[ The journey from the land of Iorveth's fellows, somewhat abandoned in the wake of his two allies having left, seems near pointless. They each know why she stands at his side and it is not for his company nor his friendship; the ever present pull of his shard against her body is enough to make her want to move closer, to sink her fingers into his chest and drag out the shimmering power so that she can use it, claim it for her own.
It's not so easy, however, even as she settles and considers what the future may hold for them.
They travel back towards Treun, now, towards the population, and her nerves are alight with it. She knows how people react to her, to the colour of her hands and the scars around her ears, the darkness that seems to follow her like an unruly shadow. She moves back, hesitant as she walks behind Iorveth but unwilling to let him see her weakness; it's been weeks, now, that they have travelled together, but that does not mean there is any trust for them to share. They work together because it benefits them both, not because they see one another as friend.
She wants to Turn, but she is on edge, tired, and dares not. Wolves are hunted as much as witches. ]
He's down to the last handful of shardbearers that he needs to find. There's only a few that have refused any and all summons and hidden themselves away in the far corners of the Drabwurld and he's here, in this forest looking for one of them. The name on his list is Sumsi Punu and from what he's been able to gather from others who knew him, he's likely been turned into an animal of some sort. (Again.)
The last time it happened, he'd spent almost a decade as a fisher and Harry decides that's reason enough to look about where fishers might be found. He's no animal tracker, but over the past few months, he and Linn have worked out various ways to help guide a shardbearer towards other magic users. It doesn't always lead to a shardbearer, but it generally points him in a direction, if not the right one. Overhead on his broom, he spots a wolf and a rabbit in a clearing and as he descends, he hopes that it's the wolf he'd been coming to talk to.
The night is dark around her as she stalks through the forest, eyes flicking here and there as she hunts; food is not as important as it once was, not in the way it might be for others, but if she doesn't feed herself, her magic, then it twists inside of her and becomes something worse, sapping the life out of her body and using it against her. It's better to hunt and eat, even if she has to do it raw, often, than it is to ignore the urges that overcome her.
Her teeth have just snapped around the neck of a hare when she feels the pulse of shard magic, her head lifting as she lowers her ears. It's not Iorveth, that she can tell, and she takes a few cautious steps backwards as she regards him. If he approaches she might well have to turn back to herself - already she can feel the exhaustion coiling around her - but she has the upper hand like this, freer and with no consequences for attacking other people.
[ The day is brighter, now, and Lauralae does little more than wrap herself deeper in her robe. Her hair hides her ears, what remains of them, and she tugs it deeper over her face, letting herself be buried in the shadows. The city is too large for her, too many people wandering around, whispering and calling out for friend and ally alike, and she shifts as she moves forward.
Iorveth is behind, examining knives and swords, she imagines, things that hold no interest for her, not with her scarred arms and the powerful force inside of her. She doesn't need nor require his alliance - she simply wants it, for what lies inside of him.
Still, she finds herself on the edge of the place, looking up at the fields that bustle around the outskirts, her face set and steeled before she twists, turning and moving out, walking down from the walls and back towards the markets. There are still things that she wants to find - vials, herbs, fabric and a belt, potions, perhaps, that she wants to take with her. If she is to go to Redgate then she must be prepared. ]
[Sua's happy to be in the market district of Treun. After March saw snow in Leathann, a sign that the Seven Star Oracle's prediction about the Drabwurld ending was right more than anything else, getting back to something even slightly more familiar is nothing short of a blessing. Sure, there's proper things she needs to see to in the city, like popping into the family company's business office, but she isn't inclined to rush. Not right now, and not when she wants to check in with old vendors to ensure they weathered the freak extended winter, as well as run a personal errand or two.
With her dog on his leash - the market's no place to let him run lose, he'll just end up causing the food stalls a headache - Sua takes her time walking, going through familiar thoroughfares and waving to faces that she knows.
The leather district's scent reaches her nose before she sees it. Hard not to, it's distinct as hell, and with a few more yards, a sea of brown and black hues greet her, broken up by occasional deep dark blues, reds, and purples. The wares have changed a little, she notes, walking past a few stalls that happily advertise new bags with complicated stitching. They're nice, but not needed. Sua knows exactly where she's heading, and it's for the same leathermaker who's sold her belts for over ten years.
Who, as Sua finds out, approaching the same spot that the stall is always at, is closed for lunch.]
Damn!
[The frustration is enough to keep her from noticing that her dog's sticking out in the middle of foot traffic, sniffing at everyone going past.]
I feel I should apologize in advance - I've never actually written a letter before, and I'm not sure what the custom is in the Drabwurld for the proper addressing in formal writing, but I hope this finds you well.
I run letters and information for locals around Dorchadas and have heard rumour that you're teaching a very specific skill set to those that can educate you in a trade in return. If this is true, I have a specific type of magic that was taught to me by a shardbearer at the Sixth Spire that I'd be willing to teach you in exchange; they are high-level healing spells not known by many in this world.
The same bird that I've sent you will return to me if you're interested. Alternatively, leave a letter near any tree or sign marked with ₪ and I'll receive it.
What you have heard is correct. I will educate, train and teach any and all forms of blood magic in return for whatever gifts you might be blessed with or learn yourself. If I judge what you offer to be of worth then the gift if yours to learn.
Simply tell me when you wish to meet to discuss matters and I shall tell you when I am in a place that may be serviceable. You may reach my through bird once more or through the Shardholder, Iorveth.
[The letter is delivered via an extraordinarily bad-tempered seagull, absurdly far from its native coast.]
Madam,
I would parlay with you in the interests of peace between our people and exchange of information. A shardbearing vampir, I know very little of elves.
Not an unpaid opportunity. Should you wish to take it, I will defer to you in matters of meeting place and time. The bird knows it way.
Yours, The Brucolac.
[Immediately after she's read it, the seagull launches itself forwards with a mighty squawk and rends the paper with beak and claws until it's a mere pile of scraps.]
[ She glares at the bird, even as she reaches to her pockets and pouches, drawing out her own quill and paper. ]
Vampir.
As long as you do not attack me, do not claim to want to do anything to harm me, I shall speak with you. I know little of shardbearers, least of all vampir with a shard in their chest, and there may well be merit in our discussion.
You offer me a gift. I shall offer you my words. I will come North in some months as I remain in Redgate today - I can greet you then, if you desire.
Know that I am armed, should I require it. I will not hesitate.
( an imp will arrive, carrying a box with a letter fastened on top. the box contains some hard to come by medical supplies, a one of the more intricate maps of the Drabwurld as created by the Runners, and a few drawings in oil pastel. one of the stage at The Rook, the skyline of Redgate, and a simple sketch of Lauralae. )
Lauralae-
I hope you're doing well! I had some medical supplies left from setting up clinics at the Unseelie spires; I hope you can find a use for them. Free time means I can get back to doing art, I've never used oil pastels before, so I'm experimenting in the art I send you. Hopefully they're not too bad.
[ The note that is sent back carries very little, save a letter and a set of vials, each labelled. One is poison, created from ivy and the sap of plants, another a light coloured paste, noted to heal wounds 'from the knife that powers you' and another which is fine powder - 'for those fine cheeks that bring naught but smiles'. ]
Clarke.
I return to you gifts to keep you safe, to care for you when the Light comes and you fear you may fall. Let the poison guard your blade, the medicine heal your wounds and the rouge colour your cheeks when fear or nerves make you pale.
The drawings you make are welcome, beautiful, and I shall treasure them. Do not think otherwise.
( near the end of November, a carrier bird will find Lauralae wherever she is in the Drabwurld, delivering a very unassuming package for her. a box wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with string. should Lae open it, she will find a compact mirror and a pocket watch, along with a letter, and a small sketch of the Black Shuck as Clarke had seen him at Samhain. )
Lauralae-
I know that lockets are a commodity for shardbearers, but relying on letter relay can take too long. Please find a mirror and pocket watch included for you and Iorveth. They will function similarly to the currently defunct shardbearer lockets, but can only be used to communicate between both of you if you're ever separated, or to me, should you want to. All you'll need to do is open it and say the name of who you need to speak to.
If I ever find a way to expand the network so you can contact others, I'll let you know.
[ She is delighted. Being able to contact Iorveth is one thing, especially should danger part them, but being able to contact a student and (possibly) friend is another. It has been some time since anyone wished to see her or speak to her and she embraces it with glee. ]
Clarke.
Your gift is beautiful and I will use it wisely and with discretion. To be able to speak to you when I feel the urge or the ache of missing you is the true gift and I shall treasure that.
Find, in return, the presents I have carried for you. Use them well and let your path be filled with promise.
- Lauralae.
[ Returned, in the same box in lieu of anything else at hand, are a few things. One is a small knife with a bone handle, inscriptions in Drabbish decorating the side, the metal of the blade itself sharp and thin; obviously for the use of blood magic. A second is a small set of miniature vials, four in total, red, blue, green and white, paints made by hand from flora found in the forest, mixed by Lauralae for Clarke alone.
The last gift, a third, is something more personal, something for them to share alone. A set of gloves, fine and black, the insides fitted with animal hair to make sure that they afford the best warmth, a sly poke at herself - Clarke knows how Lauralae feels about her hands and offering her gloves as a gift is as much a request for solidarity and friendship as it is a gift in it's own right. ]
[ She comes because she has been asked to. She leaves Iorveth behind her, telling him if she does not return before this time the next day then he ought to continue without her; there is no love lost between them, after all, and she would not expect him to come to her aid. She wants him, not the other way around, and he would not chase her down if she were lost. That is an easy part of their friendship if nothing else.
Crossing the land in her wolf-form, she moves quickly, climbing faster and moving as quick as she can, at least until she is half a mile within the bounds of the Spire itself. Then she turns back, stepping forward and beginning to move, step by step, careful, her hood over her face and her arms covered by the depths of her cloak. She climbs the cliffs with a slow and steady pace, and she ignores the way that her expression darkens as she continues, following the pathways that lead to the Spire itself. She doesn't care about the people that watch her, warily; she is sure they have seen stranger in their time here.
When she reaches as far as she dares go without welcome she waits. The Vampir will come, she is sure, and she will raise her head and speak to him. ]
[He comes, of course, informed of her presence by his own senses and by a messenger from one of his lookouts. As dark-hooded as his visitor, and with certain aspects of the Northern wildlings, where she is truly wild he nonetheless bears the marks of urbanity.
He doesn't come too close. Puts down his hood, bows to her; not so low as to appear parodic, nor so shallowly as to be perfunctory.]
Delivered by an imp, Lauralae will find a simple note attached to a box, stating Happy Yule! Visit soon? with Clarke's signature.
There will be a pair of soft suede gloves for the winter weather that could easily fit over her regular gloves, should she choose. There will also be two tickets to the next performance at the Rook theatre, a painting of wolves in the La Llorona forest and one of Lauralae's smile at Samhain, and a crown of sage for protection laced with clover for luck, orchids for friendship, and holly for the season. ❤
( it was rare when Clarke travelled alone; whether she was without Bellamy or Rhea, it just wasn't common. Bellamy would insist he go with her, and if he was away, Rhea would be her companion for her travels. this is why.
the assassination attempts haven't lessened since the summer. if anything, they've become more determined now, and Clarke has to wonder if it's in response to both of them becoming more capable fighters, better at defending themselves. this time it's archers, arrows that fly straight and true towards her, only stopped by the magic she's learned from the guild over the last year -- but she can't just hope to outrun them forever. another arrow flies mere seconds after the last one blocked, the head barely grazing her shoulder as it passes. enough to draw blood, but not significant to slow her down.
her focus is all over the place when she finally teleports away from her pursuers, eyes burning, chest heaving for air when she's no longer running for her life. it's dark and she has no idea where she is; before she can teleport again she needs to find her bearings, to know where she's leaving from in order to get somewhere more familiar than wherever she is now. but the panic still thrums through her and her shoulder starts to throb and what wouldn't she do for someone to have been with her. )
[ The noise that comes as Clarke teleports is dangerous and feral, an echo through the forest. Darkness is cloying, really, sinking through as if it's a real touch, a real press of something that keeps happiness out of minds. It's this darkness that she uses to her advantage, twisting a little as she rushes through on heavy legs - four, not two, her howl echoing as she scents blood in the air, familiar blood, enough to make her recoil in anger.
friend blood death pain hurt no bite tear destroy-
She leaps through the forestry like a shot arrow, fast, furious, dangerous, her low growl as she slips and moves to rest before Clarke echoing. There's a twitch in the shadows and she doesn't pause for a moment, dark eyes, black as her fur, twisting to take it in. Lauralae moves without hesitation, bounding forward, leaping up to twist her teeth in to an arm, a limb, something that had come to take Clarke from her.
The bone snaps under her strength, her snout buried in blood, and she keeps going; she bites harder, harder, twisting, practically drawing the wrist and hand off the person that dared follow and attack, that dared come, hearing the howl of pain and relishing it. She moves higher, then, teeth on shoulder, tearing, biting, flaying, ripping skin from flesh under her teeth and moving higher, devouring the neck, the jugular, destroying him for daring to attack.
His face she leaves purposefully, to claim who he is and why he came.
When she is done, when she is sure the blood pouring from him is the last twitch of life, she sits and howls again, pride for a kill, bloodlust rushing through her before her body turns back, pushing herself forward. Matted with blood, Lauralae trots back to Clarke's side as if nothing of importance had happened, as if she hadn't just ripped a man to pieces for daring to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. ]
[ There is a promise that hangs on Lauralae's hands, a reminder of things that she had said months before. A whisper of power she had never had before, latent power that settles in her chest, beyond the call of blood and the power that it offers - something that won't need her life essence to protect her, that won't need her to turn into a wolf in order to survive.
It had come to her at a party, flashes of which settle on Lauralae's mind. The reminder of a handsome woman, a charming young lady (human, of course, which still settles awkwardly on her shoulders, makes her travelling companion bristle and froth with anger) that made her feel somewhat charmed for a bare hour. It had been some time and the weight still settles on her, confusing her, and she ignores it as she waits.
Letters were all they had - she knows she needs to find an alternate means of talking to people, especially if she means to keep her eyes on Iorveth and his shard - but for now they do. She waits, curled in the darkness of the trees, hovering as she watches. Her lady is meant to stop by soon, for them to walk south together for a time, for Lauralae to travel with her until she has picked up the magic that everyone in this world knows.
( Months have come and gone since she met the young Aellyn and heard her whisper of a dark form of magic. It had struck her at the time as full of potential to be of incredible use, especially for medical purposes. Were there not a positive to balance the destructiveness of it, she would never have agreed to learn it. Yet she has, because her drive to never again be so completely at the mercy of another demands it just as much as does her compassionate nature.
In any case, she has been looking forward to reuniting with Lauralae for a long time. Because in this elf, she has found a dear friend. The contents of their letters sent back and forth via raven tell her that well-enough, and her heart warms while she gently knees Llŷr, the Ceffyl Dwr gifted to her by Dorian Gray over a year past. They descend through the clouds together, as though borne from the mist itself (he certainly was), and she keeps a sharp eye out for her friend while marvelling silently at the beauty of the scenery spread out below them.
The woods, just to the North of Mair. They had agreed to meet here, and this is where she settles Llŷr, his hooves patting softly in the dirt when he lands. Once he is stationary, Elizabeth dismounts, and glances back at him with a warm smile. )
Come with me. ( She says simply, and moves into the trees, knowing full-well that Lauralae does not tarry upon the open road. )
It is safe, my friend. The way is clear.
( Just in case she's within earshot. In fact, she assumes that she is. )
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spring.
march. (treun).
tail end of april.
The last time it happened, he'd spent almost a decade as a fisher and Harry decides that's reason enough to look about where fishers might be found. He's no animal tracker, but over the past few months, he and Linn have worked out various ways to help guide a shardbearer towards other magic users. It doesn't always lead to a shardbearer, but it generally points him in a direction, if not the right one. Overhead on his broom, he spots a wolf and a rabbit in a clearing and as he descends, he hopes that it's the wolf he'd been coming to talk to.
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Her teeth have just snapped around the neck of a hare when she feels the pulse of shard magic, her head lifting as she lowers her ears. It's not Iorveth, that she can tell, and she takes a few cautious steps backwards as she regards him. If he approaches she might well have to turn back to herself - already she can feel the exhaustion coiling around her - but she has the upper hand like this, freer and with no consequences for attacking other people.
Who can blame a wolf for instinct, after all?
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april. (treun).
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With her dog on his leash - the market's no place to let him run lose, he'll just end up causing the food stalls a headache - Sua takes her time walking, going through familiar thoroughfares and waving to faces that she knows.
The leather district's scent reaches her nose before she sees it. Hard not to, it's distinct as hell, and with a few more yards, a sea of brown and black hues greet her, broken up by occasional deep dark blues, reds, and purples. The wares have changed a little, she notes, walking past a few stalls that happily advertise new bags with complicated stitching. They're nice, but not needed. Sua knows exactly where she's heading, and it's for the same leathermaker who's sold her belts for over ten years.
Who, as Sua finds out, approaching the same spot that the stall is always at, is closed for lunch.]
Damn!
[The frustration is enough to keep her from noticing that her dog's sticking out in the middle of foot traffic, sniffing at everyone going past.]
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summer.
ＥＡＲＬＹ－ＡＵＧＵＳＴ
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What you have heard is correct. I will educate, train and teach any and all forms of blood magic in return for whatever gifts you might be blessed with or learn yourself. If I judge what you offer to be of worth then the gift if yours to learn.
Simply tell me when you wish to meet to discuss matters and I shall tell you when I am in a place that may be serviceable. You may reach my through bird once more or through the Shardholder, Iorveth.
Lauralae.
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JULY.
Madam,
I would parlay with you in the interests of peace between our people and exchange of information. A shardbearing vampir, I know very little of elves.
Not an unpaid opportunity. Should you wish to take it, I will defer to you in matters of meeting place and time. The bird knows it way.
Yours,
The Brucolac.
[Immediately after she's read it, the seagull launches itself forwards with a mighty squawk and rends the paper with beak and claws until it's a mere pile of scraps.]
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Vampir.
As long as you do not attack me, do not claim to want to do anything to harm me, I shall speak with you. I know little of shardbearers, least of all vampir with a shard in their chest, and there may well be merit in our discussion.
You offer me a gift. I shall offer you my words. I will come North in some months as I remain in Redgate today - I can greet you then, if you desire.
Know that I am armed, should I require it. I will not hesitate.
Lauralae.
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autumn.
ＭＩＤ－ＯＣＴＯＢＥＲ
Lauralae-
I hope you're doing well! I had some medical supplies left from setting up clinics at the Unseelie spires; I hope you can find a use for them. Free time means I can get back to doing art, I've never used oil pastels before, so I'm experimenting in the art I send you. Hopefully they're not too bad.
Be safe out there, okay?
Clarke
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Clarke.
I return to you gifts to keep you safe, to care for you when the Light comes and you fear you may fall. Let the poison guard your blade, the medicine heal your wounds and the rouge colour your cheeks when fear or nerves make you pale.
The drawings you make are welcome, beautiful, and I shall treasure them. Do not think otherwise.
Lauralae.
ＬＡＴＥ－ＮＯＶＥＭＢＥＲ (eats up your timeskip page)
Lauralae-
I know that lockets are a commodity for shardbearers, but relying on letter relay can take too long. Please find a mirror and pocket watch included for you and Iorveth. They will function similarly to the currently defunct shardbearer lockets, but can only be used to communicate between both of you if you're ever separated, or to me, should you want to. All you'll need to do is open it and say the name of who you need to speak to.
If I ever find a way to expand the network so you can contact others, I'll let you know.
Clarke
OH NO THIS IS ADORABLE
Clarke.
Your gift is beautiful and I will use it wisely and with discretion. To be able to speak to you when I feel the urge or the ache of missing you is the true gift and I shall treasure that.
Find, in return, the presents I have carried for you. Use them well and let your path be filled with promise.
- Lauralae.
[ Returned, in the same box in lieu of anything else at hand, are a few things. One is a small knife with a bone handle, inscriptions in Drabbish decorating the side, the metal of the blade itself sharp and thin; obviously for the use of blood magic. A second is a small set of miniature vials, four in total, red, blue, green and white, paints made by hand from flora found in the forest, mixed by Lauralae for Clarke alone.
The last gift, a third, is something more personal, something for them to share alone. A set of gloves, fine and black, the insides fitted with animal hair to make sure that they afford the best warmth, a sly poke at herself - Clarke knows how Lauralae feels about her hands and offering her gloves as a gift is as much a request for solidarity and friendship as it is a gift in it's own right. ]
late september; srathmarbh.
Crossing the land in her wolf-form, she moves quickly, climbing faster and moving as quick as she can, at least until she is half a mile within the bounds of the Spire itself. Then she turns back, stepping forward and beginning to move, step by step, careful, her hood over her face and her arms covered by the depths of her cloak. She climbs the cliffs with a slow and steady pace, and she ignores the way that her expression darkens as she continues, following the pathways that lead to the Spire itself. She doesn't care about the people that watch her, warily; she is sure they have seen stranger in their time here.
When she reaches as far as she dares go without welcome she waits. The Vampir will come, she is sure, and she will raise her head and speak to him. ]
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He doesn't come too close. Puts down his hood, bows to her; not so low as to appear parodic, nor so shallowly as to be perfunctory.]
Milady Lauralae. Welcome to Srathmarbh.
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winter.
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Yule Delivery
There will be a pair of soft suede gloves for the winter weather that could easily fit over her regular gloves, should she choose. There will also be two tickets to the next performance at the Rook theatre, a painting of wolves in the La Llorona forest and one of Lauralae's smile at Samhain, and a crown of sage for protection laced with clover for luck, orchids for friendship, and holly for the season. ❤
mid-january.
the assassination attempts haven't lessened since the summer. if anything, they've become more determined now, and Clarke has to wonder if it's in response to both of them becoming more capable fighters, better at defending themselves. this time it's archers, arrows that fly straight and true towards her, only stopped by the magic she's learned from the guild over the last year -- but she can't just hope to outrun them forever. another arrow flies mere seconds after the last one blocked, the head barely grazing her shoulder as it passes. enough to draw blood, but not significant to slow her down.
her focus is all over the place when she finally teleports away from her pursuers, eyes burning, chest heaving for air when she's no longer running for her life. it's dark and she has no idea where she is; before she can teleport again she needs to find her bearings, to know where she's leaving from in order to get somewhere more familiar than wherever she is now. but the panic still thrums through her and her shoulder starts to throb and what wouldn't she do for someone to have been with her. )
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friend blood death pain hurt no bite tear destroy-
She leaps through the forestry like a shot arrow, fast, furious, dangerous, her low growl as she slips and moves to rest before Clarke echoing. There's a twitch in the shadows and she doesn't pause for a moment, dark eyes, black as her fur, twisting to take it in. Lauralae moves without hesitation, bounding forward, leaping up to twist her teeth in to an arm, a limb, something that had come to take Clarke from her.
The bone snaps under her strength, her snout buried in blood, and she keeps going; she bites harder, harder, twisting, practically drawing the wrist and hand off the person that dared follow and attack, that dared come, hearing the howl of pain and relishing it. She moves higher, then, teeth on shoulder, tearing, biting, flaying, ripping skin from flesh under her teeth and moving higher, devouring the neck, the jugular, destroying him for daring to attack.
His face she leaves purposefully, to claim who he is and why he came.
When she is done, when she is sure the blood pouring from him is the last twitch of life, she sits and howls again, pride for a kill, bloodlust rushing through her before her body turns back, pushing herself forward. Matted with blood, Lauralae trots back to Clarke's side as if nothing of importance had happened, as if she hadn't just ripped a man to pieces for daring to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. ]
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spring.
early april. (north of mair).
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In any case, she has been looking forward to reuniting with Lauralae for a long time. Because in this elf, she has found a dear friend. The contents of their letters sent back and forth via raven tell her that well-enough, and her heart warms while she gently knees Llŷr, the Ceffyl Dwr gifted to her by Dorian Gray over a year past. They descend through the clouds together, as though borne from the mist itself (he certainly was), and she keeps a sharp eye out for her friend while marvelling silently at the beauty of the scenery spread out below them.
The woods, just to the North of Mair. They had agreed to meet here, and this is where she settles Llŷr, his hooves patting softly in the dirt when he lands. Once he is stationary, Elizabeth dismounts, and glances back at him with a warm smile. )
Come with me. ( She says simply, and moves into the trees, knowing full-well that Lauralae does not tarry upon the open road. )
It is safe, my friend. The way is clear.
( Just in case she's within earshot. In fact, she assumes that she is. )
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