I was flying and gathering fae in Faethorn, then this happened finally! Thanks to all who were there!
A sense of anticipation thrums through the forests, as power surges within the Faethorn Court.
(Glomdoring): You say, "Come to the Tree."
Shadows wax, the scent of blood and roses fill the air, and a faint mist rolls in as the presence of
the Wyrden Pantheon turns its attention upon you.
A chorus of voices echo in your mind, "It is time, children of the Wyrd. The Tree shall bear fruit,
and the Maeve shall be unshackled. Stand there with Us and behold her salvation."
Within the bough of the Queen's tree.
Silvery moonlight sparkles in the air. The shadows have been gathered here. It is quite mild.
Ensconced within the enveloping branches that comprise the Queen's tree, the light filtering into
the shaded bough creates a dappled mosaic of brilliance. Within the confines of the limbs, an ornate
doorway leads into the trunk itself. A welcoming light splashes outwards from the opening in a
friendly invitation for anyone to enjoy the Queen's grace. Ornate filigree adorns the edges of the
naturally moulded wood comprising the doors and their handles. A walkway of fresh flower petals
carpets the woven limbs that grace the pathway to the entrance. The silvery leaves of a faebush
gently billow in the wind. The Tree of Memories stretches into the sky, its canopy of moonhart
leaves and raven feathers dancing in an unbroken breeze. There are 2 charming mugwumpi princes
marionette here. Narynth Ysav'rai is here. She wields Sobrus in her left hand and Siberus in her
right. A statuesque, urn-bearing ice nymph drifts here, fierce countenance alertly scanning the area.
Darach Tylwyth, Keeper of the Black Nest is here, shrouded. He wields a mystic cudgel in his left
hand and a kite shield of crow in his right. Shadowbound Caarvaes is here, shrouded. He wields an
athame dagger in his left hand and a runic greatshield of shadowy steel in his right. High Chief
Everiine Silvermoon the Wise, Centaur Brother is here. He wields a silver Warrior Spirit rapier in
each hand. More-than-medium Wisdom Ryylaet Talnara, Selenomanic Sophophiliac is here, shrouded. He
wields an athame dagger in his left hand. Gardener-Dedicant Kurut Bloodthorn, of the Hart is here.
She wields a glowing powerstone in her left hand and a golden sickle in her right.
You see a single exit leading in.
Her dark eyes flaring with a soft bout of shadowfire, you say, "She shall heal at last."
With a wistful look on his face, Everiine touches the Tree of Memories.
High Chief Everiine Silvermoon the Wise, Centaur Brother says to the Tree of Memories, "I hope that
there were enough..."
Power thrums from the Tree of Memories, the sense of anticipation becoming thick in the air.
Silver light and tendrils of shadow flare with equal strength upon the bark and boughs of the Tree
of Memories as it begins to bear fruit: licks of power that weave their way deep within the Queen's
tree in search of her majesty.
Whispers of recorded memories ripple through your mind: of joy and sorrow, light and dark, stories
and tales that stir the very depths of the soul.
Gossamer threads of power lift the Queen of the Fae aloft, carrying her high above the boughs of
Faethorn. She raises her arms and casts her head forward as if in rapture, eyes fluttering closed.
Then, spilling shards of scarlet, the image of the Weeping Amaranth upon her skin begins to shudder
It lifts from the Queen's form - drifting out into the air as if peeled from her skin - and hovers
behind her, gleaming a deep shade of crimson.
Everiine flutters his wings, watching carefully.
Salome gazes on within the heavens with determination, a calculative lift of her
brow her only movement.
Narynth exhales audibly, eyes trained on Maeve.
Gasps flood up from the Court - the Knights and few lucky enough to reside there begin to raise
their voices in cheers...and then, suddenly, they cut off.
The pointed tips of Ryylaet's ears twitch to some errant sound.
For the brand turns in the air, shudders once more, and disappears entirely in a flurry of motes of
light that wink out of existence as soon as they appeared.
Everiine's ears perk up with a sudden interest.
Lleuke dances down a moonbeam and alights gently on the ground.
Everiine points to the sky.
The hushed silence turns into panicked murmurs as the Queen's form descends back within the boughs
of her tree, hanging limp and lifeless.
Lleuke narrows his eyes and looks up toward the shifting ethereal skies.
You whisper, "No..."
The Queen's Throneroom.
It is quite mild. The silvery leaves of a faebush gently billow in the wind. Yipping playfully as he
hops back and forth, Arco, the Hound of Papaxi, is here, his dark fur shimmering with an ethereal
light. The Queen of the Fae stands here beside her throne, her face wan with beads of sweat upon her
brow. A white, angry pony with blue feathered wings stands here quietly. Darach Tylwyth, Keeper of
the Black Nest is here, shrouded. He wields a mystic cudgel in his left hand and a kite shield of
crow in his right. More-than-medium Wisdom Ryylaet Talnara, Selenomanic Sophophiliac is here,
shrouded. He wields an athame dagger in his left hand.
Silken tresses fall from a regally poised head adorned with a simple circlet of leaves that artfully
keep the waterfall of hair in place. A stunning pearl torc hangs across her otherwise unadorned neck
hanging deeply enough that it covers nearly all of her torso with a radiant grace. Eyes of a
startling violet dance with an otherworldly knowledge and an aura of power seem to emanate from the
air surrounding her. Completing the ensemble is a rainbow-hued skirt that envelopes the Queen's
lower half and hangs down so it continually brushes against the ground as she walks.
Queen Maeve of the Fae does not even register your presence as a threat.
Lleuke arrives from the down.
Everiine removes an ancient bronze helm of the Jaguar.
Queen Maeve of the Fae's body trembles and she does not speak, wisps of power radiating from her
Tylwyth kneels before Queen Maeve of the Fae, swearing his allegiance to her.
Ryylaet kneels onto one knee, demonstrating his humility and respect.
Everiine kneels in front of Queen Maeve of the Fae and flutters his wings.
His right arm reaching out with his fingers toward Maeve, Lleuke Myeras, Bearer of the Silver
Chalice says, "Oh, Queen Maeve..."
You have emoted: Salome Nightshade strides forward, her eyes wide as she stands protectively over
the Queen Maeve as she observes his movements in silence.
Slowly, with the weakness of a newborn babe, the Queen turns her head, taking in the sights of the
assembled mortals. With a croak, Queen Maeve of the Fae says, "... Laeroc... my Laeroc..."
Lleuke creases his brow in a frown.
Everiine's wings fall, downcast.
Queen Maeve of the Fae reaches out to meet Lleuke's fingers, her own gently caressing his. "My...
Laeroc... it hurts," she communicates, her eyes unfocused upon Lleuke.
Everiine Silvermoon puts a hand on Lleuke's shoulders.
Tylwyth wraps a comforting arm around Queen Maeve of the Fae.
Softly, Queen Maeve of the Fae says, "It hurts... but it... it..." She struggles to speak, struggles
to say what 'it' is, her hand still only briefly touching Lleuke's own. Wit the sudden presence of
Tylwyth's arm, she croaks out, "It is... gone."
Lleuke's gaze falls to Maeve's neck as he nods, sighing heavily.
Softly, High Chief Everiine Silvermoon the Wise, Centaur Brother says to Queen Maeve of the Fae, "It
is... finally, it is gone."
With a brush of feathered wings Salome finds a perch delicately upon the Queen's
trembling shoulder, her own observations remaining wordless and without comment.
Dilated and unclear, Queen Maeve of the Fae's eyes fall upon Everiine, the man who spoke, her face
twisted in a sudden state of confusion. She remains silent, saying nothing for a long time before
turning to Lleuke again. "My Laeroc... please, help me." At the sudden landing of Salome upon the
Queen, Maeve's body presses further into the ground: her complete weakness now evident.
Lleuke Myeras, Bearer of the Silver Chalice asks Queen Maeve of the Fae, "How can we help you?"
Everiine Silvermoon turns to Lleuke with a confused and sympathetic frown.
You nod solemnly to Lleuke.
Her form more prostrate than ever, crushed even by the feather-light weight of the faeling Marshall,
Queen Maeve of the Fae tries to speak but does not, her hand slipping from Lleuke's as she uses
whatever strength she possibly has left to force herself tall.
You have emoted: Salome lifts delicately from her shoulder, the gentle touch of a healing aura her
remaining motion as she lands at the side of the Queen.
Free of Salome's presence, from Tylwyth's lingering arm, from even Lleuke-as-Laeroc's hand, Queen
Maeve of the Fae tries whatever she can to force herself up. Moment by moment, she strains, the
tiredness awash on her face and her limbs; sweat staining her dress, the torc even holding her down
somewhat. But she manages, standing upright before collapsing into her throne.
Softly, Queen Maeve of the Fae says, "My... Laeroc... this sweet pain, the pain of freedom..."
Lleuke's eyes never stray from Maeve as he listens to her words.
Queen Maeve of the Fae closes her eyes, taking the moment to simply rest.
Everiine stands and bows to the Queen on her throne before stepping aside and listening.
Lleuke nods his head at Avurekhos.
Eyes still closed, Queen Maeve of the Fae says, "My Laeroc... do you remember the honey wine that we
drank long ago? To celebrate the honoured presence of Kiakoda?"
Queen Maeve of the Fae's chest rises and falls as she breathes, allowing the moment to pass as she
absently dozes into her memories.
His eyes gazing about at the others, Lleuke Myeras, Bearer of the Silver Chalice says, "There there,
Lleuke whispers soothing words to Queen Maeve of the Fae.
Kurut shuffles her feet uneasily.
Sondayga glances down, a slight concern on his face.
A slight smile forms upon Queen Maeve of the Fae's lips, hearing the whispered consolation from
Kurut tugs urgently on Enyalida's sleeve.
You have emoted: Salome Nightshade gazes at the whispered words passed between Everiine and Lleuke
with a measure of curiousness in the downward curl of her lips. At last she speaks, her voice a
serene rejuvenating calm of dark, "And this wine, my Queen, where are we to find it?" She inquires.
Queen Maeve of the Fae says to Lleuke, "My Laeroc... who speaks? Who is there?" The Queen's eyes
open, slowly as if fighting against the heavy desire to sleep. "My Laeroc... My Laeroc..."
Everiine Silvermoon urges Lleuke to answer.
Lleuke Myeras, Bearer of the Silver Chalice whispers, "Laeroc will always be with you... he speaks
through the cycles of nature, but he is there."
You tell Lleuke Myeras, Bearer of the Silver Chalice, "What is the meaning of this? Why does she
think you Laeroc?"
Lleuke tells you, "You know as much as I."
Salome closes her eyes, a reflection of regret cast over her hardened features.
Queen Maeve of the Fae's lips quirk in a subtle frown, creasing into something firm and unsure. "...
what?... what?" she questions, her eyes opening wide suddenly. "... you... you are not my Laeroc,"
she mumbles, panic taking over her expressions. "Where... where is he?!"
Lleuke purses his lips for a few moments, but then musters up an answer in a soft whisper. "The
greatest sacrifice, his love for you. He has passed on to another realm of existence... but he is
here, and he is safe...
Tears begin to well at her eyes, and breathlessly, Queen Maeve of the Fae says, "... no."
Everiine Silvermoon squeezes Lleuke's shoulder.
A sudden gust of air engulfs Queen Maeve of the Fae, who stands still and unflinching. Fear echoes
from her eyes, however, as the ethereal gale tears through her clothing, and when it subsides, she
maintains a slight tremble.
Teardrops fall down the Queen's face, dripping in small, dark spots upon her gown. Then, then it all
comes out: a rain of sobs as Queen Maeve of the Fae cries, curling herself into a ball in her throne.
"Away," she croaks between wails, between sniffles. "Away!" she commands, more forcefully, her hands
gripping onto the fabric of her gown.
Sondayga Zayah, Marshall's Guard asks, "Is it safe to leave her is such a state?"
The tension in the air of the Court shifts and changes; where once it was anticipation, it becomes
sorrow, the Queen's anguish felt by all of her subjects.
Sondayga creases his brow in a frown.
Shadowbound Caarvaes says, "I do not think that is your choice to make."
Little by little, the nervous murmurs from the fae turn to distant sobs, to hitched breaths, to
Caarvaes bows respectfully to Queen Maeve of the Fae.
Darach Tylwyth, Keeper of the Black Nest says, "We shall go."
Quietly, his voice heard between the Queen's sobs, a knight of the Queen's Honour Guard says, "Do
not worry, Her Honour Guard shall defend Her."
Tylwyth bows respectfully to Queen Maeve of the Fae.
Mnemosyne raises a paw to her heart and with the other, brushes Maeve's hand gently before leaving
her in peace.
Caarvaes tells you, "This is a heart-wrenching turn of events."
Salome gently kneels and touches the very edge of the dais upon which the queen's
through rests. And with that, she dissipates in clouds of reaching shadow.
Sondayga bows deeply.
The apple is cold, crisp, and sour as the juices fill your mouth. As you consume the fruit, you glimpse, for a moment, a massive, shadowy figure, Her snow-white hair framing a perfect, icy-eyed visage. Beneath you, a vast, perfect web of silken strands lies - and, for a moment, you realize that you too are part of it, weaver and strand both - and home.