Wrath, Viktor, Isolde

Isolde●Allard : [The night had been long and cold. Isolde slept restlessly beside the grizzled warrior, digits and toes chilled with the incoming front. As flurries dusted the forest and the trees groaned ominously in the quiet wood, the withy florist had shed her cloak. Searching in the dark with both hands, she found Wrath. Her breath was frosted, even under the tent. Once beneath a shared coverlet, she'd been able to rest. With her body pressed close to his for warmth, the Fallon girl dreamt. The following morning they woke, both groggy and far too comfortably entwined to break down camp and move along. While she'd remained chaste up until that point, she let her thoughts stray as she caught the scent of him lingering in her hair as they finished packing up camp. They rode, making quiet conversation as they moved ever closer to the castle. Isolde wore a deep emerald velvet gown beneath a cape of mossy greens. A bright copper buckle at her throat rest over intricate embroidery that her mother had fashioned by neat needlework in rosy filigree. The dress was thick, worn over wool stockings and linen underpinnings. Over the shoulders and up the neck of her cloak were brassy fox skins, freshly boiled and sewn to keep the girl warm. Her mother, Elizabeth, had seen that Isolde had a good (but modest) trunk of clothing to see her fit while she visited the Empire's capital.(Nevermind that she had been before.) Wearing mittens of wool and fur in matching shades, her lovat gaze searched the surrounding wood as she watched the snow fall delicately. It settled in her hair, dotting its length with frost as her nose reddened. The Ents trailed behind them dutifully, limbs more snappy in the chilly December air. "Do you miss home?" she asked out of interest, breath clinging to the air in front of her as they came upon the fortress walls. Waiting patiently for his reply, she watched the guards at the wall begin to stir in response to their unannounced arrival. Unsure of what the fuss was all about, she held her breath. Her back stiffened and she felt a lingering soreness from their travel along her spine. Having assumed that so long as they arrived together all would be well, Isolde wondered if there might be something (or someone) else making their way in. Henry and the other Ents had become so common to her that their appearance out of the wood didn't occur to her. For those watching she and the general approach, it would have appeared that the very forest itself was breaking apart at its thresh hold, sending out wards of varying size with a blaze in each chest and luminous orange eyes. ]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Given the time of the day when Wrath and Isolde had reached the Valley of Horses, arriving just after dusk, the pair had leaned on the side of caution. Opting to stop near a stream at the base of the mountainous incline that would lead them to Deathstalker Castle. The rugged landscape was precarious from hereon and without natural light, even Sleipnir might encounter difficulties. The broad-shouldered image of the Prince striking a bold sight as he overlooked the western frontier of his father’s Empire. A tangerine sky interspersed with turquoise and mauve that gradually grew darker in the hours that followed the preparation of their camp. Wrath’s blonde hair caught by a chilly wind, blowing past his bearded face. The colossal swordsman seemingly lost in reflection. Why had he given up his Legion? More importantly, what had brought him back? Staring at Isolde he knew the reason, following her into the tent where they rested in each other’s arms. Rising the following morning, Sleipnir carried them both on its prodigious back, enduring the second-generation Nephilim’s weight, for it was no ordinary steed. Yet they were not alone, for the tree folk accompanied them on their arduous climb, traversing the steep terrain. Wrath looking back at the Ents with a grizzled smile. He liked to think he’d won Henry’s begrudging respect, though was equally under no illusion that Isolde’s stalwart guardian might wallop him with an oversized branch that impersonated an arm. Riding in thoughtful silence for a time until Isolde spoke and the Prince considered her question. “Yes and no,” he replied honestly. “There are a lot of painful memories attached to this place. Me and my father don’t get along.” Though Wrath also conceded that it had been sensible to come. “Nevertheless, the answers you seek will be found here. It is a bastion of great knowledge. Both by way of scholarly folk, sorcerers and tomes.”  The looming turrets of Deathstalker Castle overshadowing them, the draconian skull constructed into façade of the fortress appearing as if would devour them in its primordial maw. Guards pointing to the party from the battlements. The General of the North reaching for the hilt of his blade, drawing it from his back while still in the saddle. Widow Maker now raised aloft, the sun reflecting off the sword’s mystical steel. Somehow the guards understood what that meant and a signal was given to raise the portcullis. Prompting the horse to gallop into the courtyard where they dismounted. “Follow me,” he instructed. “…and stay close.” Clad in a great bear cloak and weatherworn leathers, Wrath appeared every inch the ruffian. Yet his presence was immediately felt in the halls of the stronghold. ::

Ѵɪᴋᴛᴏʀ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : || It was not every day that Viktor could feel another so close to his kind within the vicinity of the Castle. Undoubtedly knowing that there existed others that possessed the Ether as he did, though in a much smaller scale, the approaching presence had indeed garnered his attention. Gabrielle was ether-touched, given life from a ritual that gave way to her becoming more ethereal as time went on, in part due to the nature of her death. Of course his children as well, but they were all well known to the man. However there was Viktor's brother, if one could call him that. Possessing more sheer strength the Viktor, Artorias had not lived quite as long, nor did he possess the wisdom of his elder brother. More kin based on what they were, rather than their parents, for truly they had no such thing. But even he, was known. Viktor could follow any of the trails of those touched by the ether and know who was who. This presence, was not them. This was someone new, this was someone that possessed such power, albeit perhaps hidden away and lost within their own mind. But they were coming, to the castle, by all accounts, and that made the Ethereal man move about with purpose. Where most would stand aside and grant Wrath passage that his prestigious frame and lineage demanded, Viktor Fallon had come to stand just within the entryway to those great halls, knowing full well that the pair would travel directly toward the General of the West. A striking although nowhere near as tall or wide, Viktor held a commanding presence as he stood there waiting, all too aware that it looked as if he had been expecting them. Perhaps in truth, he had, once he had felt Isolde come closer to his own person, even miles apart as they traveled. Looking for more a General of the imperial war machine, donned in black and red, gold running along the edges of his coat. The attire clearly showed his rank, and perhaps the lofty life he currently lived, spending more time guiding and managing the battlefield than being upon it. Naturally his weapons of choice were upon his hips, scimitars that had come into his possession, both of which deeply enchanted and brimming with magical essence. Hands stayed clasped behind his back while feet were shoulder width apart, he stood waiting, the deep blue of his eyes watching intently as Wrath and Isolde came into view. Despite the stoic stance and demeanor he gave off, there was a crack of a grin upon his features, giving light to that amused, happy go lucky nature he always seemed to possess, even in the most trying of times. "General of the North. The Halls welcome you once again." After all, the castle itself was alive. Of course those eyes turned toward Isolde, watching the girl curiously from what he could see of her with Wrath leading the charge inside. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed. ||


Isolde●Allard : [ Isolde considered his words, recognizing the duality of them. A subtle part of their minds and bodies craved home-- it was natural. The story that followed one's origin could easily sway such a disposition, making the internal fight between duty and destiny immutable in the periphery of one's thoughts. She understood what went unsaid: Wrath felt unwelcome, but still obliged. She suddenly felt deeply guilty for being the reason he was compelled to come home. Just as he felt called to the great halls of Deathstalker, his companion was compelled too. The florist understood very little of her natural inclinations, but they flourished inside of her. Awakening as she rose from her deep slumber, the Fallon girl had her first taste of the ether. It was small, but by no means fragile. It hummed with life about her, coaxing the life around her to swell with vitality. It was the gentler end of the spectrum, stimulated by a need for the Empire as its days grew numbered. Nodding in response as his words reaffirmed her purpose for being there, she nodded quietly in response. Unable to understand what thoughts compelled him, she only knew that there was an unequivocal truth to his words: they were both being drawn to the Fortress. As he drew the blade, her chin tilted so that she could watch it as it glinted in the waning light. Beside him she was akin to a child in stature. Her presence had gravity, but she was timorous. The Widowmaker was a symbol of eerie, divine conquest. The nelipot preferred not to consider it, despite being thankful for its guarantee of their passage. Admiring the striking scene as Wrath secured their greet, her lips parted and she exhaled...finally. Realizing it was for their arrival that those within the walls scurried, she turned her cheek to her shoulder as Henry and his legion halted. They grunted in unrecognizable tongue, to which the florist replied, "I will come for you." Her voice was gentle with the great beast, not too dissimilar from that of a mother's murmur. The reply seemed begrudging, but Henry understood her wishes. "I'll send for something for you to eat..." she coaxed, offering a weak smile as her eyes softened. They began to retreat into the treeline, taking up roots and assuming natural poses. Offering a gaze of warning to the Prince, the great tree's chest puffed briefly before he huffed in acceptance. Isolde turned toward the opening gate. As the pair dismounted, she happily did as instructed, figure lingering close in step with Wrath as he walked. Like a timid shadow, her chin dipped hesitantly. She avoided eye contact with those who gazed on, feeling her throat thicken with emotion the closer she got to the heart of the grounds. She could feel eyes on her, prying curiously for some sign of her ties to their Prince. A bit embarrassed by how -at home- she felt within the castle walls, she wondered at herself. Was it Wrath, or was it something external? Some lingering presence extended toward her, bringing her comfort. It felt as if she were a smaller piece of some whole-- Isolde was rewarded with this alien sense of belonging after an arduous trip and strange bucolic life. As Viktor's voice rose over the droning voices of the men and women looking on at she and Wrath, her features moved from curiosity to modesty. Smiling demurely, she briefly inclined her chin and glanced toward her companion for a read on his reaction. ]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: The Imperial Prince considered the names and faces he might encounter once he occupied the ancient walls of the fortress. There was his half-sister Jade, or the mother of his illegitimate daughter, Alauneyl. Perhaps even the Empress herself, Alessandrah. Meanwhile the Lich was never far either, knowing that Casim was once again in his father’s good graces: brilliant. “This place is a law unto itself. All is not as it appears.” Implying that there was something intangible and deep-rooted about their surroundings. A sentient awareness that distinguished this place from other castles. It would be naïve to call it power, but there was certainly an energy which seemed to emanate from below their feet almost.  To the many, it would be misinterpreted as merely the political atmosphere, given that so many important decisions were made in this domain. Words of influence and actions decisive enough to count from the ruling elite -here in Deathstalker’s Apex- reverberating far and wide throughout the land. So too, was fear of the tyrannical Emperor an added dynamic, who surely dwelled somewhere within this monolithic structure comprised of stone and menace. Enough so to instil irrational dread and tension whenever the one-eyed Axe-Man stalked the halls. Wrath sensed him even now. But no. None of these things were the true source, instead the ‘power’ lay much deeper, hidden away. A mystery to be sure. For Deathstalker Castle didn’t relinquish its secrets easily. The rugged Prince allowing his hand to discretely pass along the granite wall in the corridor he and the florist walked along. The tips of his fingers dragging across the grey stone. Eyes shut for a few seconds, his visage stoic, as if quietly communing with something unseen. Although conflicted, he accepted his connection to all of this. Thus Wrath exhaled. “Home…” Finding something enriching in the acknowledgement. Turning a corner, the Prince instinctively opened his eyes. His stare fixating on the other General. His counterpart here in the West. A loyal confidante of his father, the Prince undoubtedly respected Viktor, however there was the niggling sense that all was not as it appeared concerning the patriarch of the Fallon House. A feeling Wrath could never shake when in his company. “That is Viktor, one of my father’s oldest friends. He’s a general like myself, though far less negligent.” Said in a self-deprecating tone. “Also the resident Weapons Master and I think an Archduke? He wears expensive cloaks and has a lot of titles.” Wrath remarked offhandedly being partially humorous, though factually correct in the same breath. “He seems to be expecting us,” he remarked suspiciously. Leading Isolde by the hand and advancing with great strides towards the Ethereal Man. “General of the West,” declared the blonde warrior when he confronted the Weapons Master.  “Long time.” He begun. “This is my friend, Isolde.” Gesturing in the florist’s direction, not sure how else to describe their relationship, it seemed adequate for now without being overly affectionate. “She’s been in an unnatural sleep that she could not awaken from. One that brought great sorrow to her parents. We’ve come here to find out what may have caused it.” Perhaps Viktor might be able to help them, Wrath mused. ::

Ѵɪᴋᴛᴏʀ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : || And Ents! Viktor always loved those things. Having spent quite some time within the Walking Forest, Viktor had come to know quite a number of Ents. Although these ones did not venture into the castle with the pair, he had been aware of their presence. Perhaps he'd have to meet them, in time, he supposed. Odd it likely was, to be greeted as if expected, though that truth of the matter would come to light rather quickly, especially when they were all finally introduced. "It has."  A long time indeed, despite the fact Viktor had never really gotten to know his fellow General. Even with all the years that had passed. Life took strange paths for them all, no doubt. "Isolde." Committing the name to memory, as well as other things, the Ethereal Man watched her for a long enough moment to be considered rude, or it would have, perhaps, if no words had come to pass. "I see. A trying time, to be sure. And I am sorry to hear of the pain and sorrow it brought your parents, Lady Isolde." The sleep concerned him, but at the same time, it was all starting to form some picture within his mind. "You two have had quite the travels, perhaps you'd prefer to find somewhere to rest your legs? A drink and bite to eat as well?" Hands unclasped as he stepped aside, gesturing with one arm that he'd not bar their path any longer. "May I ask what brought her out of this slumber?" Looking between the pair, Viktor obviously curious, trying to understand who, what, and why, she was. A rarity that another Ethereal would show up out of the blue in such a way. Her presence had purpose, he was sure, the ether never did anything just because. "It is good to see the weather has yet to turn foul." There was a pause by the man, considering his words, and keenly aware that he likely was making little sense, and they likely had questions as to why he had stood in their path, waiting for them, to begin with. "To speak plainly, your presence Isolde, has been felt for some time now, growing stronger as you grew closer. Myself and a few others have taken note, and if my suspicions are correct, you too, can likely feel some sort of..." Once again the man sought the correct word, perusing his mind for it. "...tether. To a certain few here within the Castle, and Immortalis." Of course Viktor once again had turned his attention toward Wrath, looking up at the man that stood roughly a foot taller than himself. "My thanks for taking her under your wing." After all, Viktor was under no delusion that Wrath hadn't been with her the entire way. If something had gone wrong, Widowmaker would've struck true to any foe. While Isolde would likely be capable of taking care of herself, he sensed that she had not fully awakened just yet. Or come to grips with the nature of her being. For the matter, did not even know, considering their words of confusion toward her previous condition. He would inform her, but the information already provided, and sought, needed to be discussed first, before overloading the girls mind further. ||

Isolde●Allard : [Isolde felt what Wrath described without needing it articulated to her-- the holding was indeed alive. The stronghold, its turrets, gates, paths and walls all susurrated with one unified voice. Not without reason, it had a daunting personality...if one could personify brim and stone. Wrath's acknowledgement of his home seemed to satisfy both he and his surroundings, tempering some fire within for both. Isolde registered the input with surprising ease, though it happened at the periphery of her thoughts. It was an undercurrent to her conscious cognition, underscoring the strange comfort she felt at his side. Hurled into a hive of sentience and greeted directly by the Fallon man, Isolde's needs were almost immediately addressed. A guiding hand brought she and Wrath to Viktor, it seemed, who had been waiting with bated breath for their arrival. Their path had not strayed. Beside the stoic general, she seemed impossibly fragile.They walked toward a space suited for conversation, finding both food and drink brought while Viktor and Wrath spoke. Isolde wondered idly if Wrath had any inkling of what Viktor was saying-- she herself was a bit lost. But he wasn't wrong-- she did feel the tether, after all. During their conversation, she found herself wondering briefly if the pair had conspired. Recalling that Wrath had been sent by one of the fates, Isolde ruminated on the thought. In truth, she had her doubts about why any force greater than the three of them would see fit to bring their paths to a cross, but deep down she knew that the blonde-haired warrior had brought her there with purpose. Once a seat was to be had, the gentle florist found one and reclined into it. Her ankles crossed at the foot as she leaned on its arm toward Viktor as he spoke. Fire crackled in the hearth beside them, lovat hues searching his expression as he spoke. How was he so cheerfully delivering  such ominous news? His demeanor seemed pleasant and amused. Wrath's friend...under his wing... she felt a prickle of defiance at the terminology used, though she bit the inside of her lip at her internal commentary. It was, of course, only proper to call her by the name 'friend', especially in mixed company. Within the castle walls there were rules outside of those which country folk lived by. Word likely moved differently, and now they had prying eyes and minds filling any room they could. It was a strange way of thinking for the girl-- oddly defensive. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand." she admitted modestly, interjecting with a gentle tone. "Do we know one another?" she asked, watching Viktor curiously as she slid her cloak off in the chair around her. It pooled into folds of boiled wool and fur at her hips, wild hair curling down the small of her back as the fire warmed her skin. Her gaze turned to Wrath, confidence waning a bit as she considered being transferred over as Viktor's ward.]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ  :: Obviously Wrath had no idea of Viktor and Isolde’s connection. Was in fact, unwittingly fulfilling the destiny Melinoe had envisioned for the Prince when she’d made him promise. The soothsayer had deciphered the tendrils of possible futures and discerned the most favourable outcome. Prompting Wrath to find Isolde’s cottage and take her in her unconscious state to the sacred waterfall in the Reverie Woods. After being reunited with her parents, Wrath had brought her here to the castle, to fathom some understanding of these events, which were as much a mystery to himself as the girl he travelled with. Mindful that he was an unwitting pawn in someone else’s story. What he hadn’t anticipated was that Viktor had a far more significant role to play. Wrath shrugging with indifference when Viktor offered them a respite from their travels, though he realised his father’s friend was just being accommodating. “We’ll be staying here, yes. Be assured that I plan to drink all my father’s wine.” The Prince retorted in good humour. “How goes the West?” Making polite small talk. Nodding about the weather. “You know all too well that the winds of the North will reach us here before long.” Perhaps referencing the man’s wife -Gabrielle Deathstalker- who was solidified politically in the region. “Viktor is sort of my uncle.” Wrath teased. Finding humour in the observation as the trio advanced into a dining area as food was served, the General of the North draped his bear cloak over a chair but remained standing. Listening with increased interest as the General of the West elaborated on his curiosity of their approach. The gruff warrior was mostly silent as he absorbed the wealth of information that Viktor readily shared. “A soothsayer told me of her predicament. Sent me to find her. I was charged with bringing her to the Reverie Woods, where the magic of the Elves revived Isolde from her unnatural sleep.” Stated the General at the appropriate time. His protective stare befalling Isolde. Sensing her anxiety the Emperor’s son gave her a reassuring smile. He wasn’t going anywhere. ::

Ѵɪᴋᴛᴏʀ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : || Accommodating and pleasant. Down right cheerful and joyous, which could be off-putting to some. It was almost as if Viktor lived on cloud nine all the time, perpetually high in some regard, though that couldn't be farther from the truth. At the mention of drinking all of his father's wine, Viktor could only give a heartfelt laugh. "To be expected. I'd wager the servants are already running about in order to secure more crates knowing you're back within the castle." He was not an easy man to miss. No doubt rumors were already spreading like wildfire. "The West is quiet, as it should be. Minor infractions, of course. But our enemies would be foolish to attempt to strike at the heart of the Empire." Giving more in those words than most would realize, it was a fine line that Viktor walked with those words, telling of an enemy somewhere, but giving hope to those that could overhear them that there was nothing to concern themselves over. His uncle? That almost made the Ethereal man feel old. Then again, Kirsten did call him the same thing. Valance didn't. But he was also a stickler, and far too serious at times. The lack of understanding was expected, and truly, the General of the West was unsure how to actually explain it to her. Aside from just being completely direct and straightforward. Gabrielle hadn't taken lightly to that. Even went so far as to slug him in the side of his jaw for even suggesting that she was Ethereal. Magic, which she didn't trust at all. Though that was more the arcane than the ether. Ether was more life essence. Hard to explain to her. "We do not know each other, no. But I know of you, now that you've awoken from your slumber. The easiest way to explain this.." Glancing toward Wrath for a moment, Viktor was unsure what to say to her behemoth of a protector. Perhaps nothing needed to be said. "I am not human, as I appear before you. Just as Wrath is not entirely either. Neither are you, Isolde." Moving to sit down across from her, Viktor held his hand out in front of her, focusing on the energies around them and his own. "You possess some measure of ether within you. Some strange force that gives you a gift beyond normal comprehension and understanding, with no training or knowledge of how you came to possess it." What that exactly was, Viktor was unsure. But they all possessed it. Some unique ability, where his direct family possessed something close to what he
could do, she was not his family. Unless there was something he couldn't remember about the times he traveled the world. "A confusing prospect, I am sure." Even to himself, it sounded confusing. Despite knowing, feeling, what she was. ||


Isolde●Allard : [Once it was all laid out so simply, Isolde could almost laugh at the outrageous nature of their meeting. Years had passed since she'd been asleep and all of still felt very dreamlike. Nothing was quite solidified. She and Wrath were in the transient state of enamor with one another and she was trying to correct herself into considering more practical things. There were moments when she was sure she was still dreaming. The pair spoke about politics as if the world weren't shifting into focus for the very first time. The feeling was all at once foreign and very, very real. For the first time since waking, things had slowed down and been allowed time to settle. No longer taken up with the motion of her entire life being tossed into a tumult, the Fallon girl felt a frisson as Viktor's words and Wrath's sympathetic gaze solidified her reality. The focus of the conversation had shifted from casual militia talk to a deeply profound explanation of what compelled the florist to wake from the long slumber (and even survive it in the first place). Her eyes were misting at the waterline, chills preceding goosebumps on her arms as he spoke. While it was hard to imagine, she knew that Viktor was speaking the truth. It rang in her ears and she nodded slowly. Speechless, the nodding ensured that she communicated she was hearing what he was saying, though she wasn't entirely sure she understood. Not human? What a strange concept-- especially as she'd suddenly begun to feel -more- human than she ever had in her life. Perhaps the correct way to think about it was more -alive-. In her youth, she had always felt connected to the world around her. Since waking, it was as if empathy extended beyond mortal confines. The girl -felt- what the living world around her felt. Teeming, active, growing, heeding. The living world around its humans was conscious, and she'd only just become aware of it. Thinking about her life before the fire, her senses seemed dull. Muted. Viktor leaned toward her, extending a hand. She watched as it lay on the table, and while nothing visual happened-- she could feel the energies pooling in his palm as he spoke. Her fingertips tingled, clutching the velvet skirts in her lap in surprise. After a long moment, she timidly lifted one hand over the table and set her hand on his. Her fingers were warm, flesh smooth where it had once been gnarled and blistered by fire. Staring intently through a pair of gentle glaucous hues, the moved her free hand to collect a glass of red wine. Without a word she drank from it deeply.]


Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Silent and observant, the bearded warrior had found an unexpected ally in Viktor. The stoic warrior standing by the fireplace with his massive arms folded. The outline of his prodigious frame tinged with the afterglow of the flames. Concluding at this precise moment that his suspicions had been entirely correct in that Isolde had an important role to play somehow. Had some crucial purpose that needed fulfilling which had warranted Wrath’s help, even if it meant being chastised by his father -the Emperor- for relinquishing control of the Northern Legion. He’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it. Watching as Viktor sat with Isolde and deciphered the mysteries of her origin in a way he never could.  Nodding quietly when the General of the West referenced Wrath’s ancestry, for the Deathstalker was obviously not entirely human, given his colossal size and strength. The warrior almost felt like a third wheel. However the Ethereal Man was best qualified to speak of such things. A stern brow risen in surprise by these revelations. “The Ether…” Muttered Wrath. The Weapons Master outstretching his hand and Isolde timidly reached out to take it. It was at this point that something resembling jealousy creeped into the back of Wrath’s skull. The curse of his family that he’d tried to stifle since his youth. Feeling his blood quickening and a thirst for violence, Wrath envisioned Widow Maker in his hands and Viktor’s head being carved in half as the blade resounded through his skull. Turning away, the Prince instead reached for a goblet of wine himself, drinking deeply to regain his composure. Knowing that such possessive thoughts were unbecoming of the Iron Code he’d sworn to uphold: Wrath was not his father. Swallowing the contents. It was at this point he realised that he loved this woman. Facing both Fallons again. “Thank you for helping her Viktor.” He conceded through gritted teeth. ::


Ѵɪᴋᴛᴏʀ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : || Strange as it was for the events of their meeting, there was an undeniable air about the situation. Did Viktor have a part in setting things into motion? It was hard to say, though very unlikely. Perhaps part of game the Fates themselves played, the duo's travels brought them to him. Any such being that found its way into the castle would likely find Viktor waiting, ominously there as if he spent every moment in that spot waiting. Nothing could be further from the truth. Once  her hand was placed within his, the blatant energy in which nestled deep within both of them was felt even stronger, given form even as Viktor willed it into existence, showing the life essence from them both rising from their hands and twisting about. The color, an aquamarine hue, near identical, though hers touched by a bit more green and brown. Earthly hues. "Search yourself, Isolde. Feel what you have seen but forgotten. Memories from a time before yourself." It was the nature of  a Fallon born not of blood and flesh, but one that came about as a need from the world they inhabited. Letting the little display fade, Viktor's hand even became incorporeal as it passed through her own, allowing him to further look into her being in a non-pervasive way. Just seeing who she was, and how. A realization that Viktor had never the chance to come face to face with. A side effect to the Realm needing more at a specific time. "You, are a Fallon, Isolde." Hand retracted, the man sat there looking between her and Wrath, though the mannerisms of the large man hadn't gone unnoticed. Though the reasoning behind such were beyond what Viktor could know, it mattered little. "Isolde. I am your father." Though that had the man even looking perplexed. "In the simplest of terms, that is. Your parents, are still your parents. They did give birth to you. But your essence.. Your being that makes you who you are, is a Fallon. That light you saw, a piece of myself from many centuries ago." Yeah, it was getting weird now. "I cannot recall the exact time or place, but search within yourself, and you will know it to be true." Once more he looked up to Wrath, offering the brute of a man a nod. "I have you to thank for bringing her here. And I can only hope that you will continue to look after her." ||

Isolde●Allard : [Sensitive to the energies within the room, the two men felt even more imposing than their towering frames. The grizzled general of the North became a violent energy more suited for his name whilst the general of the West acted as an energy that was both paternal and guiding. Her intuition was rising, making her sensitive to their independent natures. Both were enormously contrast to her, wildly powerful and divine, but she felt that despite their vast difference she belonged. The wine was fruity and tangent on her tongue, warm all the way down her throat, through her chest and into her belly. She focused on setting the glass down gently, which took far more than she expected. Wrath's voice was chilly and firy at once as he spoke to Viktor. Isolde sat in raptured silence. Viktor, seeming not to notice, continued. As he spoke, she felt the ethereal tether tighten, creating a bond between she and the stranger. Giving into its gravity, she felt her muscles loosen and her  eyes widen. Wet with tears, her lashes flitted without fully closing as her mind yawned under Viktor's coaxing, opening her thoughts to memories and visions of lives past. Hands-- her hands-- covered in red, soil and grit. They weren't her hands, but they were. A cat curling around her leg-- her grandmother's leg, as she stared over a fruitful crop in the fading light. She was moving through a spring wood-- the Reverie wood, long before the empire had been built. Nobody else was there and the quiet sounds around her were bubbling with life. Shafts of light passed through tall grasses where she knelt with a spear in hand and a wreath of grain on her head, naked as the day she was born with ochre skin and dark eyes. Swamps full of nightlife sang in the pre-fall dusk on the first chilly night. She saw from within every womb she'd ever been held in. She watched the eyes of her first lover as his pupils dilated and then the color faded.  In rapid succession she saw these things, all of them in wonderful living color. She felt the seasons in each, alternately frigid and then blisteringly warm across the nape of her neck. Her blood boiled with eons of quiet respite, eager to take her as vessel and visage. Something ancient and celestial raged quietly under the surface within Viktor, and a part of it lie within her. As their respective auras collided, Isolde withdrew her hand and grasped her lips as she choked in air. Startled and trembling, she stared widely at him. It was undeniably true-- and she suddenly felt as if her body couldn't contain the force she felt. The memories were left ruminating in every inch of her skin. The florist hadn't been able to articulate her thoughts. They raced as she considered them, making a feeble attempt to keep up. "I'm...what?" she asked in a moment of clarity. His -daughter-. Her thoughts corrected. In this strange place, she felt desperate for something familiar. Her chest tightened as she considered the cool feeling of Viktor's hand passing through hers. Her fingertips fell from her mouth and without a second thought they lifted to reach toward Wrath. He was familiar, and more than that, he was comfort. His presence alone wasn't sufficient, she needed to feel him to ground herself. Like a deer alone in a clearing, she searched the length of the table for him before considering the gentle sway of wine in her belly. A little bit of liquid courage (and likely ignorance) drew a chirp from her, "I don't need looked after!" she blurted. Feeling centuries old and a fresh wave of energy, she was like a nubile creature on twiggy legs self-realizing. Clearly, she did. But the patronizing language had finally gotten to her. ]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: As Wrath’s resentment gradually subsided, he accepted the truth for what it was. That Melinoe and Viktor were equally important in Isolde’s spiritual awakening. For his part, the Emperor’s son was merely the catalyst that had sent events into motion. Observing the transparent hand of the Ethereal Man going through Isolde’s. To which blue molecules rearranged, and electrified particles blended into earthly green as Viktor and Isolde acknowledged their shared heritage on a cellular level. It was utterly confounding, Wrath begrudgingly admitted to himself. The stuff of dreams, realising that his ire was rooted in selfishness, the Prince reluctantly swallowed his pride. “Thus my mission is complete.” Bowing his head as graciously as he could muster without looking false. “I’m happy for you both. Sincerely I am.” Forcing a smile while meeting the gaze of Viktor, “I won’t be far if she needs me.” Wrath assured the Archduke. “Though she will be looking to you for guidance.” He countered. Knowing that in despite of the odd circumstances, they were sort of in this together. The leather clad warrior exhaling in the wake of these revelations. Standing until this point, now finally taking a seat beside them, to which Isolde immediately seized his hand. “I mean, no. She doesn’t need looking after.” Wrath shamelessly contradicting himself. His gigantic palm enveloping Isolde’s much smaller one. Squeezing it, being a stalwart source of support and encouragement. “If you’re a Fallon, that theoretically makes you a Noble.” The Prince pointed out. Planting a seed in their minds. Perhaps of his intentions for the future, if Isolde would have him. ::


Ѵɪᴋᴛᴏʀ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : || It was enough for Viktor to learn and come to these realizations himself, curious as to what this actually meant. And then, explaining it to Gabrielle. Oh that'd be interesting. Fun. However her reaction was not one that was wholly unanticipated. On the contrary, she took it better than he expected? How do you tell someone their entire life was completely different than they had grown up knowing? Essentially flipping her life upside down on itself, Viktor inwardly felt sorry for  her, and quietly scolded himself for putting her under such duress. "I concede the point then." Allowing her the measure of dignity and pride she clung too, Viktor nodded in agreement to Wrath. "Understandable. My door, as well as Gabrielle's, is always open should you have more questions Isolde. Or yourself, Wrath. After all, I'm sort of your uncle." Grinning with a small laugh at that one, Viktor then rose from the seat slowly. "I apologize Isolde, for confusing turn of events, and the abruptness of the truth thrust upon you. I shall take my leave, so that you two might discuss these findings among yourselves." Ever a diplomat. Viktor was good at far too many things, but he offered them both a slight bow. After all, Wrath was a Prince. "I do bid you both a good rest of the day." Naturally Viktor was concerned for her, but he understood the truth of learning such things. It took time to process. Shifting into the crowd, Viktor appeared to disappear just as easily as he had appeared to be waiting for them, sometimes causing people to wonder if he had even actually been there in the first place. ||

Isolde●Allard : [Feeling the reassuring grasp of Wrath's hand, her tension eased a bit. It was a flood of thought, emotion and memory but within his hold her mind calmed. That was a dangerous thought, she realized. A moment later, Viktor rose. She turned her gaze from Wrath to the Archduke and felt immediately ashamed of her outburst. He had just been trying to help-- had her reaction sped his exit? "I'm sorry--" she interjected with a bit of strength to her voice. "Thank you." she added, heart thrumming in her chest, "I hadn't expected to find any kind of answers so quickly-- or anything much really." she tried to explain herself as Viktor stood before taking his leave. "It's all very much. I'll find you, I trust?" she glanced at the massive man beside her, hand offering a squeeze as she considered trying to locate -anyone- within the stone walls. "And Gabrielle?" she added, somehow making the connection that she was of importance to Viktor (had she seen that? There had been so much.) Perhaps another of his 'children'? Eventually she'd inquire about their lineage, or how everything was related. The loose recognition of Viktor as Wrath's uncle seemed both a joke and somewhat honest. As she watched him fade into the crowd, Isolde leaned into the back of her chair and breathed in. Quiet for a moment as the fire crackled in the hearth, she stared blankly ahead of herself before realizing there was still wine in the cup. A lot of information was left to be digested, but her thoughts wandered to the warm, caolloused hand that held her own. Briefly, she considered it against her skin and tangled in her hair. Her cheeks flushed with color and she turned her cheek toward the man to admire him in the firelight. His scarred face beneath a blonde beard that caught the light, making it bright orange-- hair pulled back off of his forehead and face to keep out of his eyes. The girl pulled his hand to her lips, pressing them gently against his scarred knuckles. Overwhelmed with everything, she found a moment of tranquility in the quiet there with him. His ire with Viktor had been palpable, though the man seemed to take it in stride. Was this simply their way? It would take some getting used to for her. A shiver trailed her spine as she considered what his sudden caustic reaction might mean. "I'd like to stay with you." she confessed, breaking the silence. Or was that against some kind of rule? She was already far, far outside of the reaches of her own grasp of what was or wasn't acceptable. It was fair to ask. Even though some answers had been gleaned, it left her with more than she'd entered Immortalis with. The gentle florist-- a Fallon-- considered the possibility that since their answers had been found, their quest might have been over for him. Hoping not, she trailed the rim of the wine glass with her fingertip, debating whether she ought to make a case for staying or not. Ultimately, she continued, unable to stop the thoughts from making their way out. The wine was clouding her ability to keep her mouth closed. "If you'd prefer not, I understand." she added, though the back of her mind begged him to differ. She sucked in her bottom lip and bit it briefly as she glanced from the wine glass up at him from under her lashes. Perhaps she was laying it on a bit thick, but she didn't know the difference. Everything was new, and she was tired of holding back.]