RP:Blayke's Lament

 Summary: Cynarith suffers a great loss. Uriphiel makes an effort to console her.

Date of Writing: April 19th, 2024. 

Blayke's Lament

 Hazelbend Chateau , Elimdor
Along the avenue, nestled amidst two other prominent homes, stands the opulent Hazelbend Chateau, a testament to the wealth and power of its well-to-do occupant. Its towering spires reach towards the heavens, adorned with intricate carvings and gilded accents that catch the sunlight at dawn. A grand courtyard paved with marble greets visitors, leading them to the colossal oak doors adorned with golden crests. Inside, a labyrinth of halls boasts tapestries depicting epic battles and chandeliers dripping with crystal. The great hall, with its vaulted ceilings and roaring hearth, hosts extravagant feasts where the ton of society mingle amidst lavish furnishings and fine art. Beyond lies the lush gardens, where exotic blooms perfume the air and fountains dance with enchanted waters. Hazelbend Chateau stands as a symbol of luxury and prestige in Elimdor, a beacon of extravagance.

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• 
  Cynarith hasn't been sleeping well and even the soothing rain outside her window has not been any aid in her troubles, but luckily no lightning and thunder this time. Uriphiel and her are getting so close to their goal and for some reason she is dreading the day that they are successful. Maybe she is starting to understand the reason why she feels such dread and chooses to ignore all of the signs because it would be pointless to give into such trivial matters… Wouldn't it? Settling into the cushioned window seat and watching the clouds of the night sky water The Vale as if washing away the sins from this day. Their little game they had to play with Sir Dorrel still makes her skin crawl, but the way Uriphiel looked at her both before her nerdy rant and then once she concluded- it made her feel things she had not in ages. She opens the window more to let the cool air in and calm her mind of such foolish things because she can feel her cheeks aflame once more. Cynarith hears a far off commotion and merely thirty seconds later there are three pairs of booted feet clamoring through the hallways in thunderous unison. Quickly, she slips a black cloak on and a pair of rain boots because she is used to these sort of wake up calls and sure enough, a hastened rapp on her door is leveled against the dark oak. Not a second later, Cynarith swings the door open and the momentum lifts a few tendrils of her tousled rose gold colored hair as she asks, "which one is it?" Her door slams unintentionally behind her as her heart sinks into little pools along the soles of her rubbery boots. Now four pairs of thundering boot footed steps rush pass Uriphiel's quarters once more and suddenly those troubling thoughts she had a mere moment ago feel miles away. By now the colic in Blayke has reached beyond the point of wild chaotic panic and results in the calm of shock. Once Cynarith sets her watery turquoise hues on the poor mare, she mentions to the stable workers from behind her hood without looking directly at them, "thank you." This is their queue to leave her to mourn alone. The mare's breathing is obviously labored as its gaze tries to find the source of that soothing honeyed voice, "don't you worry about anything, darling. I am here," she coos while lowering down by the horse's head. The stall door is left open and the horse shifts its mane around until it is resting comfortably on Cynarith's lap as the faux forsaken elf rests her behind on her heels. "Oh Blayke, I know you're scared, but I am here now," Cynarith's voice becomes brittle as she chokes back tears and caresses her hand along Blayke's shiny white coat. The horse appears to be even more at ease knowing Cynarith is with her.
  
  
• 
  [Uriphiel] Although Uriphiel had been asleep when the disturbance arose at Cynarith’s door, his slumber was abruptly interrupted by the cacophony of rapid footsteps echoing down the hallway past his room. He sat up in a startled state, springing from the bed and taking up his arming sword, Accipter, prepared for a fight. His heart was pounding in his chest as he placed his back up against the door, hand gripping the handle tightly, expecting a band of assassins to burst through his chamber door at any moment. And yet, despite his certainty, no one did end up coming through that door, leaving the avian feeling cautiously relieved. Placing his weapon back in its resting place near the bed, Uriphiel steps outside of his room, intercepting one of the maids who had also been stirred by the commotion. Inquiring about the cause, he learned of the dire circumstances that had briefly disrupted the household so late into the evening hours. Concern for Cynarith’s well-being tugged at his thoughts, prompting him to quickly don his cloak and set off toward the stable. Uriphiel entered the stable quietly after traversing the rain-soaked grounds, his cloak heavy with precipitation. He pushed back the hood, revealing unkempt locks dripping with water, and a furrowed brow laced with worry as he took in the scene of sorrow through the dim lighting. When he finally approached Cynarith, the avian leaned over and offered a gentle touch to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with empathy. The weight of death was a familiar burden to him.
  
  
• 
  Cynarith is surprised at the sudden smell of strawberry wine and pages to an old book. Blayke picks up on her own version of what Uriphiel might smell like and lets out a huff of air through her nose in delight. Her brow knit together in sorrow as her head looks up to Uriphiel with her eyes still watery, even though tears are obviously slipping down her cheeks. His comfort to her shoulder is almost enough to do the job it is meant to, but Cynarith feels as if her rib cage has been dipped in lead as the sorrow pulls her under. Damn it all, this avian even looks good all disheveled and damp while she probably looks like a drowned rat right now. The tired timbre of his modulated voice is a pleasant sound even if it is just a few syllables. Every fiber of her being is screaming for her to follow her instinct and scold him for being here at such an hour before demanding him to leave the stables at once- just like she would do to anyone else. Just like she has done once or twice before when people try to comfort her at a time like this because her thorns prick people who get too close, but she just cannot bring herself to do it. Something within her calls out to him while being in such a state and all she can manage to say in a wavering exhale is, "I am sorry the commotion woke you, Sir Phandarion." A shaky sharp inhale catches in her throat and she looks back down at Blayke with tears falling anew as she feels the mare go entirely limp now. Cynarith bends a little more so she may place a soft kiss upon the horse's jaw with a whisper of, "thank you." Slowly, she stands up and shakes her head angrily with narrowed eyes at nothing. "Damn colic," she mumbles through clenched teeth, but the anger doesn't last long as it flows right back into anguish and her hand clasps over her mouth as if she can hold back the emotions bubbling to the surface. More tears fall anew while a pitiful muffled whimper emits from Cynarith and she takes a step toward Uriphiel as she seeks further comfort, but something stops her and hesitation sets in. She saw the way he tensed when a hug was forced upon him earlier at the track and she couldn't deal with such rejection at this moment.
  
  
• 
  Uriphiel's heart broke for Cynarith as he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, a compassionate impulse urging him to wipe them away, but he restrained himself, mindful not to overstep his bounds. Instead, he gently shook his head in response to her apology, swiftly dismissing any notion of inconvenience. "No, it is fine. This matter is of utmost importance, and you need not concern yourself with trivialities such as disturbing my sleep. I am not bothered." As Blayke's final moments unfolded, Uriphiel took a deep breath, finding himself at a loss for words in the face of such tragedy. Instead, he expressed his support by firmly squeezing her shoulder, silently conveying that she was not alone in her time of mourning. After allowing her some time to process and begin her mourning, he spoke again, his voice expressing genuine sympathy. "I am sorry, Lady Cynarith. I can only imagine how much she meant to you. Know that I am here if you need someone by your side. If you prefer to tend to your grief alone, then I will leave you to it. Whatever you need, I will do my best to provide." There was a deep sincerity in Uriphiel's words, his typically cold, unrelenting gaze aglow with sympathy. Despite their initial relationship being rooted in business, he couldn't deny that he was beginning to regard Cynarith as more than just an ally. She had welcomed him into her home, forged crucial connections, and even compromised her own principles to further their cause. They had shared intimate secrets and forged a bond that transcended a working relationship - they were, perhaps, becoming friends. So, when Cynarith rose to her feet, and he saw the deep well of pain in that tearful turquoise gaze - That unspoken desire to be comforted; Uriphiel did not hesitate. The avian stepped forward and enveloped her in a comforting embrace, his arm encircling her while his hand gently cradled the back of her head. In that moment, he knew that sometimes, actions spoke louder than words, and he remained silent, offering her the solace of his presence as she released the anguish of her grieving heart.
  
  
• 
  Cynarith lets out a delicate whisper of, “no… please stay,” before she is momentarily taken aback by Uriphiel’s unexpected embrace, but she soon finds herself melting into it as the muscles that tense out of habit relax only after a second and seeks solace in his comforting presence. As his arms encircle her and his hand cradles the back of her head, she feels a sense of warmth and security wash over her which momentarily drives away the overwhelming grief that had threatened to consume her. She clings to him, her tears dampening the fabric of his cloak as she allows herself to release the pent-up emotions that had been building inside her. While she is enjoying being surrounded by her new favorite scent, he will be able to pick up a hint of that same perfume from earlier in the day lingering in her hair… jasmine mixed with citrus. In that moment, surrounded by the gentle sound of rain pattering against the stable roof, Cynarith finds a flicker of something deeper that has long been slumbering within her while wrapped in Uriphiel’s embrace. Despite the weight of sorrow pressing down upon her, she feels a glimmer of hope stirring within her heart - a hope that she is not alone in her pain, that there is someone who understands and cares for her in her darkest moments no matter how ugly she feels inside. Even if his extension of friendship is out of pity at this moment, she doesn’t care because it just feels so nice. As the minutes pass, the intensity of Cynarith’s grief begins to ebb and is replaced by a profound sense of gratitude for Uriphiel’s unwavering support. Eventually, Cynarith pulls away from Uriphiel’s embrace, her eyes meeting his own with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispers softly, her voice thick with emotion while she checks the pockets of her own cloak for a kerchief to no avail and then she gently clears her throat after a subtle sniffle. “I think I know of a good temporary distraction from this,” she leads the way out of the stall and closes the door behind them, “I’ll send for the undertaker in the morning.” While still being underneath the roof of the stables, she begins to meander along them towards the house. “I’ve been meaning to ask you what your plan will be once you get the Tulpa?”
  
  
• 
  [Uriphiel] Consoling Cynarith felt unfamiliar to Uriphiel. It wasn't a role he often found himself in, nor had he ever really engaged in such behavior throughout most of his lifetime. Generally solitary by nature, he felt discomfort at the prospect of physical contact with others. Yet, as he stood there, allowing her to express her emotions freely, a sense of comfort enveloped him. He recognized that this act mattered more than any personal idiosyncrasies he might possess; he was offering valuable support to someone who had gone out of her way to help him. Uriphiel made no movements of his own accord, instead letting Cynarith guide the interaction, signaling his unwavering support and willingness to be there for her for as long as she needed. The scent of her hair transported him back to their day at the racetrack, reflecting on every detail and trying to make sense of it all: From her profound love of horses to the deal made between himself and Sir Dorrel, and even that ignoramus with which she held a relationship. When Cynarith eventually withdrew, Uriphiel responded with a gentle nod of his head, accompanied by a soft smile. "Of course, Lady Cynarith," he murmured. As she led the way out of the stall and closed the door behind them, Uriphiel's attention wandered briefly to the rain outside, lost in contemplation about the future. He had worked so hard. Surviving, planning, plotting. He was on the verge of achieving his goals after two long years; he just needed to remain steadfast for a little while longer. He would see home again. Cynarith's soothing voice brought him back to the present, prompting him to focus on her words. With a golden gleam in his gaze, he walked alongside her as they exited the stable, positioning himself on the outer side of the awning to shield her from the rainfall. "I... am uncertain," he admitted. "I suppose I'll need to ensure that it works. And if it does, then I'll set off for Schezerade. My plan is to infiltrate the city, locate my squire, and perhaps seek support from the few friends I've made there for a coup. The challenge lies in gaining access to them; civilians aren't permitted in the barracks unless it's official business."
  
  
• 
  Cynarith listens intently to Uriphiel’s plans, her turquoise eyes reflecting both concern and admiration for his unwavering determination. As they walk towards the chateau, she considers his words carefully while contemplating the challenges that lie ahead for him. “I wish to fully understand the difficulty of your task,” she says, her voice soft but resolute. “I have faith in your abilities, Uriphiel.” Even though it is the first time she addresses him so informally, it feels right to say… so much so that she doesn’t even realize her faux pas. “You have already overcome so much, I’m sure these silly little events haven’t made it any easier, and I have no doubt that you will succeed in your mission.” She takes note of his automatic concern for her comfort or safety and finds it endearing how gentlemanly he is without even trying. “If it is official business you shall need… why don’t we make it so,” she continues, “maybe I can arrange a meeting with the chancellor of Vhys. I may not be able to join you in Schezerade, but I will do everything in my power to aid you from the outside. Whether it’s gathering information or providing supplies, consider me at your disposal.” Cynarith’s offer is genuine as her booted footsteps come to a stop and she meets his gaze. The offer is fueled by her deep admiration for Uriphiel’s bravery and resilience. By now they have reached her door and she is already dreading the fact she must part from Uriphiel, “I shall bid you goodnight… Uriphiel.”
  
  
• 
  Uriphiel's countenance shifted as Cynariths words of encouragement struck him right in the chest. His gaze softened as his head bowed, and deep inside he found a feeling that he’d needed for quite some time - confidence. It was as if all the insecurities and self-doubt suddenly left him, and for a moment, he felt a renewed hope that he might actually be able to succeed in this treacherous endeavour. With a gentle smile, he responded, “Thank you, Lady Cynarith. Your words touch my heart, deeply.” Although their time together, he felt, was nearing its end, that he had received all that he needed from the faux elven woman, she still managed to surprise him with another suggestion that he thought held quite the spark of brilliance. His gaze was distant as the cogs began to turn, a plan formulating as her idea sunk in. “I..,” he begins, pausing to choose his words quite carefully, “I.. must think upon it. Please, allow us to discuss this idea more in the morning hours, when we’ve had time to sleep, and allow our minds to refresh.” Although Uriphiel seems cautious with this line of thinking, it is not hard to hear the tinge of excitement in his voice as he says, “This… this could be very beneficial. Your genius is without boundaries,Lady Cynarith. Truly.” Unwilling to let himself reveal his elation any further, the avian regained his composure and simply smiled down at her as it came time to bid Lady Cynarith farewell for the evening. “I... extend my condolences for your loss, Lady Cynarith. Please do not let your sorrow make your night restless. Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day and we have much to discuss.” Without thinking of what he was doing, Uriphiel placed a hand upon the woman’s shoulder, giving it one final squeeze as he took in the radiance of her turquoise gaze one last time. With that, he departed for his quarters, leaving Cynarith to her thoughts, and hopefully, a peaceful slumber.