could take, they did so without hesitation. They had to, if they hoped to outrun the wrath of Summer.

For once, their murky birthright proved more boon than bane. If they needed help, a quick touch of palm against bark pointed them in a new direction, the trees forthcoming with flashes of insight. Gaps in brambles, streams shallow enough to cross, that sort of thing. On and on they pushed. There were too many times Fray wanted to sink into the moss and never wake up again, or perhaps just let themselves get swept away with the currents. But then the image of Fianen's tormented face would surface. Beautiful and horrible, that twist of agony in her fever bright eyes burrowing straight through Fray’s soul as if in accusation.

How dare you, she seemed to condemn as she sank deeper into madness.

And oh, how Fray dared.

Fianen would not win. If satisfaction from revenge made them a monster, then Fray would be that monster. They would live on out of pure spite. What they did–what they helped Lord Relorath do–churned their insides, but some dark, obstinate part of Fray considered it breaking even. An eye for an eye, justly taken.

Fray refused to die here, hunted like a dog. They stuffed themselves full of any and every kind of stimulant herb they could find. They carried on as a mindless force, fueled by the singular desire to survive.

Some days or weeks later, the fugitive collapsed. When they woke again, it was with a start, covered head to toe in a cold sheen of sweat. They placed a hand over their thumping heart. Another nightmare, Fianen’s rage enveloping them like an inferno. At first, Fray sat there, confused and sweaty, unable to discern if they were still dreaming. But the raucous commotion around them was very much real, as was the wind and rain beating down with unnatural spontaneity.

Fray swayed as they got back on their feet. Water dripped down their hair and clothes, making them shiver. Every part of them ached. They leaned against a thick old tree, and immediately impressions invaded their mind. Wild mirth and impulsivity. A lithe figure, prancing about as chaos whipped up around them. For one, terrifying moment, Fray thought maybe Lord Relorath had somehow followed them all the way to…wherever this was. But this impression from the gnarled tree felt different. Less mad, more joyous, and no doubt just as much trouble.

Letting the visions tug them in the right direction, Fray intuitively felt their way toward the source. They figured all this chaos was as good of a cover as any. Maybe, with some luck, they’d find some way to use it to their advantage.

Fray swore as all manner of forest denizens barreled past them, some close enough to do real harm if their antlers and claws found purchase. When the Unseelie Fae finally stumbled into the clearing where the perpetrator frolicked about, they hesitated. It wasn't too long ago when they had trifled with powers beyond their understanding. And yet, they knew they could not simply go on like this, wandering around aimlessly.

And so they simply shambled forward, one hand holding their shoulder. They must have fallen on it before blacking out. It hurt like a bitch.

Unsure of what else to do, Fray waited for the stranger to take notice. If they died here, well at least it would be at the hands of this strange creature, and not their so called kin back home. It took a great portion of their strength to remain standing there beneath the onslaught of wind and rain, but Fray held their ground, keeping their face as neutral as possible.

 

[Ryiek]

Mid pitch, laughter cut, curtailed. In the cascade of wind and rain, the bleating of beasts in mad flight, a figure stood before Ryiek. It occluded the leylines, interrupting the flow that coursed between sky and tree; between Ryiek's gooserippled flesh and the tempest beyond.

As a doe, he stayed his flight. Subdued. He lifted a tentative hand. Felt the peripheries of the ley between them. Took a hesitant step.

Stooped shoulders met straight; stale blood caught on the wind. The hum of pain, a hunted cast about the figure's topography.

Ryiek crooned a gentle who. A silent stir of breath that closed another step.

 

[Fray]

The closer they got, the more Fae this laughing stranger seemed to be. Through the pelting of rain, Fray could make out a tall, slim frame, pale skin, and eyes of a mercurial green. Their gaze narrowed. Surely, Lord Relorath would not have had the foresight to send a minion this far? He was powerful for a Duannan, but still...

Then the stranger lifted his hand, and Fray's paranoia was somewhat quelled. They could feel the pull of inquisition probing around them before a question drifted forth. Who?

Fray cocked their head to one side. The onslaught of water didn't faze them. No, not one of Relorath's. The trees had shown true; this one felt different. Mirthful and curious with no shortage of chaos to be sure, but lacking the disturbing madness that Fray had strangely grown accustomed to. If they focused long enough, they could feel a niggling remembrance of it somewhere in the back of their skull.

The fugitive shook their head, sending droplets flying.

"Just an unlucky Unseelie looking for a place to rest," Fray answered hurriedly. They gave the stranger a lopsided grin, one hand still gripping their injured shoulder. "You wouldn't happen to know of one, would you?"