Return the Blade

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Plane Shift. Caster Level: 15 DC: 24

Hand in hand, they walked together out of Alexandria and into the fields. Cor'lana wore her adventurer's finery, the same clothes that she wore into Charn--the same that she wore when wielding Mortal Dread--and after a moment to breathe, a moment to ask her goddesses Ni'essa and Vaire for strength, luck, and the wit and will she will need--the sorceress cast the spell, focused on the same place as before. The place of darkness and night where she had come before as a weaker sorceress and spellcaster, yet stood in perfect union with Telamon and bartered with one tear shed in anguish to see the Queen...

Which is where she is once again.

Her hand is clasped firmly around Telamon's. Here in the darkness, she has him. Her violet eyes behold him like the guiding star that he is in her night sky, and she knows that in the Queen's presence, it is the one thing that is their saving grace.

But if they are lucky, then they do not have to meet her at all. If they are lucky, then all they have to do is speak to Captain Doyle, give him the blade, and then go home.

Her violet eyes look into the darkness, glowing subtly with her recent augmentation to see the invisible. "We seek audience with Captain Doyle," she says aloud, "to return the blade Mortal Dread to its rightful owner."

The weight of this thing has been on her shoulders for so long. Telamon at times feared it would never end, she would never be free of it. But now... one last step, before they can put this behind them, move on to the next challenge, the next adventure.

Telamon is dressed in his finery, hair caught by his gold and silver circlet, a light cloak slung around his shoulders over his ruffled white silk shirt over black trousers tucked into his polished boots. His dark eyes glimmer with stars, as he looks at Cor'lana warmly, and his hand remains in hers. For they are two-as-one, just as when he first pledged to her on the banks of the Tornmawr.

Yes, this is dangerous. But with any luck... it will be a simple drop-off and then away to home. He lets her do the speaking, for the moment.

It doesn't take long for something to appear from that darkness. A figure familiar in nature and yet no less intimidating and strange for the fact that they have seen it once before. First the awareness of being watched, and then the white color at the edges of his eyes and then the whole of him coming forth from the shadows. "Greetings and salutations from the Unseelie Court." He intones, his voice deep and echoing. His eyes flicker over them. "You have changed."

This seems a respectful acknowledgement of the change that has come over them between the then and the now. "The Queen wishes to speak to you." A damning sentence. Yet there is no sign of her yet.

_Ah._ Cor'lana should have known. She vaguely wonders if this is how it all ends--her neck on a guillotine as she's executed by the Queen, for refusing to bring Pothy to the Court to meet his death at the hands of Lord Folendel. And yet she stands as tall as she can, curtsying before Captain Doyle with the sweep of her skirt and indicating for Telamon to bow.

"Greetings, Captain Doyle. I hope you and yours are well. Telamon and I consent to speaking with Her Majesty so long as we are able to remain together as we are now," Cor'lana responds in kind. Pleasantly. Undisturbed. Yet preparing for all manner of things that could befall onto herself for such a request.

Telamon stares back at Captain Doyle, his expression betraying nothing, but the fact the Queen wants to speak may be... a problem. Still... this is not danger yet, and Telamon has his own suspicions about how -much- pull Lord Folendel possesses in the courts.

And so the elegant half-elf bows deeply, matching Lana's curtsey, before straightening once more. His hand in hers, continuing to remain silent, even as his thoughts race behind his blank, polite facade.

Doyle nods politely in return to their motions, but blinks impassively at the words that Cor'lana speaks. "It is not my place to make promises for our Queen." He says carefully, black eyes fixed on the pair. "However, she will be most displeased with me if you were to decide to leave, and I had not informed her of your presence."

There's something very meaningful in his words and yet... he does not call for his queen, and she does not appear. Yet.

GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive: (1)+23: 24 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive: (6)+23: 29
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (5)+25: 30
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (9)+25: 34

Cor'lana regards Doyle for only a few seconds before she says, "Telamon and I will give you what we came here to give you." She reaches into her bag of holding and produces Mortal Dread within its scabbard, holding it out carefully to the Captain. The implication of Doyle's words are not one that she likes, and yet she knows better than to offer a verbal rebuttal of the Queen's desire to speak with her.

Telamon stares back at Doyle as well, before carefully taking an exaggerated look around. That done, he glances at Lana as she draws Mortal Dread out, unable to restrain a faint shudder at the sight of it. The damned thing just oozes menace even when sheathed and unwielded. Then... a faint line appears on his brow, as the young man thinks. His eyes flicking around again, before settling on Captain Doyle. Watching every movement.

Doyle holds his hand out for the weapon but does not move from his spot. "Once the weapon is in my hand, I will call her; as she does indeed wish to speak with you." He looks at them very solidly. Not moving an inch save that hand which had risen and the motion of his mouth as he spoke.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Wisdom: (17)+2: 19 

Cor'lana can only guess at the true meaning of Doyle's words. But the chances he's given her--the way that he has so cagily refused--

Her eyes look at his hands. 'Once the weapon is in my hand, I will call her.'

Well.

He said it.

She goes to place it down on the ground before Doyle's feet, like a knight might kneel before a superior, but does not release it yet from her touch. "Does this release me from my oath, should I leave it here and then leave before your noble hand touches it?" she asks quietly.

Telamon follows Lana hand in hand, as they approach Doyle. Watching the fae knight carefully, as Lana leans down. Casually, he tugs his cloak aside, giving him room to touch the sleeveless robe underneath, trimmed with geometric patterns. He offers Doyle a bland, innocent smile: nothing to see here. We'll just be moving along, now that we're finishing our business…

"If the sword passes not unto the hand of the Queen, or her vassal, then you would be near forsworn; for you are bound to return it whence it came." His voice is gentle. Not apologetic and yet... There is a soft sorrow in his eyes as if he would offer other words if he could. He looks then to Telamon briefly, but only for an instant. "I will take up the blade and ask you wait my Queen. If you are not here when she comes, she will be most cross."

Then, he takes up the sword in his hand; quickly sheathing it at his waist and then turning his head. A singular sound leaves his mouth, but so quiet that it seems not to be spoken at all, and then he turns toward them. "My Queen; she comes."

So it goes.

Cor'lana draws up and takes her place by Telamon's side, her hand finding his and squeezing tightly. The Queen of Air and Darkness comes. There is no way out of it, not without angering the Queen.

It is time to face the consequences of her actions. In truth, she has no idea what the Queen will speak to her about or what will be said. It is fear that makes her feel this way. It is all of the feelings of self-hatred and anguish that the Queen inspires inside of her for letting Pothy go in her stead.

It is time for the Feathered One's child to stand.

Even if it means she will soon fall.

Telamon's eyes flash. He seems about to speak, but barely manages to hold his tongue. His thoughts are racing -- no matter what happens, this is unlikely to be good. It's entirely possible they may not be able to leave here. But...

His eyes narrow again. Thinking furiously. Keeping his hand in Cor'lana's, as he gives it a squeeze. Whatever happens, they face it together.

And she comes.

This time she is in her way seemingly half-clad. Her luminously pale skin standing out in the darkness which hides her form - barely - with shifting shadows that enticingly move around her body. Her eyes are gray, gray, and darker gray, her lips rubied and suggestive with their warm smile. "Greetings again." She offers warmly, her eyes touching on Mortal Dread for a moment. Rage flashes through her gaze inexplicably, but the moment of temper fades and she turns her eyes on the pair before her. "And where is Our beloved Ever-Child? Did he not come with you?"

Cor'lana curtsies before the Queen, a subtle squeeze on Telamon's hand that she remains holding to let him know to bow as she curtsies. "We offer our greetings to you, Your Majesty," she says. "The Ever-Child is not here." She makes no apologies nor does she elaborate further on Pothy's current location.

Telamon bows as well, extremely grateful for Cor'lana's presence. This... would be dangerous for either of them alone. As is, it's still dangerous, just... less so. Slightly. But there's something in his eyes now, cards to play if needed. Some possible, some... less so. Whatever it takes to get them home from what was -supposed- to be a routine task.

The Queen looks at the pair and frowns a tiny twist of her lips. "Have We done something to upset you child?" She asks this and steps toward Cor'lana - and by pure nature of his position at the woman's side - Telamon as well. "We have heard that the Ever-child was challenged to a duel... Yet he has not shown for it. The court is beginning to whisper."

"I grapple with many pains and sadnesses, Your Majesty," Cor'lana replies. There is truth in there. Pain and sadness have always occupied her life in measures, yet... "The life I have led is one of adversity and continues to be. But to speak on such petty mortal troubles is not deserving of Your Majesty's time." As Her Majesty had said so herself of her past attempt of giving the Queen her pain.

The next measure is answered with a deferential bow of the head. "We are finding an appropriate champion to duel in the Ever-Child's place, Your Majesty. As he is a child, he stands no chance against Lord Folendel. Once we have selected the champion, the duel will take place with that champion in the Ever-Child's stead."

Telamon mentally wraps himself in who he is. The places he's gone, the entities he's encountered, the triumphs and tragedies. And with that he stands a little taller, regards the Queen with a calm stare. There's still the flickering starlight in his eyes, and the faintest touch of... impatience? As if this entire scene is... not near as important as it could be. He nods, ever so faintly, at Cor'lana's declaration, his expression never changing.

"This is true." She murmurs, staring at Telamon suddenly. "We have never understood others fascination with mortals, but perhaps it is simply a matter of trying."

"My Queen." Doyle says with shock in his voice, but even the flashing anger in her eyes doesn't stop him. "They are wedded. He is bound by word to loyalty to her."

"Oh." The Queen seems put out but she quickly brightens. "Mikilos then. Tell him that We would like a word with him." She smiles slyly. Already forgetting many things, and with that she lifts a hand in a wave and disappears. Doyle relaxes a little looking worriedly at Cor'lana and her consort.

"There are... odd movements in the court of late, and the Queen... she has not been herself. Be wary." With that he too vanishes. Leaving them alone.

There is the slightest, slightest flicker of _something_ in Cor'lana's eyes when the Queen stares at Telamon. But then Doyle steps in to stop her--and when the Queen disappears, Cor'lana, ever-so-slightly, relaxes, but she doesn't release the breath that she'd been holding.

She does not thank Doyle. Gratitude is a mortal reflex that she has to bite back in her throat. Instead she acknowledges the words with a nod, and when the Captain vanishes, she turns to Telamon.

"Let us go. Now." The words are soft as they fall from her lips. She takes up the hand that she hadn't been holding before and squeezes both of them tightly for a moment.

For here in the darkness that the Unseelie surround themselves in--she finds herself grappling with the very dark and Unseelie instinct of possession over her consort, and the fact she can hold his hands and that he is here and he wears the ring she gave him and the curuchuil on his hand that binds them both are enough to begin to calm her.

"Please," she says softly. Like she's asking him for permission to take him back home.

Telamon did not like the look in the Queen's eyes one bit. He lets out a hissing breath, his free hand already curled to start casting while the other was linked with Lana's.

"Lana, dear... get us the -fuck- out of here," he says very quietly and very clearly. It's obvious, from his voice and from the bond, he does not want to be here one second longer. A tiny blessing, though. "At least we're no longer toting that damned sword around..."

He doesn't have to say it twice.

The magic washes over both of them as the words fall from her lips. And yet she finds herself mulling over Captain Doyle's words. The remark about the Queen acting erratically. Odd movements within the Court.

A sane mortal would know when to leave well enough alone.

But some part of Cor'lana knew from the day that she found out about her descent from the Feathered One that this was, in some sense, always bound to happen. There is something here. Something that she might have ignored were it not for the fact that something in the Court is what is behind her involvement to begin with. The Wee Queen had been right.

She _must_ find out.

There's a dark smile on Cor'lana's lips as she and Telamon flicker out of this place of shadows. It's that of ambition.

-End