Music

[Alecto]

Above all else, the Furies valued law – the kind that is uncompromising, hard-and-fast, leaving no room for interpretation or subjectivity, universal. Without such strictures, they believed, all society would collapse and with it, all reason. Alecto had never humored the idea of gray areas, in the past; she was an executor, not a judge and jury. But in the last week, many of the notions she had clung to in her life had been jeopardized…so many, in fact, that she was beginning to question not only the nature of rules, but herself.

What was she, after all, but an extension of those rules?

The Festivals, though, she did not question. Alanor was still the mother, the heart-wood, and these celebrations were her tribute and her glory. Alecto attended Imbolc willingly, though her mind was more than a little distracted from the spirit of the event. Her attire – all various shades of ivory and antiqued cream, from her suede boots and leggings to the backless tunic fastened around her neck – concealed as if by magic the fact that she was armed to the teeth. It was an effect due in part to the way her cold-flamed body seemed to swallow the brightness of her clothes, as if even the most luminous white would look dim when she wore it. A touch of glamour hid the rest.

That there were so many objects suitable to her Hand of Power’s use was some comfort. As the Sidhe moved slowly about the room, her graceful steps unhurried, she noted the locations of each potential weapon with a seemingly disinterested glance, filing these details away with her examination of the exits, the behavior of the staff, and the Red Queen’s total disregard for any potential danger. It really was a wonder, she thought as the monarch took her seat, the crowd erupting in applause. Perhaps all the glitter of the Seelie court had blinded their better judgment. Alecto smiled at them anyway, with effort – at least, she smiled at those that were able to look her in the eye. Sidhe mostly, because they were pompous, and a few nimbus because they had something to prove. It was a pity that so many shied away from her, due to the fierceness of her look; like death, she was in no great hurry, and many of those present would never provoke her wrath.

Pausing beside the orchestra, Alecto took a moment to savor the skill of the musicians and the beauty of their song. It reminded her of something she had heard long ago, though the score was much more complex than humankind could have crafted or performed. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing the phrases to fall through her, striking chords she had forgotten. When she opened them again, her face shone with an uncharacteristic light.

...Lame. Had to get her in somehow, though.

[Skylla]

With the coming of night comes the pounding of drums who direct a procession of faerie dressed in flowing white robes and cowls. Horns sound a triumphant call as each member of the procession surrounds a large pyre. One by one each fae takes their torch to the pyre until the tower of lumber is a blazing inferno.

The Imbolc bonfire symbolizes the melting away of winter and the warmth associated with the spring. The light of life can be seen for the first time since the past summer in burning pyre embers. The whole festival is bathed in warmth and a powerful brightness.

[Zilka]

((I figured Zilka could join a thread, and this one didn't have too many people...))

[Alecto]

Alecto was surprised to find another faerie looking directly at her face, as her lids slid open and the breath she’d been holding made its slow exit. It was surprise she did not show, or if she did, it was imperceptible. The garlanger must have filed in with the procession, while her eyes were closed. Alecto’s head cocked slightly – a gesture which could evoke both the curiosity of a puppy and the predatory flinch of a raptor – and as the girl looked away, she took a long moment to study this creature who had exhibited more boldness than many of her more powerful court-mates. Interesting. Alecto thought it was a shame that the little lycan was Seelie; her uniqueness might have granted her some respect, perhaps even affection, amongst the darkling throng, but the Fury felt quite sure her amphibious skin would not be suited to the Red Queen’s tastes.

“Your court has prepared a beautiful festival,” she commented gently, realizing that the look of fear that had passed over her face in the last moment was likely a product of her immunity to glamour. Feeling as if she should put the girl at ease, she reached for a glass of water on a nearby table and moved unhurriedly toward her. There was dignity in the way this Sidhe moved, but not arrogance; she was not one to underestimate another fae, regardless of their blood. With her left hand, she extended the glass toward the lycanthrope, the suspected tattoo of the mamba snaking its way from her shoulder to her thumb and moving, almost too slowly to notice, as if it slept and breathed. The Sidhe’s face softened, in spite of its fierceness. “You needn’t be afraid. I have no intention of harming anyone.” Her words were smooth, barely more than a whisper. She wore her own darkness and the mark of her court proudly, but at times regretted the unnecessary fear it provoked in others. It was not a faerie like Zilka that she desired to terrify.

“I am Alecto, Denwyr of the Darkling Throng. And you?” She asked a little louder, having no desire to conceal these words from passerby. It was fortunate that Lycans, and not Pixies, had the ability to see through glamour magic – she had heard the latter, as she patrolled the tent, speaking in hushed whispers about the possibility of an Unseelie attack, and war. How ironic, that the Shining court would fear their allies, rather than the nightmare that truly lurked in the shadows.

No problem!
On another note, it is SO HARD for me to make Alecto be social...><

[Zilka]

((Hey, Alecto seems more social than Zilka, at least.))

[Alecto]

“We manage,” Alecto answered, smiling. In truth, the Fury preferred the Unseelie’s style in most respects, and would have appreciated a slight reduction in glitter. This also went for the courts themselves – the darkling home seemed much less natural (an illusion, since neither truly were), and in its richness, its deepness, it had a kind of surreal beauty that better suited her tastes. She set the glass down on the table next to them and nodded toward it in invitation; she had brought it for the amphibious girl, not for herself. “Self defense less than general defense,” she responded truthfully, “I do not worry for myself so much.” In the glow of the fire, her pewter-tan flesh seemed to reject all attempts to warm it. Her eyes, though, provided a natural mirror. She watched the flames dance, reckless and loud, listening to the lycan’s introduction with interest. Questions formed in her mind and would have been given voice, if it were not for a sudden and unexpected interruption.

Alecto’s attention averted immediately to the arrow that had landed just beside the water glass, embedded in the sturdy table. Her eyes narrowed in the split second it took for her mind to process the object, so out of place here, and realize that this was a signal of attack. Drawing the largest of her blades, a dagger nearly two feet in length, her free hand shot toward Zilka, with the intention of pushing her under the table. “Get down!” she shouted, her eyes scanning the scene with feral concentration. Even as they moved to the relative protection of the table’s underside, Alecto could see that the situation was falling apart. Arrows were falling everywhere. A dark mist was spreading through the tent from the woods, and in it stalked the shadows of strange creatures the Sidhe couldn’t place. She gripped the table leg, searching the crowd for her court and her king. Where were the guard, in this mess? Why wasn’t more being done? She couldn’t identify anyone she knew, amidst the terrified faces and collapsed bodies.

A second blade was drawn, about half the size of the first, which she shoved hilt-first toward Zilka. “Take it,” she ordered, “Defend yourself if it comes to that. But stay hidden as long as you can; there are too many.” With that she emerged from beneath the table, slashing at one of the creature’s middles as it passed. She drew a third dagger for her off-hand, and assumed a fighter’s stance – knees bent, her short-sword held at an angle before her chest. Her eyes flashed. If these beasts intended to kill, she would take them down with her.

Sorry I moved her a bit. Let me know if you want me to change something.

[Tadhg]

Tadhg is rather in shock.

He can count on one hand the times a creature had managed to sneak up on him without his acknowledgement. Two fingers, if he counts the times it was accomplished by a race or individual he could not recognize. There has never been an incident where both had occured simultaniously and left him reeling - until this night.

He has chosen to observe the festivities from the outskirts of the low growing bushes and saplings, close enough for the light of the fires to cast his skin gold yet far enough to avoid mingling. Tadhg doesn't do crowds if he could help it. He feels caged and anxious if trapped within the confines of social gatherings, so he watches the Imbolc celebration as a slip of shadow in the trees. The music has him leaning against a pale, thin trunk in thought, the corners of his mouth creeping up on their own accord. It is pleasant to hear music again. He hasn't realized how he's longed for the sound of the pipes - the sound of joy. Every face in the sea of figures is content, albiet tense considering the mix of courts and classes. Which is perhaps why he is surprised by the sudden onslaught from around him.

They spring from an unseen abyss, rushing Tadhg with glittering blades and bloodthirsty eyes. He hisses as he lowers a broad shoulder to flip the closest with ease to the ground with a sick thud. The thing does not move from it's downed position, but five more hurry to take it's place. The sidhe draws a dagger from his hip with an instinctual motion - it is more of an extension of his arm then a weapon. It is too fast to be visable as he spins on one heel to sweep it across a jugular. Then a hamstring. Another shade creature is downed, but over his shoulder he sees the next wave and with a whistle, he darts nimbly from the undergrowth to where the crowd is scattering in fearful chaos.

He runs, upper torso crouched low into himself, much more fluid then one might expect from a man his size. Tadhg is always the predator, even on the defense. It is engrained in his very soul. To a tracker, a fight is nothing more then a means to take down a quarry. Each dark creature in his path is nothing more then a next kill, brought down swiftly and silently and without fanfare. His blows are efficient and neat - they achieve their goal each time without fail and without hesitation. Later he will come to terms with the guilt that wells up like a wound after the killing sprees. But for now he is in hunter mode and they drop before him like a parting sea.

He hears the enraged screech of an eagle, but does not turn to look for it. Cyane has obviously heard his whistle; he is aware of her position through their bond and knows better then to allow her own battle to be a distraction.

Another volley of arrows falls like hail from the black sky and he narrowly makes the shield of a downed table. One managed to pin his tunic sleeve to the cracked wood and with a grunt, he rips it free, exposing the muscled arm to the night air. Tadhg rations his breathing, lifting his hips an inch to slip the remaining dagger into the opposite hand. There is movement from the opposide side of the table and he inhales deeply, steadying himself.

He propells himself over it in the blink of an eye and has his dagger across the spine of a black creature in another. The creature drops and he sees for the first time the pair of women it had chosen as it's next victims. Tadhg blinks, frozen for a long moment as he glances them over. Neither one of them sparks a memory of recognization, but this is not rare. He knows no one here by name and few more by face. One is clearly Unseelie and striking in a fashion he has never seen before. The other is clearly under her protection and Tadhg lowers his hand, having no time for formal introductions.

"Ladies," he offers with a small nod, his deep voice able to be heard over the screams and sword-clashes despite it's soft volume. "I'd advise heading in the other direction, if I were you. They'll be upon us within half a minute.

[Zilka]

[Alecto]

The upper half of Alecto’s first victim fell before the lower – a satisfied expression washed over her face at the enduring strength and sharpness of her blades. It departed quickly, though, replaced by the former look of vague concern and acute annoyance. The Fury had suspected that the Drow would laugh in the face of Alanor’s customs, but the symbolism behind this attack offended her sensibilities. What quarrel did they have with these garlanger, servants, and faerie that had only just arrived? Furthermore, how undignified they were to engage their enemy when they were peacefully comingling, under the influence of liquor and joy! She spat on the shadowy creature at her feet, provoking the attention of two more, from opposite directions. The first she felled with a vicious slash to the neck, kicking his head off as he slumped to the ground. When she turned to slay the second, though, she found him already crumpled backward. A Sidhe stood in his place. “I’d advise heading in the other direction, if I were you…”

“They come from every entrance,” she replied simply, her voice dark as usual, but calm. “We will have to fight our way out.” Her eyes shifted from the man to the space beyond him, and reflexively she threw her dagger over his shoulder and into the head of a beast that had just begun moving toward them. It collapsed several yards away. Wrenching a sword from the first fallen’s grip, she traded hands and tested the new weapon’s weight with a deft twirl. It was heavier than her usual fare, but would suit. Zilka was emerging from beneath the table.

“Wait!” she started to shout at her, but the lycan was already hopping away. Alecto hissed in frustration, head darting to examine the girl’s probable trajectory and the dangers it would include. There was an exit in that direction, but the shadowy assailants streamed through it. The Sidhe wasn’t sure that leaving the tent was the best course of action – in the darkness, there would be no telling what enemies were lurking in the woods. All signs pointed to reserve forces waiting outside. But she wouldn’t leave Zilka to be impaled by Drow, either, so she set her jaw and began to stride after her.

“Shall we?” she quipped to the hunter, hoping he would follow. She was confident in her fighting prowess, but there was strength in numbers, and perhaps they could rally other fae as they moved. Stepping over a fallen faerie guard, whose sword lay loose in his tranced fingers, she turned back to kick the blade toward an able-looking nimbus cowering beside a chair. “Fight,” she commanded, with neither anger nor sympathy. The Fury had no compassion for cowardice. Her kind were immortals – they had forged their power with violence and blood. Any faerie that did not own that birthright was not deserving of it, in her eyes. In a garlanger it could be excusable, for their blood was diluted by mortals or other corruption and they were often weaker in body and magic...but a nimbus, if he ever wanted to prove himself and come into power? Realism was different from mental weakness. For her own part, she picked her way carefully through the chaos, striking enemies with the sword and slashing with the dagger, and avoiding the fitful volleys of arrows. One clipped her arm as it fell, leaving a long, shallow cut across the top of her left arm from which her tattoo recoiled, fangs bared. The wound stung, but she ignored it, and in a few moments the bleeding ceased.

“I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse,” she commented, watching the enemy army flood the tent and wondering what other horrors the Drow had in store.

[Tadhg]

An uncharacteristic scowl darkens his brow for a moment as he ducks an arrow aimed for his head. "That's no' exactly what I meant. Toward the fire, ye silly hen," he says wryly, making a half-hearted motion toward the raging bonfire and hoping the two women would catch the hint. They were surrounded, yes. But the fire now burned taller then a man and would offer some protection from attack if a fairy was to put his back to it.

He gives the dark sidhe woman a lopsided grin as he hears the intruder some distance behind him fall with a thud, her knife buried somewhere deep enough to make the blood audibly gurgle. He is horrified however, when the lycan woman drops a frog half the size of his large palm into his still gesturing hand. It blinks up at him in a polite but unamused fashion and Tadhg is shaking his head vehemently in protest. "Oh no. Nonononono. No! I cannae --" He might as well have been invisible for all the pair of females are listening to him. The lycan is off, spring through the chaos in hopes of accomplishing gods know what, the Unseelie hot at her heels. He swears impressively in Celtic, stuffing the protesting amphibian into a pocket on his leather jerkin, trying not to picture a weeping, distraught woman who sobs all over him when he hands her back a dead frog.

He pursues, leaping nimbly over a fallen tangle of bodies, ignoring with a pang the cry of one not yet safe in death's embrace. There will be time to help the wounded later - if there are any left to help. The Unseelie stops short at the side of a cowered nimbus, her harsh manner causing Tadhg to gage her for a moment through thoughtful eyes. He's seen her type before - all business, ruthless and having no time or energy to sympathy. She is a machine, living by a code of standards she will defend against all circumstances, rather they be the right ones or not. It is a waste of time to argue with someone like her, an even greater waste of time to attempt any bond of civil acquaintance. But he is not fool enough to know he could probably not have stumbled upon a better comrade in arms if he'd tried.

He offers an arm to the crouching nimbus, pulling the smaller man up by the forearm, tossing a side-ways glance up to the Unseelie, mildly curious about her reaction. "On yer feet, son. We cannae afford to have a strapping lad like you taking a rest on the sidelines," he says calmly, his deep voice colored with quiet encouragement. It gets through to the nimbus, the shell-shocked fear draining from the younger man's eyes as he returns Tadhg's nod and picks up the sword Alecto had previously kicked into his lap. Tadhg clasps him briefly on the shoulder and turns his attentions back to his female compatriot in time to catch the skin of her left arm splitting open from the newest volley of arrows.

He himself is not entirely quick enough to dodge them all and an animalistic snarl rises from his chest as a crudely hewn arrow head buries itself in the joint of his right wing. He takes precious seconds to reach behind him and snap the stalk in half, metallic blood coloring his palms red. From the sky, Cyane shrieks, feeling his pain as her own and losing altitude rapidly as she struggles to overcome it. Tadhg's face is tense, looking more rugged in the firelight as he fights to compute everything at once, having to regain his hunter's focus in the aftermath of this fresh wave of disorder.

With a huff, he makes the move to press his broad back against Alecto's, twirling the hilt of his daggers to a more defensive stance. "I'll watch yer back if you watch mine," he comments tightly.

[Skylla]

Tadhg's motion to move towards the fire seems to be a wise one. The creatures fall back as he moves closer to the blaze, some even dropping where they stand, drained from wounds that previously did not hampered them before they approach the blaze.

[Jun]

Jun had beaten them to the fire quite some time ago. His lack of weapons had left him immediately vulnerable to attack, and thus he had fled to the closest place that offered momentary sanctuary. Jun was not a fighter by nature, that much was true, but over the millennium he had been alive he had cultivated a variety of combat skills. He had to- being a prime strategist called for it. When he was younger Jun had been schooled in the art of the blade in traditional Japanese style. His katana, a gift from his father, was even tucked away in chest back in his room. It had not been unsheathed since the day he had used it to steal his father’s life. Since then Jun had refrained from even touching another blade, too afraid of the blood they could draw, the mortal blows they could strike. Though he knew the faerie and of their immortality, the prospect of a blade still frightened him. It was a fear he had never spoken of, and at times didn’t even recognize himself. But it was there.

That was the reason he was now still unarmed. However, Jun could have been considered a weapon himself. A master of several martial arts, Jun knew how to effectively disable and even kill opponents without ever shedding blood. This could be seen by the two creatures crumpled at his feet. Unfortunately Jun was not in the best of shape. He had discarded his suit jacket and his white shirt was torn in several places, stained by his own blood. A few still-healing cuts littered his frame, none of them life-threatening, but an obvious testament to the skill of the creatures that had invaded and Jun’s harbored reluctance to cause another creature pain.

His face was grim, his lips thinned in a mask of mixed concentration and contemplation. As Tadhg and Alecto approached, he allowed his golden and rust bronzed eyes to flick towards the pair. Their battle prowess might have been enviable to any other faerie, especially a nimbus like himself, but Jun rather looked upon it with an apathetic, but thankful gaze. He shifted his stance closer to the two, staying back enough as to not hinder their surrounding area, a curt nod issued to Alecto. He said nothing- now was not the time to talk - but his body language was clear. He was there to offer them assistance should they need it.

(ooc: Hope you don't mind me jumping in. Jun's been at the festival for a bit and I always meant him to join another thread e.e; Also, since Verbyl is going on hiatus, I think it would be safe to skip Zilka's turn)

[Alecto]

Perhaps her lack of reaction would be disappointing to Tadgh. As the Sidhe lifted the coward to his feet, Alecto gave the pair of them only a passing glance – she may not have brimmed with compassion, herself, but she did not disdain it in others. Sympathy could have its place in the world, but it did not lie tangent to her own. He had misjudged her, then, in part; she was a hell-hound, not a wolf, and she could be almost docile in times of peace and in the right company. This docility often translated into fierce loyalty, given time and opportunity. But when there was a threat, when innocent lives were at risk, and when her sensibilities were insulted, her feral instincts bubbled to the fore and she became a primordial thing…a force of nature more than a faerie. A force she was now – or as Tadgh believed, a machine – but once the fighting was over, a different side of her would resurface.

Not yet, though, and perhaps not within the Seelie’s view. Now, there was still justice to be served.

Alecto grunted her affirmation as the man’s back collided with her own, holding the larger sword in front of her at an angle, and the dagger almost loosely at her side. Her arrow-wound was a thick pink line, like a mark of mortality across her ethereal skin. The bonfire’s heat enveloped them, blistering. She felt her sweat, and Tadgh’s blood, drip down her exposed back. Yet it was still further than she would like, and with periodic steps she edged them closer to it, keeping her eyes on the closing circle of spirits. Closing, and then…the fury stared, noting how some stopped their forward progression, how many fell suddenly when they entered the fire’s circle of light. She thought of Faerie Fire, and the words of the Sluagh king, but dismissed the notion that this ceremonial blaze might be kindred substance. These creatures were not faerie after all, and it was not glamour they were losing, but life. Her eyes roved over them and around, issuing a universal challenge, then settled on a face that was foreign to her in these incongruous circumstances.

“Jun,” she said, her voice colored with concern, softened by the shock of his appearance. He was unarmed, which made her worry some, but appeared no worse for wear. Alecto nodded back to him, hoping his brother had fared as well, then averted her attention to a charging attacker. He went down easily – much more easily than the ones preceding him. “These shades cannot withstand the blaze, it seems,” she murmured, mostly to herself, and wondered if they were indeed more shade than living thing. Across the fire from them, she glimpsed the Red Queen and her improvised entourage, who seemed to be having internal struggles in addition to their other problems. A short laugh escaped her at the sight, but she spared them little attention besides. There were arrows to deflect, and she deftly cut them from the air as they fell toward the three of them.

The onslaught began to slow, hindered by the glare of heat. Alecto withdrew slightly from Tadgh, turning her back to the fire and standing between her battle companions with a slow, deliberate breath. Her gaze fell on the mysterious Sidhe, the blankness in her face replaced by something else – an unexpected openness, perhaps due to the combined effects of their relative success and their loss of Zilka, who had vanished in the crowd. But that flash of vulnerability was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, the heat swallowed back into her core. She turned away from him, glaring out at the hesitant throng. “I thank you, sir,” she said to him, comfortable expressing her gratitude but obviously distracted by the task at hand.