Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

Faerie tales from beyond the veil to the streets of RhyDin

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Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

Post by JewellRavenlock »

“Jewell, I know you have been under duress with some of the recent events going on in the city, but I must tell you that something is not right in this neighborhood that you have chosen for our habitation.”

“What do you mean?” She used her elbow to push a stray lock of blue behind her ear, hands busy and dirty with the task of cracking eggs into a large bowl. To Ishmerai’s utter horror, she was attempting to make a cake. She didn’t even let him explain his concerns as she began to prattle on, adding other ingredients willy-nilly to the batter, “The family of Brownies that own the bakery are just lovely! And so were their scones. And that woman, the Dryad, who runs the flower shop.. what is her name again?”

“Aemildil Branchmane.”

“Right her. She seems so sweet! I’ve been too busy to meet any of our neighbors who live in those row-houses across the way, but I did see that one family with the two little girls leaving the other day. They’ve got such pretty flowers in those big planters on their steps.”

“Yes, yes. I have noticed all that as well.”

“Then what’s the problem?” She looked from the recipe she was attempting to follow (kind-of sort-of) to her knight with a puzzled smile.

“If you would listen for a moment instead of talking and adding whatever is within hand’s reach into your cake,” he snatched a bottle of paprika away from her before a pinch of that ended up in the batter, “I will explain.”

Jewell rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She quickly cleaned her hands, drying them off on a towel as she turned to lean against the counter to face Ishmerai. “You have my undivided attention.”

“The majority of our neighbors, or the few who show their faces, do seem very nice. There are also several well-run businesses. But you must have noticed how many closed store-fronts there are, and that the overall area is somewhat.. dilapidated.”

“Well, yeah..” she nodded a little. “I just thought maybe some people have fallen on hard times?” In fact, she hadn’t really given it much thought at all.

“I thought the same at first as well, especially when I was overseeing the work on the house. Now that we have been here a while, and I have had some time to observe the area and its people more closely, I am not so sure that something deeper is not at work here. Even in some of the more run-down neighborhoods of the district, almost every shop is full, every living space occupied. Old Market does not have as many problems as say.. the West End in this regard.”

“Huh,” her brow furrowed as she thought this over, comparing what she had seen in other areas of the city to what is now her own. “That’s a good point. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Moreover, the streets are often empty, even during the day. Yes, people are out and about, but they do not seem to linger long in the neighborhood.”

Now he really had her attention, “What else have you noticed?” This was not the tone of an errant cake-maker, but the question of a woman whose mind is at work discovering truth.

“There seem to be a group of young men, a few women, about in the evening hours. Most of them do not seem to live in the neighborhood. They are loud, disruptive, and I believe they are responsible for the.. graffiti, I believe you called it, that now decorates what used to be the Tavern. I am sure they are also the ones that broke the windows of the neighboring shop.”

“And you don’t think they live on the block?”

He shook his head slowly. “A few of them, perhaps. I have not followed them far, and I have only seen two or three return to one of the apartments in the early hours of the morning.”

She took up the wire-whisk and started to stir the batter of her cake to give her hands something to do while she filtered through this new information. “What do you think is happening?”

“Some type of organized criminal activity, perhaps? I am not really sure how such things work in these cities of yours, but the pattern seems familiar enough.”

“Right,” she nodded absently, and he watched her stir the cake much longer than necessary before she spoke up again. “What should we do?”

“That, m’lady, I leave entirely up to you. I did not want to be presumptuous, so I have not spoken with anyone to see if I could find out more for you. If you would like me to, however...”

“No no. I have nothing planned for the next few days. I’ll see what I can dig up.” Having made that decision, she seemed to recall the cake she was stirring. Removing the wire-whisk, she held the bowl out to Ishmerai, “Want to taste it first?”

He eyed the brown substance, that did not smell at all of chocolate, dubiously. “I will pass on the opportunity for now.”

“Suit yourself.” She dug her finger into the batter, gathering up a large glob of it, before sticking it in her mouth. Instantly, her eyes began to water and she started to cough. “Not good!” She grabbed the glass of water Ishmerai had poured for himself earlier, draining it dry. “Very not good.”
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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

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“So you see my Lord Guiscard, I had to come and speak to you. Every single one of our neighbors said, ‘Ah, you must speak to Lord Guiscard, m’lady!’ and so here I am. And I apologize profusely for not having come here to make your acquaintance sooner.”

“Nonsense, my dear, nonsense!” The old Elf countered as he bustled about his small, cramped kitchen in the apartment he lived in above the bookstore he owned. Even in a room that normally smelled of years and years of prepared meals, Jewell could still smell the dry, aging parchments from his store. The Elf went about preparing tea for himself and his guest. When Jewell had offered to assist him, he had shooed her into a seat at the tiny, two-person table, where she pushed aside a stack of books to make room for the tea that he soon set in front of her before taking his seat opposite her. “It is quite an honor to have such a lady of rank in my presence, though I apologize for the mess. I am an old bachelor, my lady, and don’t need much room these days, and I’m not used to entertaining such fine guests as yourself. What did you say your family name was again?”

“Ta-Neer, Lord Guiscard,” she repeated for about the third time with that pleasant smile made to stir the hearts of all men.

“Ah yes, of course.” He nodded. “Don’t remember that family, but it’s been so many years since I’ve been in the Lands after all. Many many years,” he mumbled to himself a little, seeming to forget his guest for a moment as he was lost in thought. “Oh,” he snapped back to the here and now, “do you like your tea?”

Jewell took a hasty sip, almost scalding her tongue, just so she could exclaim, “It is absolutely delightful, Lord Guiscard! A little taste of home.”

“Just Guiscard please, Lady Ta-Neer. And it is a bit homey, isn’t it? They don’t quite make things here like they do over there.”

“Of course, Guiscard, but only if you call me by my given name: Jewell.”

“Ah, Jewell is it?” He laughed. “A fitting name for such a lovely lady as yourself; a jewel of the Summerlands. Like the sapphire that rests on the right hand of the Queen.” Jewell blushed at these compliments. “However can I be of assistance to such a gem? A right Lady like you can’t have much need of a faded wizard like me, even if she is under such strong bindings as you seem to be.” Those eyes were sharp and clear now as he looked at her, curiosity and concern etched into his forehead.

“Fortunately my visit does not concern such dark things as the magic of a greater court, m’lord, and I do not request any assistance of a magical nature.” She paused to take a sip of her tea, allowing the warm flavors of crisp fall in Faerie to soothe her nerves; she had not expected him to discern her faults so easily. “Since I have recently moved into the neighborhood, I have noticed some causes for concern regarding the general state of some of our neighbors and their businesses. When I inquired as to the history of the neighborhood to see, perhaps, if I could provide assistance in any way, every single person directed me to you. So here I am.”

“I see,” he nodded. None of the mental fog of earlier seemed to bother him now as he enjoyed his drink and thought of her request. “You see, my dear, there is a reason everyone in this neighborhood, even those damnable Redcaps across the way, would direct you to me.”

“I thought it might have to do with your sage-like wisdom that I heard spoken of.”

“You possess a honeyed tongue, Jewell. You must have done well in the courts.” She conceded to this with a slight nod. “Well, it might be because of what wisdom I possess, the result of ages of study and all. The reason is more likely because I have been in this neighborhood from the beginning.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You see...”
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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

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Many years ago, as great wars raged throughout the lands of Faerie—a direct result of an influx of Lords and Ladies forced from Earth during what is known as the Industrial Revolution—a young lord and the lady he fancied made a plan to escape. He was a lover of knowledge, making a study of the ancient arts and history, yet his liege lady called on him to go to war. Battles, with the death and destruction they wrought, were not for him. He loved his books and scrolls, and only loved his lady more.

Weeks of planning came to fruition late one night. His lady stole into his study, “Oh, Guiscard, what are we to do? I will not see you sent off to war tomorrow!” She wept because she was tender-hearted and dearly loved Guiscard, but she did not really wish to leave her home and run away with him.

“Worry not, my love! I have found a sanctuary for us at last.” The scholar blew the powder from his hands—the work of many long hours—onto the gilded mirror in the room, and they both watched it come alive with the image of a small city (perhaps nothing more than a large town) on the sea with a river cutting through the center of it.

“Is not that Earth?” Her fair skin drained of blood, and she looked ready to faint at the thought.

“No no, my love! It is a place where magic flourishes.” As they spoke, the cock crowed, signaling the dawn. The young lord hastily grabbed his satchel—filled with his most precious scrolls and books—before holding out his hand in eager anticipation to his lady. “Come, Crina. There is no time for hesitation now.”

Yet Crina did hesitate, glancing at the door to Guiscard’s study and thinking of what lay beyond: her family, friends, all the comforts of court life. With a cry of despair, she turned her back on it and took her lover’s hand. Together, they stepped through the mirror portal.

*****

Life in RhyDin was not easy at first for the two of them. Crina missed life in the courts of Faerie and neither of them were accustomed to any sort of labor. Soon, though, they established their niche in the growing town. Guiscard first used his knowledge of spells and magic to gather enough money to build his own shop near the river, filling it to the brim with books and scrolls from all over the multiverse.

Trying to make his dear love feel more at home, the bookshop keeper encouraged a small neighborhood of people from all different parts of Faerie to move in around them. It made Crina happy as the neighborhood slowly began to look like a little piece of the Elflands.

Her contentment only lasted so long, unfortunately. Her lord tried everything he could to make her happy, for he had been bewitched by the city that grew up around them and would not leave even with talk of times of peace in Faerie. To cure the weakness she complained of from the abundance of iron, he rid the neighborhood of it and cast a spell to cleanse the air. When the pervasive technology became a problem, he found the solution for that as well, and the Little Elfhame became a deadzone for many modern conveniences.

Bit-by-bit, Crina slipped away from him until she was gone. She fled back to the land of their youth, and Guiscard buried himself in his studies.
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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

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“I didn’t mean for it to happen, dear,” Guiscard explained to Jewell. “But my sorrow has aged me, and I have not looked after the neighborhood like I once did,” he lamented sadly, but when he looked up at Jewell again, there was a sparkle in his eyes. “But you, lady, I see you are made of fire.”

“Say not that I am made of fire, dear sir, but tested by it.”

“Yes, well, either way, perhaps you can deal with this hooligan that troubles us. What did they tell me his name was again?” He muttered through a rather long list of names, testing each out to see if it was the one. “Joseph? No no. Ah! Conrí! Yes. I have been told the man’s name is Conrí.”

“Yes, Mr. Conrí.” Her smile was no longer sweet but positively wicked, “Do tell me more of this man.”
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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

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Mid-morning of the next day, Jewell stood by the seamstress’s shop, drinking her coffee and munching on a cinnamon roll from the bakery. It was too early for any hooligans to be up and about just yet, but the Empress was feeling patient today. The neighborhood wasn’t too quiet just now; a few people moved up and down the cobblestone street: purchasing meat from the butcher, picking out fresh fruit from the crates outside the grocer’s or at least stopping to chat with the Hobbit that ran the store, and maybe a quick stop to smell the flowers at Aemildil’s shop.

Jewell brushed the crumbs off her shirt when she finished eating, grey eyes seeking out Ishmerai across the way. Only the glint from his green eyes was really visible to her as the scale pattern, which normally covered just portions of his skin, had shifted to cover his entire body, allowing him to blend in with the shadows of the alley that stood between the former tavern and fish-market. They had agreed that her knight was not to step in unless completely necessary today. Merai had to consent to Jewell’s reasoning in this instance: if Ishmerai stepped in to save the day, then Conrí would simply wait for a time when the knight was absent to strike back at her.

A door slammed shut in the next building, recalling Jewell’s attention to the matter at hand. It was just the half-elf—Éimhín—who ran his own courier service. He adjusted his black faux-hawk and took off up the street towards Dragon’s Gate with a delivery. Jewell watched him until he turned a corner, his red running shoes easy to spot. He wasn’t long gone before the two Leprechaun brothers who owned the shoe-shop began fighting again. Jewell smiled as she sipped her coffee; their raised tones were not unusual in the neighborhood. Her grin was short lived when she spotted a group of four coming down the street from the general direction of where the courier had disappeared minutes before. Pushing off the wall she had been leaning against and setting her coffee down, Jewell stretched as she watched their approach. The neighborhood had quickly emptied with the arrival of the four young thugs. Even the shoe-makers fell quiet again, somehow sensing the approach of their tormentors. Jewell kept her place as the group passed her by with barely a glance, and then casually crossed the street diagonally after them. She was in no hurry, taking stock of her potential opponents as she made to meet up with them at the grocer’s, their first stop of the day.

Two of them were Elven youths, possibly mixed blood, one male and one female. They were tall—much taller than her—with dyed black hair to contrast with their porcelain skin. The male was not visibly armed while the female had some sort of baton—possibly expandable—hanging at her waist. The other two of the company were shorter than their companions but still taller than Jewell, and both of them were Fae. The one had yellowish skin, bare feet, and long nails that looked as sharp as knives. The other one was less obviously a threat. He was pale, skinny, and short, but his eyes were red and Jewell caught a whiff of sulfur coming off him as she came up behind the group.

They were heckling the grocer, the one with the nasty nails slicing through the Hobbit’s stock of fresh peaches and discarding the ruined fruit on the ground. “There was a worm in that apple you gave me last week, filth,” the male Elf was saying, shoving the grocer back. “Is that the thanks Conrí gets for protecting your shop?” The female Elf laughed, kicking one of the crates of apples over.

Jewell had stopped several feet behind them and chose this moment to clear her throat loudly. “That’s enough now, kids.”

The one that smelled like sulfur nudged the male Elf, who turned his attention to Jewell with a sneer. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is unimportant. What is important is that you have about five seconds to vacate my neighborhood or I will forcibly remove you. Your choice, friends,” she tacked on that last with a condescending smile.

The two Elves laughed, prompting the other two to join in. “Your neighborhood, lady?” The female asked mockingly. She got close to Jewell and stabbed her finger at the Empress’s chest, glaring down at the smaller, blue-haired woman. “This is Conrí’s neighborhood, in case no one told you. And no one here tells us what to do because we work for him.” She jabbed at Jewell’s chest again, causing the petite woman to rock back on her feet a little. “Especially not some hoity-toity rich bitch.” She grinned as Jewell raised her brows in apparent surprise. “Yeah. I’ve seen you. Living in that big house now, huh? Think you own this place? Think again. The wolf lord doesn’t take kindly to people like you.”

Jewell just smiled, casually brushing the girl’s hand away when she was done with her pretty little speech. She had assumed it was going to be this way and was therefore not surprised. “I strongly suggest you leave now. I do not usually condone violence against children,” her voice was calm, her manner nonchalant, “but I will make an exception for little pricks like yourselves.”

They all laughed again. “Oh ho-ho rich bitch, them be fighting words! Hey Scraps,” the Elven male called to the Fae who was still busy cutting peaches to pieces. “You want to show Miss Thing here that we mean business?”

The kid shrugged, his nails still dripping with the peach juice that permeated the air as he stepped around his friends and stood opposite Jewell. He flashed her a grin—his shark-sharp teeth even yellower than his skin—waving his hands to both free his nails of peach juice and display his impressive weaponry as he winked aside at his friends. Jewell watched him impassively during this attempt at intimidation, taking note of the boy’s scraggly build, undisciplined stance, and worn-out footwear.

He didn’t give her much time for observation, leaping forward at her with hands outstretched to carve up her face. While Jewell was certainly not as strong as she may have once been, she was quick. Ducking low to the left, she watched as the nasty little beast easily overextended himself and began to stumble forward, his thin sneakers failing to find purchase on the cobblestones, slick with peach juice as they were. Pivoting on her own firmly planted right foot, she kicked him hard in the small of his back with her left boot. His own momentum combined with the force of her blow sent him sprawling on his face.

His friends laughed at this failure, shouting their encouragement to him, “Come on, Scraps! Go at her again!” The kid struggled to his feet as Jewell waited for him patiently, shifting her stance to keep herself grounded but light enough on her feet to move quickly. Scraps kept low this time, charging at her with a wordless shout of anger; she had made him look like a fool in front of his friends, after all. Jewell easily side-stepped his thoughtless charge, turning and bringing her joined hands together in a double-fisted blow to the back of his neck as he passed. This time, when the kid hit the ground, he did not get back up.
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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

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The group stared at their fallen comrade for a moment. “You... you bitch!” the female Elf bit out at the Empress, shaking in anger.

“Yes,” Jewell tucked a piece of her braided hair that had come loose back behind her ear. “I do believe you called me that before. Now, would anyone else like to try their luck or will you be taking Scraps here,” she nudged the fallen kid with the toe of her boot, “and leaving?”

The male Elf gave his female counterpart a nudge forward. “Show her what you can do, Mary.”

“Gladly,” she replied, glaring at Jewell as she retrieved the baton from her hip. With a quick twist of her wrist, it extended from both sides into a sturdy pole-arm. Jewell shifted her stance again, widening the distance between her feet and dropping her center of gravity in preparation for whatever Mary had in store.

The girl came at her in a run, swinging the pole-arm two-handed, like a bat, as if she intended to take Jewell’s head off with it. Jewell ducked low under the swinging staff and moved to the left around the girl, directing several quick jabs along Mary’s right, upper-body that just happened to correspond with pressure points.

The girl screamed in outrage as her right arm fell numbly to her side as a result of Jewell’s blows, leaving her to turn and face Jewell with the staff gripped tightly in just her left hand now. She ran at Jewell again, holding the staff out and perpendicular to her body as a defense as she attempted a simultaneous kick at her blue-haired opponent. Jewell took the steeled toed boot blow to her shin, grimacing but holding her ground as she grabbed hold of the girl’s staff. Jewell’s two-handed grip was stronger than Mary’s single-handed one, and the Empress used the advantage to force the pole-arm up and back into Mary’s face, cracking the weapon against its user’s nose and causing Mary to completely let go. Jewell cast the pole-arm aside, using her right arm to block the haphazard hook Mary threw her way and retaliating with a few quick jabs to Mary’s left side this time, sending the girl crashing to the ground as both arms and her left leg were now disabled.

The girl immediately started to cry. “I can’t move, I can’t move! What did you do to me?”

“Oh shut up!” Jewell kicked her firmly in the stomach, turning the girl’s shouts into pathetic moans as she curled in on herself. “It’ll wear off.” Jewell turned to the two remaining boys now who watched her warily. “Don’t suppose you guys want a go as well?”

The littler one shook his head ‘no’ while the Elf looked at her scornfully. “You’ll be sorry for this.” Despite his tough attitude, he gave Jewell a very wide berth as he moved around her to fetch Mary’s staff and then help the girl up. “Sparks, grab Scraps. We’re out of her for now.” He glared at Jewell again before he took off down the street, half dragging his friend. Sparks—the name these kids come up with, Jewell thought—had a little more trouble with Scraps, but he eventually got him draped over his shoulders. Jewell watched with undisguised amusement as the Fae stumbled off after his fearless leader.

The grocer peered out of his shop’s door, looking up and down the street. “They’re gone?”

“What?” Jewell turned and saw the Hobbit. “Oh yeah. They’re gone, for now at least. Sorry about your peaches.”

“That’s okay, m’lady. They’ve done far worse before.” He came hesitantly out of his shop and started to sort out the ruined fruit as if nothing had happened.

“So I’ve heard. Why hasn’t anyone done anything to stop them before if it’s been so bad?” She asked as she leaned over, rubbing her sore shin a moment before moving forward to help pick up some of the ruined fruit.

“Oh, it’s not like we haven’t tried. A bunch of the shop-owners gathered together and confronted them a while back. Refused to pay our tribute. But then Lord Conrí showed up.” The Hobbit shook his head as he eyed a bruised apple. “What you did here today was brave, m’lady, and you obviously know a thing or two about fighting. But you best watch your back now. Lord Conrí doesn’t take well to people interfering in his business. Some people even went and got killed the last time he came around!”

“Sounds frightening!” Jewell affected concern, eliciting an empathetic nod from the grocer who shied away from the Faerie as Ishmerai approached. He did cut quite an impressive figure with the hue-changing scales covering all his visible skin, light leather armor that also shifted in color, and his tekagi-shuko hanging from his belt. “What did you think?” she asked her knight, standing up with another rub to her shin. Stupid girl had given her a decent bruise.

“Not bad.”

Jewell rolled her eyes, but she didn’t really expect much more praise than that. “Do you think Conrí will show up today?”

He looked up and down the street. The neighborhood was slowly coming alive again as people started to peer out their windows and doors to see if the trouble was over for now. “Hard to say. We should wait around for a while just to be sure since we should be here when he does.”

She nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”
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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

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Jewell and Ishmerai waited around for hours. They helped clean up the mess at the grocer’s shop and introduced themselves to some of the neighbors they hadn’t met yet. They ate an early dinner at the little restaurant Jewel had admired when they first saw the neighborhood, lingering at one of the outdoor tables to watch the sunset color RhyDin purple, orange, red, and gold. But Conrí—the wolf lord of Old Market—did not come.

Rather, the Elven lord, living out his disgrace quite comfortably in RhyDin, bided his time. At home, he was nothing more than the third son to minor nobility. A bit of scandal and a subsequent banishment to save the family name landed him in the city, where he turned a pretty profit using what little skills he had in life to bully others. It was a rather lucrative trade, and he was desirous of keeping it that way. Any threat to his livelihood was usually squashed quickly and soundly. The neighborhood had come to expect such action from him and waited with baited breath for his retribution upon Jewell for the disturbance she brought. And when he finally decided it was time to strike back, he lit up the night.

Ishmerai burst through Jewell’s bedroom door, “Jewell...”

She was already fully dressed, zipping up her leather boots as she looked up at him, “I know. I heard.” Finishing with her footwear, she strode out the door, walking right passed her heavily armed knight. “Let’s go.”

They were out on the street in seconds, their breath appearing in white puffs as they headed for the row of shops several hundred feet away. Jewell walked openly down the center of the empty block, taking no note of the faces pressed against windows, the forms huddled in doorways. Ishmerai kept pace with her, fully concealed in the shadows as was his practice.

Jewell stopped in front of the florist shop, sure that the scene playing out just ahead was for her. Sparks and the male Elf were back, shadowed by a broad-shouldered Elf with dark brown hair. Only an Elven lord could look so smug in such mean company, Jewell surmised. There were scorch marks along the cobblestone street and some of the buildings, visible when Sparks lit up the night once more with a burst of fire shot into the open air: a calling card for Jewell. All of this was for her, even the set-up of the Elf-lackey holding the poor grocer by the shoulders and shaking him, demanding of him, “Did you hire that girl to stand up to us the other day? Hm? Did you?”

The poor Hobbit wailed, “No, no! I swear I am loyal to Lord Conrí, and I would never do a thing like that. Never!”

Although certain her presence had not gone unnoticed, Jewell stepped forward into a streetlamp’s circular light and strongly projected her voice out to them, “That’s enough, now. Here I am.”

A barely perceptible nod from Lord Conrí and the Hobbit was freed. He scampered off into the night without even a glance back. Jewell didn’t really care where he ran off to; her attention was on the Elven lord moving a few steps closer in her direction, wearing a false smile. “Jewell Ravenlock! How nice of you to join us. You are Jewell Ravenlock, are you not? The one they call The Empress?”

“Indeed I am.” She tilted her chin up just so, the terror of the Ta-Neer court alive again on the streets of RhyDin, “I am also known as Lady Jewell Kasimira Ta-Neer. But perhaps you knew that already?”

“I have heard inklings of who and what you are, my dear. Few haven’t.”

“Then I am surprised, Lord Conrí, that you would even bother to show your face in this neighborhood again,” she stated coolly, grey eyes turned steely at their interchange.

He laughed. “Your title and rank in Faerie mean little here in RhyDin, as I am sure you know. As for your social status?” He scoffed, “Really, did you think that just because you are well known, you are entitled to come in and take over this neighborhood that is rightfully mine?”

She countered his derision with dismissive condescension: “The correct term would be freeing this neighborhood. You have no right to oppress these people. I give you this one chance: leave now with your life and health and that of your minions, for I will not guarantee either if you choose to stay.”

Although she spoke with the voice of command, Conrí was unmoved. He had spent far too many years getting his claws into this place. Starting all over again somewhere else was not an option. “Fair enough. Trick,” he nodded to his Elven lackey, “I believe it is your turn.”
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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

Post by JewellRavenlock »

The young Elf strode towards Jewell, cockiness written in all his mannerisms, from the upward twitch of the corner of his lips to the confident strut and glint in his green eyes. Evidently, Trick had forgotten his object lesson from the other day, or more likely, he was overly eager to show himself competent before his lord. Either way, Jewell was ready for him. As he moved towards her, bits of moon and lamp light illuminated the spiked brass knuckles the Elf wore on both hands, previously masked by the night. Her goal for the next three and a half minutes (the time she estimated it would take her to dispatch of the lackey): don’t get hit by those.

Trick didn’t seem to be in any hurry, practically broadcasting his intentions as he moved forward assertively, trusting in his bigger size and strength to overcome the slight Empress. She watched him take a small back step with his right foot when he got close, his right arm moving down and back in preparation to deliver those spiked knuckles into her ribs. As he twisted his body back towards the left and began to swing forward and up, Jewell moved. She reached forward, wrapping both of her hands in a tight grip around his forearm. She gave the appendage a painful wrench towards her as she simultaneously brought her bent leg up, effectively impaling Trick’s groin on her knee before releasing his arm. He actually squeaked in pain as he doubled over, weaponized hands grasping at the family jewels. Pressing her advantage, she slammed her fist up into his lowered chin, his teeth clanking together loudly as his head snapped back. He attempted a wild left hook to hold her off, but Jewell dropped beneath his swinging arm, her left foot snapping out to bust his shin.

The Elf started to stumble back away from her then, but Jewell gave chase, a feral grin gracing her lips. As the boy backed up to try and gain his bearings, she twisted the reality around him with her glamour. The buildings of the neighborhood wavered before disappearing in wisps of smoke, leaving them in an open, moon-lit field with no one else around. The dirt and grass covered ground became unsteady, shifting and reeling beneath Trick’s feet with a violent quaking. Jewell stood on steady ground as her opponent stumbled once, twice, three times. Fear and bewilderment competed in his eyes as he looked wildly about. The Faerie advanced, closing the gap between them. She got inches away from his face and grinned, “Run.”

He did not hesitate to obey, stumbling once more as he turned to take escape her. The hunter did not give her prey a chance to get far. She slammed her foot into the small of his back (to help him along of course), and followed it up with a kick to his kidney when he hit the ground. Trick groaned and rolled over, finding that the ground was solid beneath him, the buildings were back, his lord was there glowering at him, and Jewell’s boot was careening towards his temple. “Lights out, punk,” she said as she kicked him in the head hard enough to put him out of commission for the rest of the night.

Without even stopping for a breather, she turned her gaze on Conrí, blowing a bit of blue hair out of her face. “Who’s next?”

“Insolent woman,” he bit out. “Sparks, why don’t you show Lady Jewell here what we do to traitors and those that cross us, hm?”

Jewell narrowed her eyes and half turned to her right, desirous of keeping Conrí in her line of sight but also wary of Sparks. He was the one that was small and would register to most as a non-threat, but Jewell had smelled sulfur on him the other day and had seen what he could do earlier in the night. The wimpy kid was a fire mage, and he was grinning at Jewell with his hand outstretched towards the grocer’s shop. He suddenly had her full attention. She turned her body completely towards him as a spark sprang to life in his hand. Her feet pushed off the ground as she started to sprint, but the spark quickly turned into a stream of fire that he sent blasting towards the large, right-hand window of the shop.

The sounds of shattering glass coincided with Jewell slamming her body into the small mage. Fire continued to spurt from the kid’s hand even as she tackled him to the ground, a burst of flame neatly singeing some of her hair and temple. She pinned his legs with her knees and punched him square in the throat. The attack had its desired effect as the light show ended when his hands instinctly came up to grab his injured neck. With his left protecting his injured throat, he turned his right palm towards her face, but just as the orange of a flame started to grow, she grabbed his wrist and snapped it back with a crack that was drowned out by his scream.

“Kill the fire!” She growled at him. The crackling and hissing of the flames taking hold of the shop sounded off to her side. Sparks whimpered and squirmed beneath her, trying to get away. With a two-handed shove to his shoulders, Jewell slammed his upper body back against the ground. “I said knock it off!” It was no good. His head had done a neat little bounce against the cobblestones, leaving him too dazed to be of any use. In her annoyance, Jewell grabbed his left wrist with both hands to give it a satisfying twist and crack as well before getting off the kid. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Conrí still standing in the street, but the greater part of her attention was on the grocer’s shop. The fire was spreading rapidly now and there was nothing she could do. Her fists clenched and unclenched in futility. There was not a single thing she could do and it burned her up inside. Damn them for taking her magic away from her. Damn Sparks for setting the building on fire. And damn Conrí for defying her.

She turned to the source of her current dilemma. “Let’s get on with this.”
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JewellRavenlock
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The Empress

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Re: Trouble in Little Elfhame (Originally Posted in 2013)

Post by JewellRavenlock »

The night exploded with the sounds of their conflict and the air crackled with magic. “You cannot defeat me with these parlor tricks,” Jewell jeered. She was in her element now as Conrí—refusing to engage her in hand-to-hand just yet—attempted to throw attack after glamoured attack at her. The Empress may not have had the majority of her magic available to her, but what she did have, she practiced with finesse. Even as his attacks hurtled towards her, she reached out and took control: changing and unwinding them at her will. The batch of throwing knives turned into butterflies that fluttered away into the fire-lit night. The ice that moved along the street and threatened to lock her feet in place dissipated into snowflakes. And when he finally dared to bridge the distance between them, the staff he swung at her head vanished into a burst of glitter upon impact.

He quickly backed away from her, panting with anger and exertion, but he attempted to play off his frustrations. “Yes, I see you are above such simple-minded attempts. But perhaps not this?” Hands outstretched, Conrí twisted the world around them just as she had done to Trick minutes before. The whole neighborhood went up in flames and the sky turned red with their burning. The air was thick with smoke that threatened to suffocate her, and the ground beneath Jewell’s feet shifted, turning into a living, writhing mass of rats. The stink of them overcame even the smoke, inundating her nostrils while the little beasts began to crawl up her legs, digging their horrid little teeth into her body.

Jewell easily set aside the normal, momentary panic that came along with such illusions. She took a deep breath of the putrid air even as the rats climbed higher, their rough fur bristling against her skin. As her masters had instructed, she could not trust her eyes, her ears, her sense of touch and smell. All of these things can be manipulated with glamour, and the mind can be controlled along with them. Rather, she trusted what she knew to be true: the ground beneath her feet was cobblestone, only the grocer’s was on fire, and there were no rats. As she believed it, so it came to be. Her mind now fully under her own control, she reached out with her other-senses and grabbed the thread holding Conrí’s illusion together. With one effortless, little tug, Jewell unraveled the whole of his craft.

But she did not stop there. Taking control of the illusion he had cast, Jewell turned it back on its maker with a few personal touches. There was no fire, just the overwhelming and cold emptiness of space where the neighborhood once stood. And the ground? Churning water whirled into a violent vortex beneath the wolf lord’s feet, threatening to swallow him whole. There was a morbid amusement to be gained when she opened her eyes and watched the man panic and attempt to swim, overcome by the illusion that (to Jewell’s eyes) was just a thin overlay on reality.

The wolf lord was on the ground, drowning in water that did not exist. While the blue-haired Faerie had easily broken the net of glamour thrown over her, the wolf lord came close to succumbing to Jewell’s magic. “Enough!” Conrí screamed, thrusting his had back as he forcibly shattered the illusion that Jewell had so effortlessly twisted to her own use. He shook with rage as he slowly got to his feet, glaring hatefully at her while ragged breaths shook his frame. “You think you’re so very great, don’t you?” The Empress did not reply; she simply watched the man before her as he began to laugh. It was a madman’s laugh, accompanied by a fascinating transformation brought on by his desperation. Conrí grew taller and even wider before her eyes, limbs extending and sprouting a coarse, brown-gray fur. Claws grew from his hands and broke through his shoes while his face elongated into a semi-snout and a tail sprouted from behind.

The transformation, in addition to the ordeal that had come just before, was not too much for the wolf because, after tossing his head back and giving a bone-trembling howl, he was on his blue-haired opponent instantly with a momentous leap. She slammed into the ground beneath the weight of his tackle, head jarring against the stone street. He dug his claws into her shoulders and growled into her face, letting his teeth snap close to her nose.

Jewell struggled beneath his girth uselessly. As his claws dug deeper into her skin, prompting an involuntary shout, she called on her glamour once more. Sharp, iron spikes sprouted from every inch of her skin, piercing her opponent all over. He pulled back off of her a little with a yowl of pain, providing the opening she needed. She brought her knees back to her chest and drove both her feet into his lower ribs while her hands shoved up on his collarbone, sending him over her head in a tumble.

Scrambling to her feet quickly, Jewell found that Conrí’s recovery was faster still. She only managed to turn her body half away before he rammed his shoulder into her, throwing her backwards and to the ground again. She rolled away with the razor-sharp kick he delivered to her side. Adrenaline coursed through her system, screaming at her to get up, get up now! She sprung to her feet despite the spasm of her abdominal muscles from where he had pierced her skin with his clawed feet, and turned to face him once more. Her back burned as the grocer’s was engulfed behind her, grey eyes watching Conrí’s fire-illuminated approach warily.

His laughter was throaty now with wolfish undertones, “No more fancy tricks, girl?”

She casually brushed away some blood that was trickling down her face. “Doesn’t seem like it at the moment.” He gave her a wicked, canine grin before he charged again. This time, she was prepared. Jewell planted her heels into the ground, reached out, and grabbed at his fur when he was within reach. Then she spun. She used the wolf’s momentum to guide her own pivot, sending him shattering through the unbroken window of the grocer’s storefront. Without hesitation, she jumped after him into the inferno.

The store was unrecognizable. The neat shelves and stands of packaged goods and fresh produce were disintegrating piles of fire fuel. Panic welled up in her heart; she did not forget the last time she had willingly entered a burning building. She forced such feelings aside to focus on the task at hand even as the smell of the wolf’s burning fur mixed with the general hellish stink. Conrí was just getting to his feet amidst the mess when her jump kick caught him in the chest. The attack sent him tumbling further into the burning building, his figure disappearing into the flames. Jewell followed once again.

The thick black smoke and raging flames, chasing each other in a race to reach the fresh air provided by the smashed window, blinded her as she advanced into the firestorm in search of her prey. The heat made her head spin, her vision swim, and her lungs burn. The clock was ticking down on how long she could survive the fire, and the urgency made her less cautious. Pushing through burning debris, she did not see his approach as he had become one with the blaze. His fur and clothes burned as he crashed into her from the side, knocking her to the hot floor and pinning her with his smoldering body. His singed, smoking hands closed in around her throat. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he growled, pain lacing his words as he tightened his grip.

Breathing had already been made difficult in the blazing building, but now it was impossible. Primal instinct overcame everything else in her frantic bid to breathe; there was no other thought in her head aside from the desperate desire for air. Her vision was deteriorating from blurry to almost black, her mind grasping for any plan to save her life. She weakly attempted her trick from earlier, spikes briefly forming on her skin, but Conrí just growled and squeezed her throat so tightly her glamour dissipated and her body seized. Just as her world went completely black, the pressure around her throat and the weight pinning her body down suddenly vanished completely. She coughed and wheezed, her chest convulsing. Jewell tried wildly to get her eyes to see, raising her arm uselessly in an attempt to protect herself against Conrí’s final blow.

It did not come. Instead, the steady arms of Ishmerai were there, lifting her gingerly—like the broken little doll she was—from the ground and carrying her from the burning building. Jewell thought she saw the crumpled form of Conrí in passing, but she couldn’t be sure as the fire-red world spun dizzyingly around her head. Then, everything except breathing became unimportant as they reached the cool night air, which she greedily devoured with deep, wheezing breathes that pained her damaged throat.

“Your turn, Guiscard.” Jewell felt Ishmerai’s chest rumble as he shouted out his command; then someone nearby spoke a string of Elvish. As soon as the words stopped, her coughing and hoarse attempts at breathing pierced the night loudly, no longer competing with the roar of the raging fire.

“What happened?” she rasped out, eyes blurred with tears.

Ishmerai turned so she could see, not allowing her out of his arms just yet. Her vision still wobbled, but she it was easy enough to see that the grocer’s was no longer on fire, just badly burnt. She also saw the blurry form of Guiscard, the bookkeeper, standing nearby and looking quite proud of himself as he came closer. “That knight of yours wisely came to seek my help when that monster set the shop on fire.” The old man seemed almost giddy from the night’s action, “But worry not! My old fire-proofing spells in the building made sure the other shops didn’t catch even if this one is done for good.”

“I got back just in time to see you follow Conrí into the fire, you foolish girl,” Ishmerai both admonished and explained. “So naturally, I came in after you.” Jewell rolled her eyes but instantly regretted it as her stomach churned in response to the spinning world. “And a good thing, too. I barely got him off you in time.”

“What..” her voice came out as nothing more than a pathetic squeak.

“Shush.” He frowned down at his lady. “I killed him. I lifted his head back and slit his wolfish throat. He must have forgot I was around for he did not even see me coming.” Her poor knight sounded almost disappointed; perhaps she would let him handle the next few fights they encountered. With her curiosity satiated at the moment, her pounding and whirling head fell tiredly against Ishmerai’s chest. Everything hurt all over as an overwhelming weakness weighed her down. Yes, she would definitely let Ishmerai actually do his job and handle the next fight at least.

“Even though you made quite the mess here, Ms. Jewell, I knew you’d be the one to straighten it all out! And besides.. fire can be cleansing at times, you know,” the old man mused aloud. Jewell couldn’t even formulate a response to that, fixated on the painful process of taking clean air through her damaged windpipe into her smarting lungs.

“Lord Guiscard, if you will be so kind as to watch the streets for some time and get young Éimhín, since he is incredibly quick, to alert me if anything is amiss, I will get the lady here home. I will return soon after to take care of anything else that must be done.”

“Of course, of course, young knight! There is work to be done, for certain, but we must look after our fair lady first and foremost. Worry not, I will watch these streets and make sure someone takes care of the young hoodlums Ms. Jewell here so soundly routed.” The old Elf smacked his wooden staff against the street stones with a hearty laugh.

Even with his arms full, Ishmerai bowed to Guiscard before turning and moving quickly yet carefully in the direction of their house. Jewell tried to voice a question, but was harshly shut down. “Your penchant for trouble has caught up with you once more it seems.” She whispered something that sounded a lot like “I’m fine” to the knight’s well-trained ears. Ishmerai just sighed long-sufferingly, “Why is it that every time you are fine you are also bleeding all over my favorite armor?”
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