T
The Piper of Pipers
Guest
Original poster
Brigit had always been an early riser, but when her eyes snapped open this particular morning, she immediately wished they hadn't. The alcohol was taking its revenge and her head was throbbing painfully. Outside the tower the Hunters had provided for the Lutair liaisons, birds were singing and the sun was beginning to shine, but the pulled curtains left the room fairly dark. To her right, Eirioch's eyes were open, but he was not awake. His whole body was stiff, rigid, and she knew he was lost in frightful dreams of his own. Somehow, Brigit felt no sympathy for him. She could hardly shake the image of him holding his hand out as she fell from the tower in her dream. She had awoken just before hitting the ground, she knew, and there had been other horrors along the way, but he had been the worst part of her nightmare. Rubbing her temples, she pushed off her covers and climbed out of bed, ignoring the red and yellow of the sheets.
On the other side of the room, a pair of sconces held unlit torches and Brigit made her way to them. Expending a minute amount of heat from within her own body, she created a spark, illuminating the first and using it to ignite the other. She could have lit both on her own, but the air in the tower was already chill and she didn't wish to make herself colder than she already was. Once both torches were burning bright, she tapped into the Bodagh, moving the heat of the flames to the basin of water on the far side of the room. Immediately, both torches were extinguished, but the water was warm. Stripping down, she stepped into the bath, enjoying the warmth in comparison to the cold around her. She always found herself cold after sharing a bed with her betrothed.
Knowing it would be some time before Eirioch awoke from his sleepless sleep, the curse of his witchery, Brigit allowed herself a moment of peace. She soaked in the warm water, resting her head against the side while pulling her knees up against her chest. These small hours before her cousin rose were the only times she could be alone anymore, and she took refuge in her thoughts. Memories of Taigh an Leargaidh and Taigh an Croch before her cousin sold himself to the dark gods of Earisse, before his eyes were wrong. In her mind, she ran through the corridors of the castle, chased by a younger Eirioch. He giggled and stretched out his hands, trying to catch her, but she hardly smiled. To him, it was a game, but to her it was a competition. Every doorway or hallway she passed, she considered the benefits of turning or continuing straight. This one led to the kitchens and would provide good cover, but Ringean disliked being interrupted. Being little more than the cook, there was little he could do to punish the young Abthanes, but he was one of the few people in Taigh an Croch that Brigit tried not to inconvenience. The next led to the library, but there was only one door in and it would likely be a trap. This was the bedchamber of some cousin or another, that was the war room. Finally, she made a sharp left and appeared in an open courtyard at the center of the castle. Even in the cold of Innis Buidhe, the gardeners had managed to create a lovely display. Hardy plants of all shades of green filled the courtyard. Ivy climbed the walls, shrubs and trees sprouted and reached towards the dark Innisian sky and everywhere there was holly. At the center of the courtyard, Oisean sat with a young serving girl. His hand was on hers.
Brigit shook her head. This was hardly the sort of refuge she wanted. Instead of allowing herself another painful memory, Brigit picked up the simple sponge left beside the basin and began to scrub her body clean. Since leaving Innis Buidhe, she'd had little chance to clean herself. Either they had been on a ship or on the road to Cael Wal Llywd, and now that she could finally attend to her hygiene, she realized how much she had missed it. The Lutairs had always placed a great deal of stock in cleanliness, but in Taigh an Croch, there had been a bathhouse, a folctha, made available to all the nobles and visiting dignitaries from other, smaller clans. It had always smelled of lavender or sage, depending on which of the attendants had prepared it that morning. Whenever she bathed their, Brigit had made a point of not informing her cousin or any of her family members that she intended to go. It was her escape, even then.
Finally, Brigit pulled herself out of the bath, the water dripping off of her lithe, sinewy form. She toweled herself off with the tarry cloth that hung over the edge of the basin and left the damp cloth for Eirioch if he cared to use it when he rose. As she stepped over the edge of the bath, a wave of nausea struck Brigit like a punch in the stomach. Doubling over, her foot caught on the lip and she fell, hitting the cold, stone floor harder than she had expected. Her insides were waging a war with her and she had no idea how to fight back. She retched once, twice, cursing the sour wine she had consumed so much of the night before. On hands and knees, she pressed her forehead the stone floor. Her head was still throbbing, blood pounding in her ears. Her damned cousin had driven her to this with his mockery and his besmirching of the family name, and she wished she could make him pay. She knew she could not, but the thought of offering her own hand and he dropped out of sight brought a twisted smile to her lips. Another retch wiped it away, but the image had still brightened her mood somewhat. She slowly climbed to her feet, supporting herself with the nearby table.
Carefully, she dressed once again in a suit of furs and light leather, tailored to fit her instead of the typically male soldiers of Innis Buidhe. Embroidered with holly leaves, and accompanied by a brooch that displayed the argent stag of her family, her doublet was a reminder to her new companions that she was Fuil Ríar, the blood of old Lutair himself, and she was not to be trifled with lest she remind them all why her family dominated the north for centuries even before the arrival of the Shadow Beasts. A piece of polished silver left on the table allowed to her look herself over, and she hated what she saw.
Her short hair was professional, her raiment was noble and her body was surely that of a soldier, but her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks were flushed and she could scarcely contain her grimace. This was not the impression she had planned on making her in the south, but there was very little she could do about it. The Hunters likely already though her a rash fool after last night and it was unlikely that she would prove them wrong so soon. Her second chance would come later, she knew, and she would be prepared to take it. Running a hand through her hair, Brigit placed the silver back on the table and made her way to the dining hall yet again. This time though, she was alone.
When she arrived, several of her new companions were already there, eating. Viper and the asarlaí sat on one side, each looking as treacherous as they had the night before. Brigit made a point of sitting beside Aine, although she was fairly sure the woman would not welcome her company. The assassin was fully equipped, clearly prepared to leave whenever Amudar gave the word. A mask, something he hadn't carried the night before, sat on the table beside his plate. Brigit mused on just how flashy this self-styled killer was. An assassin in Innis Buidhe, had they bothered with such things, would have never dared to draw so much attention to himself. Back flips, eyes mícheart and frightening masks made stealth difficult. Perhaps this was why he had become a hunter now. Wild animals likely didn't notice the difference between one human and another.
The other, the witch, was dressed much more lavishly than the night before, his frail form now protected by a set of foul-looking, black armor. Engraved with skulls and the faces of Earissian demons, it was an altogether unsettling choice of attire. Brigit stared at him across the table, confused by his choice of clothing, and even more so by the pride he seemed to take in it. "Tell me, asarlaí, do all those chosen by Umbra have to wear such garish attire, or was that your own choice?" Without waiting for his reply, she continued. "I do not recall you offering your name last night. I doubt it will help much, but perhaps being able to call you something other than a witch will help me trust you better."
On the other side of the room, a pair of sconces held unlit torches and Brigit made her way to them. Expending a minute amount of heat from within her own body, she created a spark, illuminating the first and using it to ignite the other. She could have lit both on her own, but the air in the tower was already chill and she didn't wish to make herself colder than she already was. Once both torches were burning bright, she tapped into the Bodagh, moving the heat of the flames to the basin of water on the far side of the room. Immediately, both torches were extinguished, but the water was warm. Stripping down, she stepped into the bath, enjoying the warmth in comparison to the cold around her. She always found herself cold after sharing a bed with her betrothed.
Knowing it would be some time before Eirioch awoke from his sleepless sleep, the curse of his witchery, Brigit allowed herself a moment of peace. She soaked in the warm water, resting her head against the side while pulling her knees up against her chest. These small hours before her cousin rose were the only times she could be alone anymore, and she took refuge in her thoughts. Memories of Taigh an Leargaidh and Taigh an Croch before her cousin sold himself to the dark gods of Earisse, before his eyes were wrong. In her mind, she ran through the corridors of the castle, chased by a younger Eirioch. He giggled and stretched out his hands, trying to catch her, but she hardly smiled. To him, it was a game, but to her it was a competition. Every doorway or hallway she passed, she considered the benefits of turning or continuing straight. This one led to the kitchens and would provide good cover, but Ringean disliked being interrupted. Being little more than the cook, there was little he could do to punish the young Abthanes, but he was one of the few people in Taigh an Croch that Brigit tried not to inconvenience. The next led to the library, but there was only one door in and it would likely be a trap. This was the bedchamber of some cousin or another, that was the war room. Finally, she made a sharp left and appeared in an open courtyard at the center of the castle. Even in the cold of Innis Buidhe, the gardeners had managed to create a lovely display. Hardy plants of all shades of green filled the courtyard. Ivy climbed the walls, shrubs and trees sprouted and reached towards the dark Innisian sky and everywhere there was holly. At the center of the courtyard, Oisean sat with a young serving girl. His hand was on hers.
Brigit shook her head. This was hardly the sort of refuge she wanted. Instead of allowing herself another painful memory, Brigit picked up the simple sponge left beside the basin and began to scrub her body clean. Since leaving Innis Buidhe, she'd had little chance to clean herself. Either they had been on a ship or on the road to Cael Wal Llywd, and now that she could finally attend to her hygiene, she realized how much she had missed it. The Lutairs had always placed a great deal of stock in cleanliness, but in Taigh an Croch, there had been a bathhouse, a folctha, made available to all the nobles and visiting dignitaries from other, smaller clans. It had always smelled of lavender or sage, depending on which of the attendants had prepared it that morning. Whenever she bathed their, Brigit had made a point of not informing her cousin or any of her family members that she intended to go. It was her escape, even then.
Finally, Brigit pulled herself out of the bath, the water dripping off of her lithe, sinewy form. She toweled herself off with the tarry cloth that hung over the edge of the basin and left the damp cloth for Eirioch if he cared to use it when he rose. As she stepped over the edge of the bath, a wave of nausea struck Brigit like a punch in the stomach. Doubling over, her foot caught on the lip and she fell, hitting the cold, stone floor harder than she had expected. Her insides were waging a war with her and she had no idea how to fight back. She retched once, twice, cursing the sour wine she had consumed so much of the night before. On hands and knees, she pressed her forehead the stone floor. Her head was still throbbing, blood pounding in her ears. Her damned cousin had driven her to this with his mockery and his besmirching of the family name, and she wished she could make him pay. She knew she could not, but the thought of offering her own hand and he dropped out of sight brought a twisted smile to her lips. Another retch wiped it away, but the image had still brightened her mood somewhat. She slowly climbed to her feet, supporting herself with the nearby table.
Carefully, she dressed once again in a suit of furs and light leather, tailored to fit her instead of the typically male soldiers of Innis Buidhe. Embroidered with holly leaves, and accompanied by a brooch that displayed the argent stag of her family, her doublet was a reminder to her new companions that she was Fuil Ríar, the blood of old Lutair himself, and she was not to be trifled with lest she remind them all why her family dominated the north for centuries even before the arrival of the Shadow Beasts. A piece of polished silver left on the table allowed to her look herself over, and she hated what she saw.
Her short hair was professional, her raiment was noble and her body was surely that of a soldier, but her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks were flushed and she could scarcely contain her grimace. This was not the impression she had planned on making her in the south, but there was very little she could do about it. The Hunters likely already though her a rash fool after last night and it was unlikely that she would prove them wrong so soon. Her second chance would come later, she knew, and she would be prepared to take it. Running a hand through her hair, Brigit placed the silver back on the table and made her way to the dining hall yet again. This time though, she was alone.
When she arrived, several of her new companions were already there, eating. Viper and the asarlaí sat on one side, each looking as treacherous as they had the night before. Brigit made a point of sitting beside Aine, although she was fairly sure the woman would not welcome her company. The assassin was fully equipped, clearly prepared to leave whenever Amudar gave the word. A mask, something he hadn't carried the night before, sat on the table beside his plate. Brigit mused on just how flashy this self-styled killer was. An assassin in Innis Buidhe, had they bothered with such things, would have never dared to draw so much attention to himself. Back flips, eyes mícheart and frightening masks made stealth difficult. Perhaps this was why he had become a hunter now. Wild animals likely didn't notice the difference between one human and another.
The other, the witch, was dressed much more lavishly than the night before, his frail form now protected by a set of foul-looking, black armor. Engraved with skulls and the faces of Earissian demons, it was an altogether unsettling choice of attire. Brigit stared at him across the table, confused by his choice of clothing, and even more so by the pride he seemed to take in it. "Tell me, asarlaí, do all those chosen by Umbra have to wear such garish attire, or was that your own choice?" Without waiting for his reply, she continued. "I do not recall you offering your name last night. I doubt it will help much, but perhaps being able to call you something other than a witch will help me trust you better."