RP:The Silver and The Blue - A tale of Foxglove and Wisdom

Summary: Thamalys is about to fly back to Larket, after having retrieved some rare flavour of foxglove, when Hildegarde makes her appearance on the very same cliff. The parley seems off to a very good start, at least till the Queen reveals her true identity to the Avian. The latter reacts with a mixture of dread and fear, Dragons being a difficult race for him to deal with, and most importantly as he is responsible for having recently butchered some Frostmawians. Nonetheless, Hildegarde shows some enviable sangfroid and limits herself to a most welcome speech about the interplay between nobility and power, with not-so-subtle references to the recently conquered peace between the two cities. The Blue, impressed by the wisdom of the Monarch, reciprocate with the donation of a foxglove tinture that should ease some nasty symptoms the Silver has been chronically experiencing, obtaining in exchange an invitation to Frostmaw, to discover some more herb lore within the local library. Soon after, the Avian flies away, shaken but thrilled, full of doubt and hope in equal measure.

Xalious Mountains: Steep Cliff

Thamalys stood at the very edge of the cliff, most of his body hidden by the massive extent of his wings, unfolded, outstretched, a ivory curtain longing to feel the air once more. The tattooed chest of the Avian raised and lowered, slowly, following the rhythm of his own breathing, the ivy branches inked into the pale skin coming to life again and again at every tiny movement. Arms wide open, the fabric of his shirt, pearly white and apparently brand new, Thamalys gazed into the void, savouring the wind, anticipating the thrill of towering over this silly forest from the mighty heights of the sky. No sandals, no boots, nothing covering his bare feet - why would he care? - the breeze dancing with the many, untidy braids framing the bony features of his face. Despite the recent circumstances, he carried no visible weapon, but only a satchel hanging across his shoulders, some bright pink flowers - apparently - trying to escape the leathery prison. "Or maybe do I need a bit more after all?" he muttered in the softest of voices, nailing his solid blue eyes on the stony surrounding, as if trying to pinpointing some hidden treasure lying within.

Hildegarde , like Thamalys, was one of the few in this world that could reach such heights with relative ease and leave it without the fear that most visitors would have. Like Thamalys, she too enjoyed visiting these high reaches of the world: the isolation from others and the enjoyment of vast views that allowed one to reach a thoughtful kind of peace and enjoyment for the little things in life, such as the cool breeze that dances around the cliff. “It never hurts to have a little more,” she interjects, having overheard Thamalys thinking aloud. Not that he had spoken loudly. Perhaps it was a combination of the breeze carrying his voice and the otherwise silent cliff or perhaps Hildegarde was not quite as human as she looked. Unlike the avian before her, Hildegarde was clad in heavy platemail armour. Bright, shimmering mithril with a fur trimmed pale blue cloak hanging from her shoulders. Assuming that she climbed this cliff, it would have been arduous to say the least! But she doesn’t appear to be fatigued or weary. The ugly woman seems to bear the burden of armour and weaponry all too well.

Thamalys turned around with a most graceless move, uncertain footing and unwieldy wings, his eyes narrowing sharply while trying to focus upon the alien form of the Silver. A most peculiar sighting, the Cliff being rarely visited by anyone save for some massive birds of pray, the imposing outfit of the Queen did not really ring any particular bell - not to the most forgetful Thamalys, his knowledge of the vast world still utterly incomplete even at this very stage. Caught definitely off-guard, the Avian would have thus proceeded to fold his wings, this move flawless instead, a single gesture that brought into the light the quite bony shapes of the battered Blue. "Why, I suppose this is quite true, ma'am. Although I would gladly bet an hefty sum you would not really want any of that I was looking for". A queer tone the one produced by the Avian, not quite rude but somehow annoyed, as if having missed the approaching of the Silver did piss him off to quite an extent. "Rather nasty flowers, these ones..." he went on, pointing with is right hand to the satchel, only to conclude sharply enough, "but I am forgetting manners - apologies. I go by the name of Thamalys, ma'am. May I be so bold to ask for yours?" The slightest hint of a bow would have followed, his eyes nonetheless never leaving the frightening whole of the Silver.

Hildegarde shrugged her shoulder when Thamalys claimed he would gladly bet she wouldn’t want what he was seeking. “Oh, you never know!” she said in reply, adding swiftly yet politely, “Though I do not know what it is you seek, so I certainly cannot say. But stranger things have happened, m’lord.” Such was life in Lithrydel. If Hildegarde is aware of the irritation in his voice, she makes no sign of it. She likely hasn’t picked up on it at all. “Thamalys. Honoured to meet you, m’lord,” she said in turn, giving a respectful dip of her head. “I am Hildegarde the Silver,” she tells him, not expecting nor hoping for recognition. “Do you often visit the cliffs and mountains of the world?” she asks him, briefly gesturing to his large and pretty wings.

Thamalys recoiled as if hit squarely in the chest by a poisoned arrow. "The Queen of Frostmaw!" he yelled, pacing slightly backwards if not entirely off balance, those massive wings twitching madly, his right hand swiftly running across his side as to grab the hilt of sword that it was just not there. His eyes followed soon after the rather unwelcomed realisation of being utterly unarmed and unprotected against the might of she whose army he contributed to butcher in person not too many days ago. Trying to pull himself together, the Avian still let go of some additional comment. "By the Wind, of all the people within these bloody mountains..." then the bliss of some silence, the breeze only dictating the space of the dialog, the Blue slowly regaining much of his usual stance. "This is a rather unfortunate encounter, I am afraid. Two things I believe you have the right to know." But for those words to leave his thin, grey lips, he would have sit down, crossing his legs and resting much of his weight on the palms of both hands, arms stretched beyond his shoulders to connect with the dusty soil, eyes low, apparently intent at studying the very details of every pebble. "At first, I am actually guilty of having taken part to that awful, useless waste of lives that soiled the Larket's bridge days ago. However!" he rose his voice and eyes as well, as to underline the truth in his words "I did it because of an oath I swore to somebody I care dearly about. I had, and have not, any particular reason to take any side. Beside..." he would add, a tiny bit of hope clearly distinguishable in his speech, "I believe we shall have peace, if I am not mistaken? A wedding, even! Ah, the irony..." he concluded, shaking his head, those braids of his dancing wildly across his face, where the shadow of an impossibly sad smile seemed to have surfaced.

Hildegarde outstretched her hand when Thamalys recoiled, worried he might accidentally stumble off and over the edge of the cliff. While he would likely fly away, he could still seriously hurt himself if he did so happen to fall! Yet he seems to compose himself and even sit down calmly. “An incident which I did not authorise nor have any knowledge of until it had happened,” she confesses to the stranger. “The attack happened because men in my own camp grew impatient and thought that they knew better. They did not trust in me, but they trusted in their blades,” she murmured. “A cold war puts fear into people. Even the most battle hardened. I do not blame you for doing as you did, we all do what we must in times of war. But aye, peace we are to have,” though Hildegarde was not too happy with the peace. Nor was Macon, truth be told. It was an uneasy peace at best.

Thamalys nodded gravely, for one thing much relieved by the evidence that the Silver did not seem especially keen on cut him down to pieces for having slaughtered his men. A wise and merciful one... so he heard, but then, why Valen's loyalty to Larket - and King Macon - instead? Cumbersome matters for another day. Now, the Avian had to deal with the fact that standing he was facing yet another Dragon - a kin that brought so much pain into his head, he was not even sure he could have managed to fly back to The House. Yet another matter for later on. "The words of a Queen, ma'am. And a rather wise one, I would venture to say despite my rather scarce experience in terms of royalty. And yet, if you trust this peace, so I shall as well. Thank you for your understanding. Now, as per those mysterious flowers..." he would have stood, now, painstakingly rising from the soil, his tone a bit more cheerful now, the mind of the Neophyte already running fast, his hands fiddling with the laces of the satchel still across his shoulders. "This is a rather rare variety of foxglove, that I found only grows within the Xalious Mountains. If treated correctly, it gives a most potent cardiotonic - or, in fact, a quite lethal poison, according to the dosage. This preparation..." he went on, producing a tiny flask from the satchel, filled with a scarlet liquid glowing fiercely in the light, "... is amazingly good in steadying the heartbeat of any creature, no matter the effort he or she would have to undertake. Dragons included, my Queen. If you want to give it a try, or indeed if you want to keep the whole flask, please do. It shall be the very silly little payback for my deeds that dire day. If you can accept it, that is." his eyes genuinely hinting at offering some form of compensation.

Hildegarde waved her hand when Thamalys spoke of having little experience with royalty. “I am not born of nobility, so truly, I am no better than any man or woman. If you catch me thinking like I am, you just tell me,” she tells him with a friendly smile. Though she was certainly a very ugly and disfigured woman, she had a sweeter personality. When he finally tells her about those mysterious flowers, the knight listens with intense interest. She isn’t the most intelligent of women, nor does she have a knack for healing or herbs, so she’s truly fascinated by this conversation. “Steady a heartbeat?” she repeats, with evident interest. “Say, do you think it might help someone with that warrior’s malady?” The warrior’s malady was a near taboo subject to some cultures. It was an affliction of both the mind and soul: a terror that plagued a warrior who had seen far too much in their time of service, a mark that never quite left them and forever changed them. A trauma that would never fade. “In either case, I’d happily accept. I could do with learning these things!” she tells him with a little smile. “So, you like herbs then? Healing and whatnot?”

Thamalys presently cracked a true smile, miles away from that sorrowful expression he put up just moments before. Finding himself able to help, peasant or Queen it mattered not, having a task to dedicate himself to... those were the things that were truly - albeit slowly - healing him. A silent, grateful thought to the icy features of Emilia, and back into the moment to the issue at hand. He would have dedicated some instants to mumble some nonsense while trying to gathering his thoughts, before eventually attempting a coherent response. "The sickness you describe seems to be something that roots deeply, a complex interplay between flesh and thought... no herb, however potent or rare, i believe could ever cure such an awful disease, I am afraid. Nevertheless... he continued, now offering the flask directly to the Silver, taking a couple of long, clumsy strides toward her, "... I feel this particular tinture can still help greatly. I used to spend most of the night unable to take sleep, the thundering of my own heart beating in my chest to loudly that I could not set my mind at ease. And I know I am not alone, so many of us who have been forced to take someone else's life would have symptoms likewise. I usually recommend two drops, at most three times per day... well, to the average man. For... a Dragon, well, I would start with two and increase the dose slowly enough to avoid any drawback. As I said, too much would mean a rather painful death. And..." he added, slightly inclining his head to the left, "I am absolutely fascinated by any form of herb lore. I have been given the opportunity to have a look into many a book at the House of Ara, where I am serving the Guild as a - very inexperienced - Neophyte. It is just marvellous to be able to help mending what has been broken. So rewarding. But these hands..." upon which he actually fixed his gaze, while concluding "... these were trained to magic and blades alike, I am afraid. My memories are a bit... confused, shall we say, at the moment, but my body does remember how to dance with flames and swords... it does fell like being constantly torn in two, if I am explaining myself. Maybe nobility you were not, but I guess that being Queen does enforce some strain as well, in this sense?" Silly curiosity, genuine interest, hard to tell.

Hildegarde reached out to accept the flask containing the purple tincture. “Thank you,” she said softly, tucking it away into a pouch hanging from her sword-belt. “I’ll give it a go,” she told him, “let you know how I find it.” As he talks about his fascination with herbs and learning of healing, the Silver offers him a smile. “Too few in this world know how to heal, far too many know how to wound. I cannot say I am a healer, for I know I have dealt many wounds in my time,” and she has received many if her horrid face is any indication, “but truly, your art is a special one. Have you been to Frostmaw? I hear there are many herbs and the like in my city that have potent uses in the art of healing. Thane Josleen—well, future Queen of Larket Josleen, knows much about these herbs,” she tells him. “Perhaps you should visit. Peruse the herbs there and learn some more?” An open invitation it would appear! As he asks about the strain of being Queen, the Silver offered him a little smile and nod of her head. “Some people aim to wear a crown in life. Some people do not. I never intended to wear a crown in my life, I sought only to serve… and the crown is the heaviest burden one shall ever feel in their life.” The Silver pauses for a moment, as if thinking of what she can add that might better explain her feelings on the matter. “Beware the one who yearns for the crown, m’lord, for they yearn only power and no true responsibility. Nobility… Nobility is rank and station, that is true. But true nobility? That is compassion, truth, justice and wealth of heart, not wealth of pocket. True nobility is what this world needs most.”

Thamalys bowed is head to a tiny extent, the shortest acknowledgment only needed. "Don't mention it. Truly, this is the least I can do. And yes, why, I will be delighted to visit!" he added, openly excited by the mere idea, a picture of countless volumes stuffed with ancient knowledge rapidly forming in a not-so-remote corner of his mind. He would have to ask for a formal permission, but then, was he not meant to learn as much as he possibly could? On and on the thoughts of the Avian would have piled up, were it not for the lecture about nobility and power. So much truth condensed in those words, much like pure water freezing into a tiny snowflake. He stood silent for a while, exhaling a long sigh, pondering the weight of that speech, trying to put it into context, although with very little success. "Ah, it is useless, wise one. Power is a notion utterly alien to me, and nobility... the Wind knows. Maybe I was indeed of the purest blood of the Ancient ones, but it is indeed as you just said. We do need something else, here, something able to really sew the fates of Frostmaw and Larket together in such a way that people could eventually thrive in peace. I shall treasure your words, and I will do what I can to strengthen the peace we are looking for, even if by just picking up some wild foxglove. Now..." he would have concluded, his head turning already toward the terrifying extent of the void ahead of the Cliff, "... I am afraid it is time for me to go. Better not to upset the Master Healers, not when I'll have to ask them for permission to leave for Frostmaw - if indeed you'll be so kind to have me there for a little while." Having said that, the Blue saluted the Silver with a small gesture of both head and right hand, before sprinting toward to edge of the cliff. "Farewell, o' Wise one!", he yelled before leaping off the stone into the void, unfurling those huge white wings in one, fluid move, a gentle thermal already pushing up their feathery edges high and above. A matter of a minute only, and the queer shapes of the Avian rapidly melted away already into the sky.

This RP is linked to: RP:Battle for the Bridge