Wrath & Isolde pt.3

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: After an awkward conversation with Isolde’s parents where Wrath had insisted that he had honourable intentions towards their daughter, the Prince had explained that it was in everyone’s interests if they set out for the castle. The reason for this had been discussed at some length but ultimately all sides had agreed it was the best way to discern some semblance of truth regarding Isolde’s prolonged slumber and her strange connection with the lifeforms around the cottage, including the Ents which Wrath had cautiously befriended. Henry most of all had left an impression on the Deathstalker and now accompanied the pair. Allowing Isolde to ride Sleipnir, Wrath took great strides alongside the white steed with the ominous tree-man looming over the party from the rear.The gruff figure glancing in the Fallon’s girl direction during comfortable silences, considering how he’d found himself here. Why was he going to all this trouble? After all, he wasn’t a young man and it hadn’t been the first time he’d been distracted by a pretty face, forgoing Imperial obligation. Nevertheless, Wrath had little regret and knew that a stern talk with his father regarding the Northern Legion was inevitable. Wondering if he’d be stripped of his position in light of his decision to go off with Melinoe and help the soothsayer fulfil her ambition, becoming one of the Fates, sacrificing her memories and knowledge of the Prince in the process. And yet in their parting farewell before life had taken them in different directions, Melinoe had one last prophecy for Wrath, leading him here.  There was still much the General of the North didn’t understand but what was abundantly clear to him was that Isolde was important. Enough so that she might even warrant the attention of his father, the Emperor. Currently making their way through the forest, the autumn leaves scattered on the earthfloor, Wrath caught his first glimpse of Immortalis and the turrets of the castle, nestled amidst the mountains. “Your parents seem nice,” he remarked playfully. “Though I’m not convinced your father approves of you gallivanting through the woods with me.” A glint of humour in his eyes. Clad in leathers and furs, Wrath had been her stalwart defender thus far and had given assurances to her parents that Isolde was in safe hands. “Not far to go now,” pointing to the fortress. ::

Isolde●Allard : [The passing days had been less restless for the veridical florist. Wrath’s suggestion (and persuasive arguments) to make a pilgrimage toward the castle had won favoritism with her mother. Her father was less vocal about his thoughts, but begrudgingly agreed that something was a bit strange about Isolde’s predicament that begged for answers. While her elders had cautionary feelings about the Deathstalker, it couldn’t be ignored that there was something...different about their daughter. If not for the plain fact that she had slipped through death’s grasp, then perhaps it was the walking, breathing, towering tree guardians she’d somehow managed to attract. Her mother was terrified of the Ents, but her father seemed nonplussed. He’d seen stranger things in his days under the Deathstalker banner. Their bucolic human life was suddenly cast into stark contrast against Isolde’s childhood and teenage years— and why wouldn’t it be? They were, after all, part of a much larger world. It was dangerous, wild and unbridled. Douglas Allard had spent years investing in the life he and his wife built for their only child— one far away from the battlefields and turrets that held eldritch magic and the tyrant Emperor. It was dark, terrific, and unfathomably terrifying. Douglas knew there was more to everything he’d seen— and he hadn’t wanted Isolde to see or take part in any of it. Elizabeth had spent her motherhood invested in Isolde’s upbringing as a lady, though they’d never had much luck finding a suitor that Isolde herself approved of. For all of her timorous nature, the girl was tenacious when it came to her marriage prospects. At her age, she ought to have whelped a few children and married. Her refusal of Linden had long frustrated her mother (and entertained her father.) She claimed she’d rather die a virgin hag than to marry the young drunk. Douglas was proud of her, but a bit perturbed by her disinterest in the idea of marriage. He’d have liked to see her married to someone willing and able to protect and defend his little girl— his flower. But this was unprecedented. Of course, Elizabeth was -very- pleased by Isolde’s acquaintance with Wrath, though she didn’t understand it at all. Douglas was less familiar. He saw the way the man moved around Isolde, he knew what thoughts must have lay at the edges of his mind. Isolde was no match for someone with a prolific reputation and a bloodied sword. She needed someone a bit more delicate. Perhaps with a fringe. Isolde, as she had proven many times in the past, was determined already. Her father could see it in her. Something about the girl had become more prominent. She no longer carried the air of a free spirited child. She was a woman grown with intentions and direction of her own. Douglas knew, in a way that spoke to his bones, that Isolde was choosing to travel the same direction as Wrath. What would come of her, he wondered as he helped her into the saddle of the great white war horse. Would she bring more honor to her family than previously imagined? She was more than a simple country child, despite his best efforts to mold her into it. No, the girl was something more like what he’d seen in his younger years at court. Less human than he and Elizabeth, and somehow more human than all of them at the same time. He watched as they disembarked, imagining that her life was destined for something greater than her little burrow in the woods. The Ents followed in an ominous procession, chests glowing brightly with fire and mouths gulping the air in groans and grunts of adventurous glee as they moseyed along. Their joints knotted and gnarled, creaking ominously as they moved. They rallied behind his flower, as if she were their leader. They served her in her home. Some were too large to enter the home. They towered, terrifying sentinels with hunger on their tongues. His daughter was an enigma, even to him, after all these years. As for the nelipot herself, she was entirely unaware of the gravity of her role in any of it. She wondered quietly at Wrath’s connection to all of this, woefully unprepared for what she marched toward. The horse felt enormous beneath her. But power coursed through the beast. His heart drummed loudly, his breathing coming in heaves and sighs. Isolde admired the muscles moving under his snowy coat. He was a beautiful animal. As leaves scattered across their path and the chill of autumn bit at her nose, the Fallon girl watched Wrath as he walked. With the swagger of a man who feared no foes, his demeanor was something new to Isolde. Every man had his limits, but a few walked with the gait of confidence that Wrath had. His mannerisms spoke of it, his very presence commanding. Of course, she’d experienced it before. But never so intimately, or for a longer span than an hour or two. Rather than fearful, it endeared her. She’d grown with a father who resembled, to her, strength and dignity. She'd learned a kind of admiration for those who fought while their families remained safe at home, despite her parents' best efforts to convince her otherwise. The nelipot knew she ought to fear his ire and the brutal parts beneath his skin, but she found herself instead drawn. Like a moth to flame. In the very core of her, the Fallon girl could feel magnetism pulling her toward him. Though she couldn't imagine what destruction they'd brought, his arms felt like home. She looked on as they rode, trying not to stare too long at the commander. When he spoke, a wry grin tugged at the corner of her mouth "My mother is much more easily swayed than my father..." she replied, eyes glancing distantly ahead as she uselessly sat atop the horse. Slephnir seemed to conduct himself without much need for reins. Isolde was unused to a behaved steed. "I don't imagine he's too pleased..." she mused as her expression turned mischevious for a moment. She was pleased with herself-- an adventure was upon her and it rest solely in her own hands to decide the course of action! "But if he had a stronger objection, I'd likely still be where I am." she concluded with the straightening of her spine. Pride...a new feeling for the girl. It was fleeting, and she liked the way it felt. Her attention shifted to follow his pointing finger. "Ah.." she breathed, an evanescent puff of air leaving her lips. "so it is." she said with a bit of relief. Of course, she'd been to the sprawling stronghold before. Never much more than occupationally, so the trip had exciting prospects for her. She was curious about what might greet them. A bit anxious, too. As they marched in with their trail of Ents, Isolde shivered briefly under a thick green wool cape. ]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: There journey had not been without obstacles, the Blackwood being a vast stretch of forestry which transitioned into the domains of other creeds and species. Though all threats were mitigated by the sheer ferocity of the Ents and the grizzled General, as Widow Maker gleamed in the night. The Reverie Wood wasn’t far -south of their location- which they’d visited together once before when Wrath had brought Isolde to the sacred pool, meanwhile the Gloom Woods could be located in the opposite direction further north. Home to Elves and Orcs respectively, the Deathstalker Prince maintained a cautious vigil until they’d reached the Imperial Road. Knowing only then were they likely to reach the capital undeterred. The Emperor’s son having mixed feelings as they drew closer to the Realm’s largest and brightest city. “The jewel in my father’s Empire,” remarked Wrath. “The city of immortals. Or Immortalis.” Giving the name of this great metropolis some context for her. “Yeah, I wasn’t worried about your mother, I know a fan when I see one, dear Elizabeth is quite taken with me I think.” He teased light-heartedly. A chuckle following when he reminded himself of their initial encounter with Isolde’s parents in the cottage, amidst their embrace. “Though the head of the household is another prospect entirely. Mr Allard is going to take some work I think.” Rubbing his square jaw in contemplation. “What if I make Douglas a Lord?” Not meaning to sound condescending and only half joking.  “He’s served the Empire diligently and is worthy of the recognition. Besides, my father is always on the lookout for committed supporters of the Crown.” Isolde was operating in a different sphere now, orbiting greater powers, meaning pivotal actions with far reaching consequences would be commonplace. She was travelling with the son of a Tyrant, a man who led vast legions into battle in the northern provinces and unless fate intended to separate them prematurely, Isolde’s life would never be the same again. The colossal swordsman looking back over his shoulder at the Ents. “Unfortunately we can’t bring them into the city, so I’d suggest we circumvent Immortalis entirely and head straight for the mountains. Cut around Old Town and make the steady climb towards my father’s castle.” Pointing in a direction proceeded by steep elevations in the terrain. The forest relenting, giving way to a rocky landscape. Stopping occasionally to gather firewood and other resources near a stream. Wrath refilling his flask and sharing the water with Isolde. Giving Sleipnir a moment to quench its thirst as well, the second-generation Nephilim observed the tree guardians, wondering what the guards at the castle would think. They might think Wrath was preparing to assault the fortress, grinning to himself. He hoped that they did. Striding towards the florist, his hands slipping around her waist protectively. “Would you like to stop here and continue towards the castle tomorrow, or push ahead?” Realising that night had befallen them. ::

Isolde●Allard : [As Wrath spoke, she felt a stirring within. Isolde kept expecting the effects to wear off, but they never seemed to. Her body seemed fixated on a singular goal, though she was determined to keep her thoughts at present. She wondered quietly-- did the city itself make its inhabitants immortal, or did immortals simply gather there? Her thoughts wandered for a moment before she shelved it for later conversation. "You're not wrong." she replied with a demure smile. The very fact that they were discussing her parents' interests in Wrath was amusing to her. A bit forward, maybe. But intuitively, the four of them seemed to know where Isolde had arrived in regard to the General. As he continued, she gasped in half surprise at his external musings and laughed aloud, "Don't you dare." she warned, a pink flush warming the bridge of her nose as she tried to recover, "He half knows what to do with a farm. He'd be utterly lost with a title." she partially joked. In reality, Isolde was a bit humbled by any idea of her family receiving special treatment on her behalf. Her father, far less modest, would have taken him up on it in a heartbeat. After all, most of those accolades were true. Isolde would be happy just to see her parents pleased with her choices. Of course, she was a far reach from familiar with these sorts of things, so the mere suggestion made her blush. Would he want to win her father's approval so thoroughly? As his steel hues turned over his shoulder, her head turned to follow toward the Ents. Their legs moved as if they were walking, but vines and roots churned along the ground where their feet ought to have been. Their roots sprawled out along the ground, snaking around stones and in between leaves. They trailed further back, as the noise of their movement was colossal. Isolde nodded, wind tugging at the ends of her hair where they'd fallen loose from a coiled bun beneath her winter hat. Her lovat gaze followd the direction he spoke of, lips pursed in thought as she considered the terrain. She'd never ridden through anything as steep before, but she had little concern over the horse's ability to traverse it. When they stopped and Wrath assisted her dismount, the stretched her legs. Her body was sore from riding, but it felt good to be outside and in the wild. The hazy light from the city was dusky orange at the edge of the deep velvet night above them, casting ambient light for them. She drank from his flask, not realizing before how thirsty she'd been until the water washed down her throat. Traveling such a distance on horseback would have been a challenge for the girl alone-- she was barely aware of her needs until Wrath pointed them out. With the expanse of his palms around her waist, she swayed toward him ever so slightly. The florist hadn't even considered her fatigue amidst her excitement. She'd been aware of night's arrival-- abnormally vigilant of the world around them, infact. The forest, the rocks, the leaves, the running water and the wildlife around them was all moving and singing. She could hear it, and she could -feel- it. Ancient Birch trees gave off dusty energy, groaning histories as they passed. An old nostalgia rumbled underfoot as hooves beat the soil and sand. New life trickled and giggled in the water as it danced merrily through the wood. Anxious rabbits and cunning foxes darted around them as bears lumbered lazily, preparing for a long sleep. Awareness played at her senses, exhausting what was human in her. She could smell the musky scent of his furs, freshly oiled by a tannery on the hide underneath, the cedary smoke that clung to his hair and beard, and the warmth of hs skin beneath. "How much longer will it take?" she asked, recognizing her own ignorance to the travel and distance they had yet to cross. Deep down, she hoped for a night under a canvas tent with the warrior. But she had enough sense to know that might not be prudent. Considering the relevant facts, she settled on making the decision based on how long yet they would travel. ]


​Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: The General of the North snickered at her reply. “Can’t be any worse than the other Lords. The aristocracy is a joke. Douglas Allard would be a welcome breath of fresh air.” Giving credence to the idea. Perhaps in his own way, Wrath was implying his broader intent, not merely towards her family, but Isolde herself. There were moments during their journey when Wrath would catch himself staring at the florist when he thought she didn’t notice. In truth, his steel grey eyes had never left her since they’d embarked on their journey, seeking out the Imperial apex of this vast continent his father ruled over. The way the wind caught her hair stirred something in the grizzled Prince he hadn’t felt before and to a man who’d lived this long -his age comparable to the seemingly immortal Emperor he called a father, spanning centuries- he was wise enough to appreciate how rare these circumstances were. Concluding that Melinoe had prompted these events and that her sacrifice had been as much for his sake as her own. Realising that Isolde was the promise of something he’d been denied his whole life. He dared not even say it, only mindful that the great storm in his chest had subsided. The anger in his bones relenting. These were things that a Deathstalker syphoned and drew strength from to win battles, knowing that the defiance in his blood was as much a blessing as it was a curse and yet all of that ceased in Isolde’s company. Rather he felt a calming tide when he reflected inwards. Knew peace for the first time. That was why the florist was important. She represented happiness and for that reason, he was encouraged to follow where she led, in so much as she would come with him here to the castle.To call it love would be naïve, Wrath not believing he was that sentimental. Surely that was something that only existed in stories? Contrived by poets. Then again, he’d never felt it before either. Wouldn’t recognise it if he did. The brooding warrior consciousness of his increased attachment towards the Fallon girl as well. Possessiveness was a strong word, but the man by his very nature was a territorial creature, knowing if anyone even looked at Isolde the wrong way once they reached the castle, he’d put his sword through their throat. Thoughts of such things put to one side when Isolde answered him. “About four hours, but the terrain is arduous and we’re more likely to avoid obstacles under natural light. Camping here by the stream would be sensible.” He suggested. Glancing to Henry, realising how absurd it was that he sought the approval of a giant tree, but there you go. Thankfully the Ent seemed to agree evidenced by its stoic nod. Standing beside her now, the Prince allowed his sweeping gaze to take in breadth and scope of their surroundings. There was a rugged beauty found in the earth and roaming animals he hadn’t normally taken the time to appreciate. “This is called the Valley of Horses. It was where the first men settled, long ago.” He explained. “It is my birthright. My home. When my father is gone, all of this will be mine.” Feeling the same connection to the ground that she did in that moment. It spoke to him. The echoes of those who came before him resounding in the hills and crags. Crouching down to grasp at the dirt between his fingers, contemplating many things before rising again. His commanding height of seven feet made for a striking visual. His wide shoulders meant to endure the weight of the world. “I’ll need someone to share it with.” His hand seizing her own. Head hung, looking down at Isolde. ::


Isolde●Allard : [Isolde allowed the idea to ruminate humbly where Wrath left it. Her family wasn't greedy, but they'd spent much of their lives striving for comfort. Surely, she might afford it for them if it was within her grasp, though not by means of over reaching. Without a word spoken, she recognized their shared comfort. It was intuited, in a language that subversed action and word. Universal by its nature, Henrich and his tribe of varying Ents understood it as they looked on at the pair. The tree folk began to disperse, creating a physical parentheses about the periphery. They buried their roots amongst the bracken and soil, arms arching up into long reaches toward the sky and out toward the other trees. Their crowns were shy, leaving space for the other trees which resided there permanently. Their willowy bodies closed up the firy caveties in their chests and once they closed their eyes and mouths, the Ents were diguised entirely amongst the thick wooded surroundings. Their branches creaked gently in the wind, joining the song of the others. Henry silently approved, but took position closest to where they'd prepare camp. When Wrath continued, the florist looked toward the horizon, thought suspended in reverie. As he told the story, loosely, the air became thick with emotion. The soil, the rocks, trees and water remembered. Vague images flitted through Isolde's thoughts, narrated by Wrath's voice. They felt oddly familiar, as if she'd lived them before, though she knew well that she hadn't. It felt like a familiar dream-- like déjà vu. The withy nelipot had the surreal sense that she'd been standing in that very spot, seeing these things and hearing his voice eons ago. Her lashes flittered as she blinked away the sense of nostalgia and collected herself in the present. As he moved, the girl felt as if her feet were rooted in the ground. Like the groaning wood around her, she didn't want to move.  Watching curiously as the grizzled man knelt before her, Isolde's head tilted gently to one side. Her eyes felt glassy from the sudden feeling of reminisence and maudlin that ruminated between them. As he collected the soil in his hand and rubbed it between his fingertips, she felt a chill coax goosebumps down the length of her spine and around her ribs. Recognizing the fleeting moment of sentimentality for him, her fingertips ached to reach out and grasp his. To extend mutual vulnerability in the moment of connection with the natural world around them-- the place of their ancestors. When the hurculean man extended a hand to grasp hers, Isolde tilted her head up to offer a gentle smile up at him. Her thin fingertips offered a reassuring squeeze as her shoulders perked at either side of her face. A free hand lifted to touch his cheek gingerly, just reaching. Her palm pressed to it, half against skin and half against his beard. "I'll follow where you lead." ]