Neve often wondered if sheâd ever be used to the grandeur of it all. It still took everything in her not to gawk in awe at the ornately designed manors in which the richest fae resided, each bearing their own unique brand of beauty. As she stood in the garden of the estate that the last of the wedding reception had spilled out into, clutching a goblet of honey mead, Neve quietly people watched. There was plenty to drink in both in sights and wine. The nobility were particularly adorned tonight, competing as usual for the best dressed at the party. Feathers, gems, silk and embroidery were in full display - albeit a bit more disheveled and droopy as the night progressed.
Neve had not been sure how to dress for a wedding, having only been to one in her entire life that had been staged in a worn old barn. But, something had felt right about the silk gown in Lunaâs chest, the garment still wrapped in paper from the dressmaker. Itâs color stradled the warmest black, and the darkest brown, small black beads scattered across it that shimmered as they hit the light. It took much pushing and prodding, and strange undergarments that nipped one in at the waist and then expanded into a wide bell shape at the hips to accommodate the massive skirts of the gown. Neve had commissioned a matching pair of small devil-like horns encrusted in black diamonds that pinned into her raven hair near each temple and had covered her eyelids in the blackest kohl. She had signed in relief when she walked into the room, and saw others dressed in kind.
She was pulled, most uncomfortably, out of her buzzed daze as murmurs ran through the crowd and King Oberon himself strode out into the gardens, looking as bored as usual. She immediately looked around for the closest exit, her hand tightening around her goblet. Neve had had multiple near run-ins with the King that night, and the week before. Yet, she nearly always found a way to dip into the crowd before he could near her. Exchanging pleasantries with King Oberon always made her feel sick to her stomach. There was nothing that felt more high-stakes than being a murderer masquerading as the beloved cousin of a King to his face. The last time King Oberon her said hello to her, she had had to excuse herself to puke into the pot of a nearby plant.
Neve inelegantly hitched her skirts, darted behind the waiting crowd, and ducked into a servantâs side door that lead into the passageway to the kitchens. The hob exhaled as the sounds of boisterous voices faded, her hand flying to her heart as though it could still the pounding. âSun and stars!â she breathed, the familiar hearthling exclamation a comfort amidst all these stranger. Tonight had perhaps been a bit too much for her. There were too many faces to remember, and inside jokes to dodge. Her face ached from smiling too much. Neve giggled at her own momentary panic, her heart rate finally beginning to slow as she stood in the candlelight hallways. She turned to peek out and resume her people watching from afar, only to let out a shrill scream at a figure in the doorway.Â
Leaving Lunaâs impersonator was as much a relief as it was anxiety-ridden.Â
Always more secrets to keep.
Rye breathed a little easier once his eyes landed on Hadasa through the window out in the garden. His eyes scanned the ballroom on his way out, searching for the King to be sure he hadnât set his sights on finding out who Ryeâs date to the wedding was. Celestials knew enough rumors had been whispered in every corridor of the castle regarding the woman so many recognized from the Row.Â
He knew his error, his careless lapse in judgment as soon as it occurred. His eyes met Boneâs across the ballroom.Â
Rye cursed under his breath, and he turned away from her. His eyes found Oberon, far from Robin and seemingly uninterested in approaching the faerie, but Rye couldnât even take a momentâs reprieve in that knowledge. His skin prickled under a gaze he couldnât see, but was certain was behind him.Â
Changing course from heading outsideâfar from willing to lead Bone directly to RobinâRye instead beelined towards another group.
âSaera,â Rye said, putting on a warm smile as he touched a womanâs arm. But when she turned around, he realized it wasnât the Wolf Clan woman heâd thought she was, but someone else. Certainly a Solitary fae, though one of the Shark Clan, he was pretty sure. In either case, not the respite heâd been searching for. Ryeâs smile turned apologetic and sheepish, and he bowed his head politely. âIâm terribly sorry, I thought you were someone else.â The other women with her let out barely concealed laughs behind their hands, and Rye turned away, very nearly running into the exact person heâd been trying to avoid.Â
âArchmage Bone, wonderful to see you as always.âÂ
Once, Amity might have found any excuse to accompany Naveen to a celebration like the Silverstone and Hemlockâs nuptials. Ever the romantic, Amity had adored attending the all too rare faerie wedding. Those celebrations brought out the best in Amity. She was all too prepared to abandon her shyness in favor of merriment. But ever since she found out the truth about Sabina, she could not bring herself to muster that same enthusiasm. The idea of a wedding left a bitter taste in her mouth, some ugly cross between the metallic taste of rage and the ashen taste of grief. But as the Archmageâs favorite student, she could not afford to skip the Silverstone and Hemlock wedding without causing a stir.Â
Besides, as she made her preparations to run she could not afford to be seen pulling away from the Archmage and rouse his suspicion. So she donned her best navy gown with its embroidered ivory colored moon and stars, arranged her mess of curls into a respectable updo, and clasped a necklace of Hemmaâs around her neck.Â
The ceremony seemed to take ages and it was all Amity could do to feign interest throughout. When the guests were shepherded into a large ballroom, Amity was quick to grab a class from one of the servants and down it. A flush spread across her cheeks and chest, but she paid it no mind and reached for another before retreating to the sidelines.Â
She was just getting comfortable leaning against the wall when another faerie rounded the corner, nearly colliding with Amity. Amity reached out a steadying hand automatically, the other preoccupied with protecting her drink.Â
âAre you all right? Forgive me, I had no intention of startling you.âÂ
Cillian took a deep breath, glancing nervously left and right as he neared the cavern wall. If anyone was hanging around the nearby area, they would have immediately caught him for acting suspiciously; he prayed that he was, in fact, as alone as it seemed he was. His mind was racing, and he tried to push back the flood of nerves pressing up against his legs.
Ignoring his shaky knees and willpower, Cillian reached into the small pouch hanging from his belt. His fingers clasped around the thin handle of the small knife he'd brought, pulling it out. Carefully, the blade slipped into his palm, creating a shallow cut just deep enough to get the blood he needed. He winced, waiting until it pooled just enough to paint the sigil on the rocky wall in front of him.
A few swipes of his hand and he was finished, stepping back to admire his handiwork. His hand stung, and he absentmindedly wrapped it in a handkerchief he'd thought to bring as he waited. What if he hadn't done it correctly? This was his first time attempting something this...shady.
Illegal. The word rang in his mind like it was a sin, and he shook his head back and forth, trying to get it to shut up. What did he care about the ire of the Seelie Court? If he could find Ciere, then he would be long gone before they ever found out. He hoped.
A loud rumbling noise startled him from his thoughts as a hidden door carved into the rock began to slide open. He wrapped the handkerchief tighter around his throbbing hand tighter, the pain a constant reminder of just what it was he was about to do. When the entrance was open, he wasted no time slipping inside.
The Night Market was just as busy as Nightshade Row itself had been, much to his surprise. For a place filled to the brim with seedy behavior, he hadn't been expecting it to be this full of peopleâalthough, frankly, it was much preferred to walking into a ghost town. He slowly began his journey through the Market, glancing around for the merchant he had talked to previously.
He didn't see the other fae until he'd made it almost to the end of the road, their stall hiding in a shadowy corner in the back. Quickly, he made his way over to the stall, stepping up to the counter.
"One moment, sir, I'll be right with youâoh!" The fae glanced up, finally recognizing him, and their face lit up. "You made it!"
Cillian nodded. All of his former doubts about the situation were seeping into his mind once more, and he struggled to push them back out again as he spoke. "Indeed. Do you have the item we talked about?"
They nodded vigorously. "Of course, sir, right here!" Out of their pocket they pulled a small, wooden pentagon on a long metal chain with wooden beads. The wood was stained a deep red, and it had a rather interesting scent. Cillian resisted the urge to shudder as he reached for the object.
"And this will do what you said itâ"
"Careful, sir!" The fae swatted at his hand, wagging a finger as a slow smile came to their face. "There is, of course, still the matter of payment."
Cillian felt rage burning within him and did his best to temper it down. "I thought the blood sacrifice needed for the talisman was the payment. That was what we agreed upon."
"Not at all. You asked me what the talisman would require. I told you that it would require blood. That was the material, not the payment. And you said you would comply."
Damn. Curse the fae and their tricks. He'd fallen into yet another trap, walked right into it face-first. He sighed, gritting his teeth. When he looked back up at the fae, their smile was smug, and he stared straight at them as he spoke. "What payment will this talisman take?"
The fae's grin widened. "A memory."
Immediately, Cillian's heart began to race. He'd really stepped in it now. These guidelines were starting to feel like a blood contract...which, he guessed, it very well could be, if he wasn't careful. "What are the terms?"
"The usual for the Night Market. Something that would pain you to part with."
He thought carefully, trying to think of all of the possible workarounds before responding. "Okay," he said slowly. "You can have this one. But this is all you get. No arguments."
The fae nodded and leaned forward, listening intently.
The sun beat down on the yard out back of the small hut, warming the ground everywhere its rays touched the dirt. The washbasin sat on the unevenly packed earth, the bowl filled to the brim with water. It was hot when you hovered your hand over the surface, courtesy of the afternoon sun.
The washline jerked to the right as someone yanked a piece of cloth off of it. Looking closer as they folded it, that piece of cloth was actually a tunic. They moved to the basin, almost placing it inside before someone grabbed their hand.
"Wait, Cillian!" A woman's voice laughed. "You forgot the dye!"
"Did I?" the young fae sounded puzzled, peering over the edge of the basin into the watery depths. Sure enough, it was clear as crystal.
"Go grab some of the marigolds from the front yard." The woman waved him off, gently removing the cloth from his tight grip. He dashed away, returning shortly with a fist clenched tight and full of flower stalks.
Carefully, he leaned over the edge of the basin, one hand on the rim to steady him, the other clasped firmly in the woman's hand. He tossed the flowers into the dye bath, watching as they started to disintegrate on contact with the water. "How long will this take?" He glanced up at the woman, stepping away from the basin but still clutching her hand.
She smiled. "A little bit. But we can stir it to speed it up."
Cillian clapped his hands. "Let's!" He giggled, glancing around the yard for something. The woman laughed, reaching behind her for the large wooden pole that was leaning against the wall of the hut. She flipped it around, offering it to him clean end down so he could stir the pot.
He grabbed it, struggling with the size, and tried to put it over the lip of the tub, quickly getting frustrated when he couldn't manage it. "Hey, hey, come here," she said calmly, scooping him up into her arms. "Let's do it together, yeah?"
He laughed, wriggling slightly against her tight grip before focusing completely on his task. The grin dropped from his face, replaced by a serious expression as he carefully maneuvered the tip of the pole into the washbasin. Slowly, he began to stir, using his whole body to move it in circles. It was a messâhe was throwing droplets of dye everywhereâbut the woman didn't care, not saying a word as she watched him do it.
After a few minutes, she nodded. "Alright, that'll do." Cillian let go of the pole and she let him down, slipping between her hands to land with a barefooted thump on the ground. She offered him the wad of fabric he'd been holding previously.
Grinning, he snatched it, all of a sudden turning and running away from the house and further towards the forest. The woman cried out in both laughter and alarm, rushing after him. "Get back here, you little troublemaker!"
He squealed with joy, dodging her grabbing arms. Eventually, she managed to pull him into a tight hug, pinning his arms to his sides and triumphantly pulling the fabric away. "Mine now!"
He laughed, a bright noise that carried through the hills, and she quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. "Quiet, Cillian!" she hissed, still playfully, but much more serious now. He nodded, moving her hand from his mouth to his own much smaller hand, clasping her finger tightly.
Playtime over, the two walked back to the washbasin, returning to the dye pot to finish the job.
The fae smiled, waving a hand. "That'll do. Hereâ" they tossed the small talisman towards him "âis your prize."
Cillian caught it between both hands, his head suddenly feeling very fuzzy. What had they been talking about for the past...hour or so? He blinked, trying to shake off the feeling. The last thing he remembered was paying for the talisman.
"Off with you," the merchant shooed, motioning for him to leave the stall. "You'd better return."
Slowly, Cillian nodded, stepping back. "Thank you," he said softly, turning to leave. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, but he had a bad feeling about it.
Whatever. That wasn't important. Right now, he needed to get back inside the palace without showing anyone the talisman or them asking where he had been. Which...was going to be easier said than done.
The Stranger may have slowed down their killing spree, but their shadow still lingers on Midsummer. Fear is a powerful thing and it still lurks in even the bravest hearts. With the Stranger still at large, the authorities of both courts and clans have grown increasingly paranoid and ruthless in their pursuit.Â
With this next event, we will be pairing up characters randomly in the following scenarios:Â
Character A is stopped by Character B after the appointed curfew.Â
Character C is found by Character D, badly wounded.Â
Character EÂ and Character F are both running from something when they collide.Â
Character G is trailing Character H after they witness Character H engaging in a suspicious activity.Â
Character I watches Character J take to another character who is later found dead.Â
Character KÂ is looking for someone else, but finds Character L instead.
Character M and Character N are both stopped by the authorities for breaking curfew.Â
Character O finds Character P in a compromising position.Â
Character Q confronts Character R over their suspicion that they may be helping the Stranger.Â
To submit your character, please message the main through tumblr by June 6th. Pairings and scenarios will be posted on the 9th to give the writers time to plot.Â
Keep a close eye on the Magpieâs Nest. Throughout the event, updates will be posted at https://themagpiesnest-tff.tumblr.com/.Â
Additional Information:
Players with multiple characters can submit as many of their characters as they like, but pairings will not include two characters with the same writer.Â
Please tag all event posts under âTFFeventâ
Please follow The Magpieâs Nest if you had not done so already.
Harland couldnât quite wrap his mind around it, truth be told. There was something that sat heavily in his stomach at the thought of it, like a leaden weight or a stone, and the soldier had to squelch down the revulsion of it. He had not married this long for this very reason; he loved no one in the capitol, wanted nothing to do with anyone in the capitol, so what did it matter?
The screaming of a childâs laughter further into their family home reminded him. Ah, yes. That would be why.Â
Turning back to stare at his grandmother, Idunnaâs face all hard, smug lines, Harland resisted the urge to snarl at her. The blond was still in his uniform, having been called off the training fields to hear this idiotic proposal. One which, he now saw, had been planned for a great while.Â
âAnd who shall I be tied to for the rest of my days, so long as we both shall live,â he asked, voice droll.
âMy son, Lord Briar.âÂ
Harland turned, stunned to see Rahman Byrd sliding through the double doors to his left, poised and elegant as any court viper. The man flashed a tight-lipped smile, bowed to the pit viper beside him, and then sat. Hands folded before him, he continued to speak. âYou see, your...indiscretions have tarnished your familyâs reputation. My son is the heir to the queenâs guard. As such, his influence should be able to...mend that mistake you have made, in due time. However, your presence and the...steadfast quality of this family line should be, in my last hope, enough to temper my sonâs more...devilish qualities.âÂ
Raham spread his hands to encompass Harland and the room around him, a genial smile only making Harlandâs heart drop into his stomach. âIt is for the best for us all. And the contract has already been signed, you see, so to break such an engagement would be most unfortunate, donât you think? Naveen is on his way here now. You shall accompany him to the gardens with a chaperone.âÂ
The man stood, then, and left without so much as a by your leave, Idunna smug in her silence. It was clear that she had planned for this all along. Harland had nothing to say, so he hung his head, grit his teeth, and waited for the other man to arrive.Â
In the midst of the Strangerâs killing spree, the Royal household is targeted leading the King to question his mistressâ loyalties.Â
@the-lionamidstlambs
@alektobone
There was no shortage of fairies who wanted Countess Kit Scarlet dead, but there were very few indeed who knew the intricacies of her security detail. The proof of King Oberonâs paranoia lay plainly in the multiple layers of protection surrounding his mistress and his newly born daughter. Every fortnight, the King granted different advisors or courtiers insight into her security, hoping to flush out the Queenâs spies and assassins. The death toll had long grown incalculable. It did not matter to the King whether or not he had truly uncovered a plot against them or if the courtier simply had the misfortune of being trusted when an attack had already been planned. Only execution could set his fears at ease, a cure that weakened with each application.Â
His paranoia and ever-changing demands made it difficult for those few he entrusted with Kitâs safety, but any challenges were used as proof of betrayal. Thus, even Maddox was kept ignorant of certain details. He had no way to know that the King had relaxed his restrictions regarding access to the royal kitchens, allowing the Queen to send in her agents. When a pinch of wolfâs bane was added to the mortrew, it was so obscured by the heavy spices and pickled beef that Mariot did not register the bitterness. When she did not immediately begin to choke or gasp, the dish was carried up to the banquet hall where a few dozen of the Kingâs advisors, courtiers, and friends were partying.Â
As stewards and serving-girls scurried to and fro, clearing dishes and presenting new ones with a flourish, Countess Scarlet was lost in her thoughts. Her blue eyes had taken on a greyish hue, accentuated by the deep purple set underneath her eyes that seemed to shine through regardless of the glamour applied. In motherhood, her face was more angular and her blonde curls resisted all attempts to be tamed into delicate updos. No amount of elegant dresses or lavish jewelry could fully disguise her fatigue. Kit herself hardly seemed to notice, but the annoyance in the Kingâs gaze spoke volumes.Â
Her dish lay untouched before her and the serving-girl hesitated to clear it away, but Kitâs meal-taster, Clarrisa, nodded her approval after sampling a small portion of the still steaming mortrew. She leaned forward to whisper in her mistressâ ear and only the slight tilt of her head gave notice that Kit was listening.Â
âMistress, you should eat at least something. The King-â Clarissa began, but Kit sighed in response and lifted her wine glass to her lips, signaling her answer. The heavily tattooed human frowned but withdrew all the same.Â
The bitterness of her wine shocked Kit and she began to cough violently, drawing Maddox immediately to her side and the King stopped mid-sentence to turn to his attention to her. Kit waved a reassuring hand, clearing her throat. It was hard to believe she once had nearly drank her half her weight in wine daily. She barely could stomach a sip of the dry red without feeling her stomach rebel against her. Her hand went to her stomach, pressing firmly as if she could will her nausea away.Â
The mortrew began to cool, but Kit continued ignoring it. Her seated neighbors began to abandon hopes of engaging the fairie in sustained conversation. Kit searched again for the Kingâs gaze, her wish to be dismissed stated plainly in the set of her jaw. It had taken much cajoling to even draw Kit away from her sleeping daughter and into the royal banquet hall. Another hour passed in a similarly sluggish fashion and the King continued to pointedly ignore his mistress.Â
It was not until a panicked steward approached Maddox, whispering hurriedly, who then relayed a message to the King that Kit found her reprieve. The King abruptly announced that he, along with his closest advisors, would be retiring for the evening and that all others were to stay and enjoy the festivities. Kit gathered her dress and began to follow the King out, but once they were in the corridor and out of sight of the puzzled partiers, Maddox gripped her upper arm firmly and began to hurry her along.Â
âMaddox-â Kit began to protest, but the ever increasing speed at which her bodyguard pulled her forward brokered no argument. Behind them, Clarissa was silently lead away with the Kingâs party. It was only when they arrived in her chambers and barred the doors that Maddox met her confused eyes. Eliaâs nursemaid attempting to soothe the high pitched squealing bundle in her arms and Kit reached for her daughter, clutching her to her chest.Â
âDo not keep me in the dark, Maddox.â Kit snapped, turning her frustrations towards the nursemaid. âAnd Mattie, so help me if you woke my daughter without justifiable cause-â Mattie began to stammer her apologies, but Maddox reached for Kitâs hand, kneeling beside her, and silenced all but Elia.Â
âMattie had little choice in the matter, Countess. The King has made it very clear that in the event of to a threat to the household, Elia is to be brought to your chambers and I am to guard you both here until we are summoned or receive other instruction.â His gravelly voice was gentler than normal and if Kit had not been so tired and irritable, she might have sensed the gravity of their present circumstances.Â
âAnd what present danger stalks us now, Maddox? Being bored to death? Or perhaps suffocated by Lord Folkesâ stench?â Kit snapped, her grip on Elia tightening. âOr is this just punishment for asking to be excused from a banquet?âÂ
âOne of the tasters in the kitchen collapsed moments ago. She had sampled quite a few of the dishes, so it is still unclear who poisoned her and who they meant to harm, but-âÂ
âWhere is Clarissa?â Kit abandoned her attempt to soothe her daughter, passing her quickly to Mattie and striding towards the barred door. Maddox caught her easily, placing himself between the door and Kit.Â
âWith the King and his advisors.â Maddox answered, his voice thick. Clarissa and Maddoxâs friendship ran just as deeply as the bond between mistress and meal-taster.Â
âTake me to them,â Kit ordered, her fire returning with a vengeance. Maddox did not relax his grip and pressed his forehead to hers.Â
âI cannot. Not unless we are summoned. You know this. We have no choice in the matter-âÂ
âYou will take me to them, Maddox. I will not sit here and wait for summons while he studies Clarissa like she is a dog, poking and proding her to see how long it takes for her to collapse or-â Kit descended into sobs, attempting to wipe the tears from her eyes and push pass her shadow. His hold gave way into an embrace, equally meant for soothing and restraining. She began her futile attempt to claw at the bar, hoping to unlatch it and run.Â
âI am truly sorry, Kit,â Maddox whispered.Â
âHe wonât even try to heal her, Mads,â Kit cried. âHeâll just watch. I cannot sit here while she is alone and-â her protests were muffled as he cradled her head into his chest, obscuring the treasonous curses and cries. But her sobs could be heard down the corridor all the same.Â
There is much to report, dear readers; and so very little time.
Both courts, along with all of the clans, have implemented some form of curfew in addition to increasing patrols. Even the pacifist Sparrow Clan now has nightly patrols, ensuring all are tucked away into their treehouses. Despite these increased security measures, the Strangerâs toll has only risen. Even the Kingâs mistress, so recently elevated to Countess, seems to have been a target. Of course, with her newly borne bastard daughter, we cannot completely rule out the Queenâs involvement. Other notable targets include Aubrey Crane, suggesting that the Stranger fears neither lawman or criminal. It would appear both Harland Briar and Vera Pike have mostly recovered from their brush with the Stranger, and only time will tell if Kit Scarlet and Aubrey Crane will follow suit.
To date, here is our most recently compiled list of assassinations/ targets.
Harland Briar, Seelie, recovered
Ethel Grancourt, Seelie, deceased
Mary Wren, Seelie, deceased
Thalia Efraim, Sparrow Clan, deceased
Louise Forde, Sparrow Clan, deceased
Serena Shells, Shark Clan, currently recovering
Kit Scarlet, Unseelie, currently recovering
Aubrey Crane, Unseelie, currently recovering ďżź
Morell Moret, Unseelie, deceased
Geoffrey Wlyde, Wolf Clan, deceased
Methel Strongshield, Wolf Clan, deceased
Vera Pike, Fox Clan, recovered
Alyce Norwood, Fox Clan, recovered
Thrystan Baker, Clanless, deceased
A pattern is clearly emerging: those in positions of power seem to be the Strangerâs true target. Other kills seem to be collateral damage, likely to try to throw investigators like ourselves off the scent. Alas, motives of the Stranger remains a mystery to even us. Their target pool is too evenly dispersed among courts and clans to favor any individual group as the culprit. Furthermore, a string of grisly assassinations hardly seem to be aligned with the Tears of Iwanâs agenda. The deaths are far too public to be the work of the Church of Lilith.
We will watch closely, Midsummer. Take care, and we shall talk soon.
