[ The whispers of being welcomed at the glowing future of Redgate settled around her and, after a time in Truen, Lauralae decides what she wishes to do. She turns from the peace of the Seelie sharbearers, feeling them bright and blunt against her mind, as if being around them prickle at her skin and force her to suffer, before she continues. The journey does not take as long as she might have imagined, with aid from horse and wolf (Iorveth travels with her still, content to be an ally to her games so long as she offers assistance and a welcome guide through the Drabworld) and they go south before west, using the paths of wood and quiet to make their way towards the keep.
She is tired, though, as she reaches the outside of the side of the mountain, moving through and ignoring the looks of strangers as she moves inside. She had been told about the kindness of the new Lord here, how he extended a hand to native settlers, those that might suffer during the warfare of the courts, and she hopes to use that to her advantage. She walks through, feeling her power coil, turning away from where it settled inside of her, until, slowly, she lets her mind settle on what is happening.
Her hands have not changed; they are as black and barren as ever, but there is no power in them. The flush of magic that seeps through her has been whisked away as the influence of the blood granite flicks through her, her hands shaking as she walks forward. All these years of cursed life, all these moments of wondering if she can live as the magic eats at her, and she could have simply come here and allowed herself to bask in the lack of magic.
The question is, however, would she have been able to live without it for so long?
Lauralae lets herself be guided by people around her, allows herself to be walked, and lets the weight of practised acting settle on her. Her ears, mutilated as her hair tangles around her, is a scream of her own pain, and she lets the pretence of pain and damage infect the minds of people around her. Let them think her weak, let them think her broken and sad, all that she might learn more of this place and what she might gain from it.
The Lord, they say, is kind, and she intends to find that out for herself. ]
early june.
She is tired, though, as she reaches the outside of the side of the mountain, moving through and ignoring the looks of strangers as she moves inside. She had been told about the kindness of the new Lord here, how he extended a hand to native settlers, those that might suffer during the warfare of the courts, and she hopes to use that to her advantage. She walks through, feeling her power coil, turning away from where it settled inside of her, until, slowly, she lets her mind settle on what is happening.
Her hands have not changed; they are as black and barren as ever, but there is no power in them. The flush of magic that seeps through her has been whisked away as the influence of the blood granite flicks through her, her hands shaking as she walks forward. All these years of cursed life, all these moments of wondering if she can live as the magic eats at her, and she could have simply come here and allowed herself to bask in the lack of magic.
The question is, however, would she have been able to live without it for so long?
Lauralae lets herself be guided by people around her, allows herself to be walked, and lets the weight of practised acting settle on her. Her ears, mutilated as her hair tangles around her, is a scream of her own pain, and she lets the pretence of pain and damage infect the minds of people around her. Let them think her weak, let them think her broken and sad, all that she might learn more of this place and what she might gain from it.
The Lord, they say, is kind, and she intends to find that out for herself. ]