Plot 402: Protection

Grange | Servile Slave Post One


Life seems to have a habit of disguising itself as something wholly beautiful and sweet, then suddenly, and violently disrupting that placid image for no apparent or logical reason. At least, That's what Grange thought, as he cowered in the dimly lit study, near his young charge, Taavi. It seemed as though Valore was just getting to its hooves after the disastrous Vagabond attack upon the Crucible, and now the highest ranking royal family was herded into a crowded, dark room, with little intel, and even less desire to be there. In fact, Grange could almost feel the discomfort coming off of the gathered horses in waves. So much was going on, and yet they knew so little. How was it possible that they be so kept in the dark, when they were supposed to be the very life blood of the city? Of course, Grange could not consider himself one of those royal nobles, but considering his proximity to Lady Lilith, he did assume that some right to information should be his. And yet, none was forthcoming.

With a small shiver, more from fear than any dispute in temperature, the champagne stallion twisted his head this way and that, attempting to get a good look at all the horses who were locked in the chamber. Movement caught his attention, as Ferdinand greeted his mother, comforting her. As the Lady's child made his rounds, Grange deciphered that he was looking for information. No one seemed to be able to provide, including Grange, who simply shook his head when the stallion inquired, making the gold and jewels on his bridle clatter softly.

It seemed almost irreverent to speak, considering both Grange's rank, and the eerie hush in the room, but the champagne slave was not a large believer in the supernatural, and he felt the sensitivity of the topic outweighed any misgivings about disputed ranks.

So, stepping forward slightly, the black ink of his foreleg tattoo dancing with the movement, Grange made himself known. Of course, the unicorn kept his head in a respectful bow, and his voice was soft, lilting even, as he spoke.

"Lords, and Ladies," he began, turning his gaze to the other slaves to let them know they hadn't been forgotten, "Friends. If we have no reason to be brought here, then we would not be here now. But we have, and therefore something of importance must be afoot. We know...of that which has trandpired, but not why we are detained it. If we are here for our safety, then why are we not granted the weapon of knowledge? So, then, of we are here for some reason, yet we know it not, what should be our course of action?" Falling silent, the slave backstepped to the huddle of servants, his dodilligance done. He could not let his question pass unasked from his lips, and so it had blossomed forth. For some unknown cosmic reason, he became flowered when grieving, or in shock, perhaps a defence mechanism learned in his youth. But the words which filled his mind had to be let out; they could not contain caged while so much raced through his mind. Now, he only wondered what the reaction could be.

WC: 538

Cael| Pit Fighter

A heavy sigh left the pit fighter's lips as she pushed into the room of awaiting horses, catching the eye of a guard awaiting at the door. She spotted quickly, the divide in the room. Lilith and her family gathered to one side, children pooled around their mothers lamenting form, while the slaves huddled together in a mass of well postured worry on the other. Cael quietly yearned for her master to look up and catch the question gaze she sent to her but to no avail. 

As the dark mare moved into formation among the servile slaves, she could not help but notice the twitch of Grange's legs and the determination in his eyes. So when he stepped forward to speak and break the silence that fogged the room, Cael was not as surprised as she was uncomfortable. A deep frown crossed her muzzle as gold eye's bore into his back. Again the hard metal bit in her mouth made itself known as she bit down hard, attempting to remain controlled. That was until Taavi's voice rang out, a sharp note of pain echoing in his words. She had to admit she was impressed by the young Lord's abilities, as he was growing up to be a fine Noble. But flattering thoughts were quickly dispersed by the following statement. Amadeus... dead?

Cael first thought of the boy, his child-like face soft and pale. She had only met him a few times, when Lilith had brought her along to family gatherings. From what she could remember he was a gentle spirit, too young and too naive to rule. And then she thought of the King. From afar she had glimpsed the boy many a time, most often in the Crucible where she fought. He was high up, staring down from the King's podium like a white ghost. She had heard the whispers in the streets, how the boy-king was sinking fast. Few approved of his rule and from what she knew, she honestly could not blame them. But dead? He was so young and now she could see only see a boy, slain.

The revelation seemed to strike most as news, whispers and whimpering now quietly touching the mares ears as the equine began to mumble to themselves. Finally, the guard who had been quietly anchoring the door spoke, revealing the true nature of their summons. It did not seem to comfort the room, as whispers and whimpers continued. Cael looked to Lady Lilith, who stood quietly where she had been since her arrival. The fighter yearned to move closer, to perhaps comfort her Lady in some way but stood fast where she was and lowered her head. This was a time for a family to grieve, a family she was not a kin to. So for now, she waited taking in the solemn heavy air of dread.  

Grange | Servile Slave Post Two


Grange flinched, as if he'd been struck. Taavi's words echoed around the stillness of the room, shattering the appearance of uncomfortable silence, and filled the air with his shoutings. Grange couldn't blame the young colt for his reaction; it spawned from grief, rather than anger or a desire to hurt those standing around him. Knowing that the young horse's emotions were taking control of his logic made it easier for Grange to forgive the outburst. While he would normally have retaliated against the horse's outburst - internally, of course, as Grange would never dare speak out against Taavi aloud - today he felt no anger or pain, just surprise, at Taavi's outburst. He understood where the young stallion's reaction came from: fear. Fear, sadness, and any confusing mix of emotions must be taking over the Noble's mind, to make him act in such a manner.

He almost regretted saying anything at all, as the horses began to murmur among themselves, their worries exacerbated by the Chevalier's confirmation of the King's death. Grange wished that the Chevalier had denied Taavi's words, as discomfort spread throughout the assembled horses. It wasn't that the words affected Grange himself, per se, but that they made the others so restless that he felt their emotions travelling up and down his spine. Grange knew so little about the deceased King, but what he did know was he disliked the King's politics. Not enough that he wished the King's death upon him, but enough that he could understand why the night's events had transpired. Someone, or something, had disagreed with the King's politics a little too much. It made Grange shudder to think what was in store for the horses inside the guarded room.

WC: 285

The first time she was roused in the middle of the night, Lilith received news that her father was dead. She hadn't wept.

The second time, it was her sister. She'd wept then. Lilith hadn't known a person could shed so many tears for someone they'd never liked. Sometime later, when the funeral procession reached its destination and her sister's body burned on the pyre, Lilith had relented that she'd perhaps loved Solaris after all.

This would be the third time that a Chevalier stirred her awake. He had not provided answers, and Lilith had not asked for them. She already knew. Of all the deaths Lilith had known and felt and grieved for, this one would cut the deepest. Lilith had never lost a child before, and Amadeus was as good as her own.

Had been.

Under escort, she'd stirred her children awake. Most were with their father, but Ferdinan, Taavi and Cirilla had accompanied her to the palace that evening. She woke the boys, and fell into hysterics when she discovered the girl missing. The Chevalier had reassured her that Cirilla was safe elsewhere. Lilith had demanded the filly be brought to her. She was still waiting.

She hadn't told her sons what she suspected - what she knew down to the marrow of her bones. The Princess wasn't sure if her silence was for their benefit or owed to her own cowardice. She chose not to examine her motives too closely, for fear of discovering an answer she didn't like. She'd watched them gather their things - pets, slaves, Ferdinan's spear, Taavi's stuffed animal - and when they were ready, the fraction of a family moved to the study, locked behind a guarded door for their own protection.

What came next occurred without her intervention. Taavi seemed to have puzzled their situation out by the mere absence of his cousin, and when his slave spoke out of turn, he'd broadcasted the theory to the room. Ferd was upset, as she'd known he would be. The Chevalier confirmed suspicions in the same breath that he confirmed their captivity. Lilith scraped her eyes over the quieter members of their assembly. There was Margot, not bothering to feign a semblance of fret; Ophelia, the late king's only wife; Cael, her shield, practicing stoicism; and of course there was Doe, whose duress only grew worse as the tension grew to a fever-pitch. Lilith went to her, let their shoulders touch. It was the only comfort she could provide when her own stomach felt sour.

"How?" She asked, eyes on Finley. "How did this happen?"

Grange | Servile Slave | Post Two

The classic champagne's ears twitched with irritation as the buzz around him deepened. Although the stallion wouldn't have admitted it, Taavi's outburst stung. Beneath his silky coat, his hide was hot with embarrassment. All he'd done was say what they were all thinking. Was it the iron bit in his mouth, or the dragon seared into the flesh of his shoulder that discounted his observations so? Of course, they all knew that nothing good could have happened for them to be roused from their slumber, brought here, and kept against their will by strange guards. No sane horse would decide to go along with such a twisted turn of events unless something tragic had happened. And so it had.

Grange couldn't say as he was surprised. Perhaps he was in shock, or perhaps he was simply too logical to be affronted by the death of his leader. Of course, he liked the little runt enough, but not his politics. Grange could swear he felt a phantom pain in his shoulder as his mind wandered to the decrees of the King. It made perfect sense that someone would want the King's head on a platter. Perhaps the most difficult part would be discovering just who from the long list of enemies was to blame.

Casting his violet-blue gaze across the room, Grange took in features. Taavi, his familiar brown coat, seemed like some sort of strange, wild animal, as grief transformed him into a beast. Lilith, with Doe beside her, looking weaker than he'd ever seen his mistress look before. The late King's wife, appearing separate and distanced from the others. Faces began to blur together, until the world was one multi-colored stream of colors. Blinking, Grange let his vision settle, sighing quietly.

What could a slave such as himself do in this predicament? Speaking was not an option, as proved by Taavi's violent outburst, so Grange fell into his familiar silence, letting the world wash over him in objective fashion, seeing all but observing nothing, save for the bitter taste of iron in his mouth.

WC:245