On a Razor's Edge

[Whist]

Whist had been feeling increasingly uneasy over the last several weeks. It wasn't just the strange dreams plaguing his mind. It wasn't just the image that kept floating, unbidden to his mind, of a Seelie Fae impaled on a spear he was holding, all life immediately draining from the poor creature, a wicked grimace of pleasure on his own face. It wasn't his love life, or what little he could remember of it, the beautiful faces tinged with strange emotions. Nor was it merely his age, and the spells of complete madness. No, it was worse than that. Far worse than any of that. Whist was bored, ad good things did not happen when his mood was foul.

A large Rook dove from the sky gliding lazily nut swiftly through the air, down from the dark skies of rolling grey clouds above, to the dark damp earth below. As the Rook neared the ground, a figure seemed to burst from him, a tall, slim. grey figure, echoing the clouds above, as the Rook swirled back from reality to ink in the palm of his hand, flapping its way up hid arm and across his chest to fully splay itself across his back.

Whist breathed in the cold clammy air, grey as he, and full of mists and fogs, yet something did not feel right. It was if there were a pulse or heartbeat he could feel beside his own. Someone lived, someone Whist would have to eventually kill. But who was the figure tormenting the ancient and essentially peaceful Sidhe into thoughts of rage and murder?

Shaking his head to clear it of the dark images, Whist began to stroll through the cemetary he'd landed in, the whisps of fog, and curtains of mist trailing around im, parting before him. And there in front of him was the mysterious grave he had visited time and time again, never quite sure why, just that it replaced rage with sorrow, and eased his anxiety, a kind of peace coming over him, as if he stood before his own grave, contemplating the nature of his existance, his essential immortality nature, and how so many he had known had passed before him dancing from his arms to their graves in a blink of the eye.

[King Cel]

The air was crisp, as was the night. The magically induced moon lit the magically induced sky so brightly, but yet the yonder was clouded. Mist and fog somewhat dense filled the atmosphere, a strange glow, almost eerie due to the silver hue of the celestial countenance. Cel moved through the night like a well trained assassin, the shadows seemed to form around him, spilling over his body to hide him from any he did not wish to speak to. The distant hoot of an owl sounded, but the King barely stirred. His focus was on the man standing before the tombstone.

Before he spoke, the King examined the scenario. These tombstones were often reserved for the dishonorable, those killed by the Fate Skylla, or those lesser faerie who had perished. Very few honorable faerie found themselves buried, their bodies usually faded into obscurity upon “death”.

The King emerged from the shadows, his Hand of Power no longer activated as he no longer wished it to be. He spoke, quietly but loud enough to rouse the other’s attention, ”Most faerie don’t think about death. It is odd to see you here.”

[Cantrell]

Marcus walked through places he had not yet explored. This one appeared to be a cemetery. At least this setting was familiar to him. Graveyards meant death. Death meant mortality. Being Human, death was not a foreign matter to Cantrell. He had killed many others, and he had seen many be killed before him. Mortality was not uncommon to him, and places like these made him feel more comfortable. It was a more "familiar" environment.

Being nighttime and partially foggy, he had trouble seeing very far. Cantrell spent most of his time feeling around for the next place to step than he actually did taking the next step. Within minutes, his eyes adapted to the darkness and he began to move around more freely. "Old age is getting to me" he muttered quietly to himself. His muscles were stiff from not being used very much recently, and it took effort to move around. He was what he would call "vulnerable".

At last, the quiet was broken by a voice. Cantrell immediately made way towards the voice and soon, he saw two figures there.

[Whist]

"Most fae haven't seen as many ages, empires, or death as I. Time is the eternal thief, human lives pass in the space of our breath, and even our lives pass is in the vastness of time and space. Nothing is truly eternal, is it?" Whist murmured lowly, easily audible to the keen hearing of a Sidhe, but almost seemingly to himself.

Turning, he continued, louder, in a conversational tone, voice heavy with the weariness of age, "Then again, I am considered quite the oddity by most fae, many think me mad," Whist smiled wryly, even his grin tinged with a strange absence of joy, "you're Majesty." He finished with a low bow.

"Though, if I may be so bold, it would seem you carry the same odd propensity as I, Highness." Whist spoke lightly, his swirling grey irises briefly twinkling with a touch of silver. "Nor, do I think you and I are alone, there seems to be a third bumbling his way into our midst." Whist intoned quietly, "Though I doubt the fact has escaped your notice." He grinned once more, the same strangely hollow smile and dead of eyes of one who has simply seen far too much.

[King Cel]

Cel shrugged. He leaned on a nearby tree, his arm draped slackly over his head, elbow bent over his cranium so his fingertips dangled just above his shoulders. The King yawned and then proceeded to push himself upward, coming to full height once more as he sauntered towards the sidhe. When he spoke, his voice seemingly uninterested in the talk of death and eternity, ”I have seen very few of my people die, and the talk of eternity always make it seem so much more…unbearable.”

At the talk of him being mad, Cel raised a confused eyebrow, the blue eyes beneath glowering at Whist in an offended manner. He scoffed, the King had never fathomed himself mad, and those who did perturbed him. The Unseelie prince had grown up knowing the taste and feel of blood, the warmth it provided when it was freshly spilled and the oddly soothing stickiness that often covered him when his exhilaration faded. No, the prince was not insane, he was a product of his environment, and the King didn’t thing madness or insanity was relative, thus he didn’t quite agree with the sidhe.

”Madness is a clinical issue; my mind is sharper than ever.” He spat as he took two long, graceful steps toward a gravestone. He examined the title that was inscribed on the stone palette, it had been a human-garlanger, no surprise, and from the quality of the tombstone the creature had been a servant. The marker was decrepit, covered in moss and marked with water damage. He traced his fingers over it, knowing all too well the story of the human that lay decayed beneath his feet.

Cel turned, his annoyance seemingly forgotten. He smiled at Whist without baring his teeth, ”You would be correct in that, Prince...” He said, allowing room for the man to state his name. If Cel had met the creature before it had slipped his mind, he didn’t remember the names of those who were not his greatest enemies or of his high court. Then his gaze shifted to the newcomer, arms folding across his chest as he waited for an introduction.

[Whist]

"Seeker, Whist, of the Unseelie Court, your Liege." Whist finished the King's obvious question. "I doubt this is the first you've seen of me, I've ended up playing court jester on the rare occasion my madness consumes me, and the court does love to mock the different. However, I haven't been a player in court politics in well over a thousand years, to be quite honest I haven't had much interest since MY King passed."

Whist spoke, a clear enficise on the word my, that sole word holding all the emotion in his voice. It spoke of sorrow, regret, and above all allegiance, the kind of undying loyalty that never ends, even after its receiver has. "He was a good boy." Whist murmured softly to himself. "Always fair."

[Cantrell]

The human moved closer towards the others. His presence was already known, so he might as well introduce himself too. At least he wasn't alone anymore in this foreign place. "Since now seems like the time for being acquainted with each other, allow me to introduce myself." Cantrell paused for a moment, trying to remember the proper customs for introduction in this place. It was very different from those on Earth. Only a moment passed before he spoke again. "Seeker, Marcus Cantrell of the Unseelie Court." His voice rang low but clear.

"My apologies if I interrupted your conversation. I seem to have strayed here in unfamiliar parts." Cantrell heard bits and pieces of their conversation so far. By the way things were going, the higher ranking member seemed slightly annoyed, while this 'Whist' still dwelled on things of the past. Cantrell decided not to say anything more at the moment.

[King Cel]

Cel’s brow furrowed as he considered the sidhe’s words. Were they disrespect? What did the creature mean by “my king”? Cel was his king, he was the one true leader of the Unseelie. Cel’s hand fell to his waist, something it did not normally do, as he drew his battle sickle. The king idly swung it, cleaving off the head of a nearby flower ”I hope you don’t mean to insinuate that I am not always fair, Whist.” He said without looking at him, instead studying the green residue on his blade. However, the question was a loaded one and Whist’s answer would influence Cel’s reaction fully.

Cel’s attention turned to the newcomer Marcus, Cel nodded his head. The man before him didn’t appear to be sidhe, that much was obvious, nor did he hold innately magical appear of the nimbus, and for a garlanger he lacked any obvious deformities. Cel deduced almost immediately that the man was a human garlanger, a mortal being amongst an entirely immortal court. The King licked his lips, ”Greetings Marcus, I am King Cel, Ruler of the Unseelie court.”

[Whist]

"I meant to insinuate nothing my liege." Whist still spoke softly, detachedly, as if his thoughts could not be pinned to the present. "I was merely lost in memories of the one King I truly served, as Captain of the Guard, his champion, as it were. Though that was thousands of years ago, long before the last war of the courts even, and I have done little enough since his passing. Most of the ages have blended together into a grey fog that lies heavy within my old head. And you my liege? Why, you are the man I currently pledge my allegiance to, yet I can't say I know you as I did my King, I cannot speak truly and say that you are always fair, for I have little to no idea of how you rule your court, I'm not much a part of it myself these days."

Whist knew he was close to heresy, speaking so casually with his king, but he cared little. He'd lived long and little mattered to him these days, all passed in a wash of endless apathetic grey. "You seem kind and fair enough from this short conversation we've had, but how can I know of your actions in the endless political squabbles of court when I pay no attention? I'm a man consumed by my past your liege. I mean no disrespect to you, I've just ceased to care about or follow the actions of the court. Do not take it personally, you're not the first Monarch I've had, nor the first I've ignored. To be quite honest, I think this is the first conversation I've had with a King or Queen of either court in well over a century. Though, I am, of course, you're humble servant, as always. Should you have need of me, you must only ask. My allegiance will forever reside with the court and lineage and my dead King."

[King Cel]

Cel could have conceived that once the man before him was a valiant warrior, but now, as he spoke and acted, he seemed to be too deeply lost in lunacy to ever assume such a role again. The man was detached, and seemed to dwell upon memories of the past as opposed to the present. The gift of immortality was perpetual youth, strength and fervor, an eternal state of being in one’s prime, and this man seemed to be obsessed with his past. Still, Cel always valued the opinion of an elder and thus he spoke, ”Would you ever consider such a position again?” Whist’s response wouldn’t necessarily mean he would be made Captain of the Guard, but it would say something about his ambition. Cel wanted ambitious people to hold rank in his court, he wanted innovators, and he needed to see if this man was such.

Cel raised an eyebrow at the next statement. How could this man serve a dead king? Kings came and went, but in faerie a dead king usually meant a bad king. To end up dead was a very difficult thing to do in faerie. Fading into obscurity and exile to the mortal realm were fates more common than an immortal’s death. ”Your king is dead for a reason. He mustn’t have been that great of a ruler.” Now Cel was becoming agitated, despite the fact that this man pledged his loyalty to him, he still spoke of allegiance to another King in his realm. At the Unseelie Court, there was but one ruler to bow to: Cel.

[Whist]

"A great ruler? Perhaps not." Whist mused. "But a great man, a great son? He was both of those things." He turned to smile sadly again at his King, "Even the fae should not outlive their children, my liege." Shaking his head, some of the fog cleared from his eyes, and for a moment he appeared to be living silver, the sheen from his body brightening, and his eyes turning from their dull grey to a piercing silver of steel, "Captain of the Guard? Aye, if duty called me to it, to protect the court, and my King, I would do as ordered. I have seen my fair share of bloodshed to be honest though my liege, and if you require my services, I would prefer to offer talents of a less violent manner. I may be a warrior, but I have no great love of war. Another reason I'd seek to end conflict as soon as possible, with as little damage to my court as possible. This has been my home for so long," His eyes flared again, "I'd destroy any who sought to destroy it." And again the fog returned, as if clouds pulled over the moon itself. "Yet I can take no joy in death, find no passion in battle, all I want is peace for my home, a peace my little king could not bring. But perhaps you can, King Cel. If you require my talents in doing so, you need only ask." Whist took a couple of short strides away from the grave. "Now, if you'd care to continue this conversation, I'd ask you follow me from this wretched graveyard, I can stand the thoughts of my lost kin no longer, and go to drown my sorrows in the revelry of the Court, or perhaps the mystery of the Underdark. But I'm afraid I can stand over my passed boy no longer."

[King Cel]

Cel didn’t like the way the same seemed to shift between melancholy and fervor. One moment the man appeared to be far away in his thoughts, reminiscing, only to sit up, wide eyed, with the same energy he probably held in his time as Captain of the Guard. Cel realized the senile old sidhe would never be his Captain, perhaps a guard or perhaps an advisor, but never his captain. The man’s prime was long behind him, something odd for a sidhe.

When Whist suggested they move on, Cel agreed, nodding his head. ”Yes. Come Marcus, follow.” He said as he began to follow Whist, one of the few times the King followed anyone. Cel was satisfied with following the old faerie, but upon hearing the mention of the Underdark the king stopped. The man was old, old enough to know many things but the mystery of the Underdark was most likely long forgotten by the faerie.

Cel spoke without walking, ”The mysteries of the Underdark don’t concern you.” He said dryly, hoping Whist would drop the issue.

[Whist]

Whist cocked an eyebrow at the King when he stopped and spoke of the mysteries of the Underdark. A small smile played across his features, and his eyes twinkled again, belaying the streak of mischievous youth that still lay hidden beneath the sorrows of age and wisdom of time. "As you wish my liege." He smiled, with a slight tilt of his head, before continuing to walk without waiting to see if the King and mortal would follow. "To the Court then! Let us find joy where we can, be it wine, women, blood, or song, our days seem endless, but we don't have long!" Whist cackled out the last line, seeming almost mad, a different person even. Younger, with more excitement, more fervor, more life.

[King Cel]

Cel gave the slightest glimpse of a smile. Whist was a confusing individual, even amongst his madness he had some tact to recognize what was a pet peeve of the King’s, and brush it off. The man had been schooled in courtly politics. Perhaps it had been due to his son lording over some similar land, the father having to bite his tongue and placate to his son in an effort to appease him, but Cel did not know for sure. However, that was his assumption.

Whist’s demeanor changed almost entirely, and Cel also noted that. But the king did not wish to delve into what drove his madness any further. Instead he asked, ”And which of those pleases you the most, Whist? Wine, women or blood? For me it is a mixture of women and blood, for I have never been a great drinker.”[/b][/color]

[Whist]

"Blood." Whist replied simply. "I believe I've tasted every great wine and fucked enough beautiful virgins that they have lost their interest to me." Whist spoke calmly, as if talking of the weather. "I was of common blood myself, Sidhe, yes, but never in line for the throne. These were old times, a commoner could never become King. So I became Captain of the Guard. And I seduced the Queen, sired a child of royal blood with her, then spilled her blood when he was a young lad. He was King, but I was his father, and he was too young to rule. So the Kingdom was mine to do with what I wished. I grew bored, sent my son, at a mere 18 years to war with enemy courts, to spill more blood. He was eventually killed by a traitorous fae himself, one who sought to bring an end to a war of 'pointless bloodshed'. But he spilled my son's blood. That was a mistake. I spilled his."

Whist's voice became a bit softer, as he mused. "I suppose I've always been transfixed with it, it's multiple implications, the way it rules our existence. I like to play with existence. I like to change it, control it, end it." Turning to the King he smiled brightly, "Grand fun, wouldn't you agree?"

Gone was the brooding Whist, filled with regret and remorse for his actions, the Whist who felt his age, the toll the long years had taken on him. For he was immortal, and he felt little most times, save an ever pressing boredom. But interest in the King, and the implications of the Underdark had restored him, for the time, at least, to a younger self, his aura shining more like whisps of cold bright steel, and his eyes glimmering like liquid swirling silver.