12-31-2017, 03:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-24-2018, 09:45 PM by King Ghidorah.)
The little pair looked at each other and nodded, then looked up at Isolda and said exactly what she'd hoped they wouldn't say:
"It is about King Ghidorah! You must help us!"
An image of a hungry golden face, bold and beautiful, thin and cruel, flickered across the walls of the noblewoman's mind. She'd been alternately avoiding and stalking the brass-bodied barbarian ever since the day he'd first appeared at Harnburg Castle, when they'd caught sight of each other in the hall.
The ghosts had roared at his presence. Ghidorah dragged a psychic miasma of bloodlust around in his wake that was so thick it practically stuck to the walls; Just being around him made her hear distant screams, smell and taste the complex tang of burning cities; it was enough to push Isolda towards an adrenaline-fueled flashback, which was something she could absolutely not afford to let happen inside the castle.
She wanted to stay out of it. It was the Duke who had invited Ghidorah into the keep, and him who was using the beast as a pawn to further Harnburg's interests - a move which the heiress didn't approve of, but did understand. She even understood the ruthlessness with which the monster was being deployed, although it had been disturbing to see how easily the man who raised her ordered the destruction of the elves. Still, all of that fell under William Conrad van Harnburg's pervue as the ruler of the valley; He knew what he was doing, and the bare fact of the matter was that Isolda didn't want to be involved.
Isolda had gone to a lot of trouble specifically so that she would never have to be involved.
Yet, at the same time, she couldn't ignore the obvious danger. Servants had begun to disappear from the castle, and it was getting harder and harder to find a room in the keep that didn't contain echoes of the monster's killing intent: a psychic impression of blood and fire that never entirely went away. After overhearing (eavesdropping, if she was entirely honest) the spymaster Chatterly discussing Mothra's warnings, the noblewoman had taken to following Ghidorah at a safe distance, borrowing the phantasmic qualities of her ghostly passengers and travelling unseen.
What she'd witnessed so far did little to ease her worries. Old instincts were stirring, a familiar sensation of impending, inevitable doom, and Isolda's dearest wish was to let someone else handle it.
Her greatest fear was that nobody else would.
"I don't see what he has to do with me," she said, her voice only wavering a little. She shifted her weight, ruffling the fabric of her nightdress as she tried to find a more comfortable position. Gravel crackled under her feet. "Ghidorah is my uncle's creature, not mine."
The fairies shook their heads. Their synchrony was broken for a moment when only one of them paused to wiped a smudge of dirt off her face. "He belongs to no-one. Your uncle uses his power and malice to destroy, but does not understand their extent! You are the Duke's only family - Please, talk to him!"
A small twinge of relief that they hadn't asked her to fight- didn't know that she could - colored Isolda's thoughts. It passed quickly, overtaken by a complex shadow of dread, apprehension and guilt; there was a time when she would have spoken with her uncle William about this already, if not simply ambushed Ghidorah herself.
Ever since the golden Prime had showed up, her comfortable sense of distance from the world had been shrinking. If she did as these tiny women asked, the heiress feared she'd be unable to maintain her treasured isolation - but if she did nothing, there was a real possibility that the choice would be taken away from her entirely.
"What would you like me to say? My uncle is the ruler of the valley. If he doesn't want to do something, there's little I could do to persuade him."
The two miniature faces took on an almost militant caste, highlighted by the harsh, yellow-green glow of a nearby mushroom.
"That he must stop defending Ghidorah, so that Mothra may destroy him! You must convince your uncle to help us, or at least to withdraw the protection of his spies! We have been watching him. If it is from you, we are sure he will heed your words!"
Isolda stood up, unfolding from her crouch like some sort of enormous pale fern, and turned away from the two tiny women, folding her arms over her unremarkable chest. The noblewoman stared at the florescent ivy that graced her garden walls, trying to drown her swirling thoughts in the placid blue glow. Risks she didn't want to take and outcomes she didn't want to contemplate clamored for attention she hated to give. Behind her, the fairies huddled close, whispering nervously to one-another.
The last time she'd been this unsure about anything, she'd been seventeen years old. That hadn't ended well for anyone.
Isolda heaved a sigh, the motion shifting her gown off of one shoulder. "I'll talk to him," she said, turning her head to look back at Mothra's messengers. Several strands of hair fell across her face. "but it will be on my own behalf as much as yours. The way he's been acting lately bothers me... And in any case, I cannot promise he'll listen."
The fairies bowed low. "Trying is all that we may ask! Thank you! We will pray for your success!"
A grimace flickered across the heiress' smooth features. She didn't know how much longer she could keep the ghosts quiet in the face of her own increasing agitation. The fairies hadn't noticed it yet, but the fireflies were leaving, their tiny spirits dampened by a rising tide of the restless dead, and a mildew scent was beginning to creep in beneath the smells of clean water and healthy soil.
"Please - just try to stay out of sight," she said. "My uncle's spymaster isn't fond of intruders, and I doubt that either of you deserves Chatterly."
Leaving the garden was easy. Isolda walked through the wall, passing through the glowing ivy and the stone behind it as though they were mist; they even seemed to swirl slightly for a moment in her wake. It was something nobody else in the castle could do, a gift of her ghostly entourage, and just one more reason why the garden of lights was hers and hers alone.
Deciding what to do had calmed her down a little bit. As she padded barefoot and shrouded from sight across the night-time cobblestones of Castle Harnburg, taking great care not to step on anything unpleasant, Isolda reflected that she had lied to the fairies about her relationship with her uncle.
Yes, he had raised her, in another place on a dying planet. Yes, here and now he was master of the castle and the valley in which it lay - but she was actually quite positive that he would listen to any concerns she might have over how he was running the fiefdom; He might not agree, but he would certainly listen.
After all, leaving aside the old and bloodstained bonds of doomed struggle that were shared between them, uncle William was only the Duke because, when summoning the Castle, Isolda had given him the job.
"It is about King Ghidorah! You must help us!"
An image of a hungry golden face, bold and beautiful, thin and cruel, flickered across the walls of the noblewoman's mind. She'd been alternately avoiding and stalking the brass-bodied barbarian ever since the day he'd first appeared at Harnburg Castle, when they'd caught sight of each other in the hall.
The ghosts had roared at his presence. Ghidorah dragged a psychic miasma of bloodlust around in his wake that was so thick it practically stuck to the walls; Just being around him made her hear distant screams, smell and taste the complex tang of burning cities; it was enough to push Isolda towards an adrenaline-fueled flashback, which was something she could absolutely not afford to let happen inside the castle.
She wanted to stay out of it. It was the Duke who had invited Ghidorah into the keep, and him who was using the beast as a pawn to further Harnburg's interests - a move which the heiress didn't approve of, but did understand. She even understood the ruthlessness with which the monster was being deployed, although it had been disturbing to see how easily the man who raised her ordered the destruction of the elves. Still, all of that fell under William Conrad van Harnburg's pervue as the ruler of the valley; He knew what he was doing, and the bare fact of the matter was that Isolda didn't want to be involved.
Isolda had gone to a lot of trouble specifically so that she would never have to be involved.
Yet, at the same time, she couldn't ignore the obvious danger. Servants had begun to disappear from the castle, and it was getting harder and harder to find a room in the keep that didn't contain echoes of the monster's killing intent: a psychic impression of blood and fire that never entirely went away. After overhearing (eavesdropping, if she was entirely honest) the spymaster Chatterly discussing Mothra's warnings, the noblewoman had taken to following Ghidorah at a safe distance, borrowing the phantasmic qualities of her ghostly passengers and travelling unseen.
What she'd witnessed so far did little to ease her worries. Old instincts were stirring, a familiar sensation of impending, inevitable doom, and Isolda's dearest wish was to let someone else handle it.
Her greatest fear was that nobody else would.
"I don't see what he has to do with me," she said, her voice only wavering a little. She shifted her weight, ruffling the fabric of her nightdress as she tried to find a more comfortable position. Gravel crackled under her feet. "Ghidorah is my uncle's creature, not mine."
The fairies shook their heads. Their synchrony was broken for a moment when only one of them paused to wiped a smudge of dirt off her face. "He belongs to no-one. Your uncle uses his power and malice to destroy, but does not understand their extent! You are the Duke's only family - Please, talk to him!"
A small twinge of relief that they hadn't asked her to fight- didn't know that she could - colored Isolda's thoughts. It passed quickly, overtaken by a complex shadow of dread, apprehension and guilt; there was a time when she would have spoken with her uncle William about this already, if not simply ambushed Ghidorah herself.
Ever since the golden Prime had showed up, her comfortable sense of distance from the world had been shrinking. If she did as these tiny women asked, the heiress feared she'd be unable to maintain her treasured isolation - but if she did nothing, there was a real possibility that the choice would be taken away from her entirely.
"What would you like me to say? My uncle is the ruler of the valley. If he doesn't want to do something, there's little I could do to persuade him."
The two miniature faces took on an almost militant caste, highlighted by the harsh, yellow-green glow of a nearby mushroom.
"That he must stop defending Ghidorah, so that Mothra may destroy him! You must convince your uncle to help us, or at least to withdraw the protection of his spies! We have been watching him. If it is from you, we are sure he will heed your words!"
Isolda stood up, unfolding from her crouch like some sort of enormous pale fern, and turned away from the two tiny women, folding her arms over her unremarkable chest. The noblewoman stared at the florescent ivy that graced her garden walls, trying to drown her swirling thoughts in the placid blue glow. Risks she didn't want to take and outcomes she didn't want to contemplate clamored for attention she hated to give. Behind her, the fairies huddled close, whispering nervously to one-another.
The last time she'd been this unsure about anything, she'd been seventeen years old. That hadn't ended well for anyone.
Isolda heaved a sigh, the motion shifting her gown off of one shoulder. "I'll talk to him," she said, turning her head to look back at Mothra's messengers. Several strands of hair fell across her face. "but it will be on my own behalf as much as yours. The way he's been acting lately bothers me... And in any case, I cannot promise he'll listen."
The fairies bowed low. "Trying is all that we may ask! Thank you! We will pray for your success!"
A grimace flickered across the heiress' smooth features. She didn't know how much longer she could keep the ghosts quiet in the face of her own increasing agitation. The fairies hadn't noticed it yet, but the fireflies were leaving, their tiny spirits dampened by a rising tide of the restless dead, and a mildew scent was beginning to creep in beneath the smells of clean water and healthy soil.
"Please - just try to stay out of sight," she said. "My uncle's spymaster isn't fond of intruders, and I doubt that either of you deserves Chatterly."
Leaving the garden was easy. Isolda walked through the wall, passing through the glowing ivy and the stone behind it as though they were mist; they even seemed to swirl slightly for a moment in her wake. It was something nobody else in the castle could do, a gift of her ghostly entourage, and just one more reason why the garden of lights was hers and hers alone.
Deciding what to do had calmed her down a little bit. As she padded barefoot and shrouded from sight across the night-time cobblestones of Castle Harnburg, taking great care not to step on anything unpleasant, Isolda reflected that she had lied to the fairies about her relationship with her uncle.
Yes, he had raised her, in another place on a dying planet. Yes, here and now he was master of the castle and the valley in which it lay - but she was actually quite positive that he would listen to any concerns she might have over how he was running the fiefdom; He might not agree, but he would certainly listen.
After all, leaving aside the old and bloodstained bonds of doomed struggle that were shared between them, uncle William was only the Duke because, when summoning the Castle, Isolda had given him the job.