Rainblade-Ryalors Open Barracks/Imperial Condos In Memoriam

[Marianna Furotazzi]

Marianna could have kissed Ivo. She had half a mind to do so anyway, audience be damned. Let the Duke see that she'd managed to build a life for herself not because of what he'd done to her, but in spite of it. It wasn't the life her mother would have wanted for her, but that was his fault, not hers. She leveled her gaze as the Duke as she squeezed her fiancé's paw. "Having met your current wife, Duke," she added to her partner's barbed retort, "I am certain that you are familiar with the dynamics of a relationship with a powerful vixen. Mr. Suresight is my partner and equal in all respects, and I will treat any slight to him as personally as he regards any toward me." It was a hint of warning to the Duke. He had already crossed the lines of propriety in approaching them; they, in turn, had fired a shot across the bow. A retreat was in order lest open hostilities result.

Marianna tilted her head as she considered the man. "Did you know that my mother kept diaries, Duke Ryalor? I didn't, not until I made an effort to study her life. Apparently they were in a Fogey evidence locker for nearly twenty years before being moved to the Niceties Public Records Archive. She wrote a great deal about you. At her most kind, she called you a todd devoted to his family, a trait that reminded her of her husband as he'd once been - her highest compliment. She also called you a petty beast, one fixated upon status, vengeful of any slight, and utterly intractable once set on a self-defeating course - again, a reminder of her husband as he became, perhaps the harshest condemnation she could offer." She leveled her gaze at him as she stated, "I have no love for my father. He ceased to be that long before Vito stole me from my mother's home. Your vendetta with him I even could agree with, but for one thing: you two petty, self-important beasts, in your obsession with legacy and vengeance, destroyed the lives of everyone around you. I cannot sanction your actions, for they were never honorable in intent; nor can I offer you forgiveness, for I do not trust that you truly believe they were wrong. You came here to soothe your conscience at my and my mother's expense. I have no obligation to offer you a balm for that wound, for you have offered none for the one you inflicted upon me."

She wondered if her mother, when chastising her father for his foolishness, had sounded much the same. She doubted it; her mother's diaries held, in smaller words than Marianna preferred for herself, a gentle and compassionate spirit. Perhaps Marianna had more of her father's stubbornness in her spirit than she'd believed.

~~~

Mina Rose gladly let her paw soak in the water and marinate in the honey, not wanting to say how much she appreciated Kaii breaking off the ritual to care for her. She wouldn't have blamed him if he'd wanted to keep going right away, but it meant a lot that he was willing to focus on her first. She hoped that his ancestors would be understanding and would take pride in what a thoughtful and caring todd he'd grown up to be.

She blinked at his question, then blushed deeply, looking away in embarrassment. "Aw, ih' tweren' nothin'," she demurred. "Mah imagination jus' ran wild wiv' me fer a sec 'ere. Ah go' ta imaginin' yer gran'mammy, wha' kinda vixen she musta been, an' Ah reckon Ah go' a bi' too wrapped up in 't." She tilted her head, her own curiosity getting the better of her. "Do ya know if'n she was a big ol' white vixen wiv' green eyes, an' one a' 'em massive Fyadorian swords." She furrowed her brow, trying to recall the details. "She said mah name, clear as you sittin' across from me. Is 'at a good sign, 'er knowin' mah name?" She looked to him anxiously, hoping that the story would be well-received.

 

[Talinn Ryalor]

“Insolent swine!” Matas snarled, the silver-furred young Fyadoran captain having had enough and drawing his blade at the thinly veiled sarcasm of Ivo and the withering verbal assault of Marianna. How dare these gutter scum first accuse his lord of being judgmental, then proceed to do the same to him? What had these stupid beasts ever done in their life that was notable, while his master had saved not only Westisle, but likely this very Imperium itself? Leveling his sword at the fiery red fox, as the Mistcloaks turned around at the sound of a blade being drawn, scoped crossbows at the ready, he growled lowly. “Dono, but command me, and I will gladly-”

“Yamero! Soko made da.” Talinn commanded, voice cool, collected, and ringing with absolute authority. “Katana o osameyo. Mono iwazu are. Meiyo no koto, ware ga erabeba, ware jishin de katadzukeyō.”

If your character can understand Southern Fyadoran: Stop!. That’s far enough. Sheathe your blade. Remain silent. If I so choose, I will defend my own honor myself.

Staring daggers at Ivo in particular, but unable to question Talinn, Matas sheathed his blade, and the Mistcloaks, seeing that the situation had seemingly been handled, lowered their crossbows, and returned to scanning about the cemetery for any potential threats. Talinn, for his part, offered a small, apologetic nod as he spoke.

“Forgive young Matas, if you will, he is still adjusting to how things are done in the Imperium.”

Talinn leaned on his cane as he took his time looking at the defiant, but young couple before him-just like Matas, they still had that fire of youth within them, unburdened as of yet by the chill that decades of life would inevitably place upon them. Had he been that way, once? So passionate, so confident in himself, his actions, and his beliefs? He took a glance over at the grave of Nuori Sken, and reflected upon his meeting with her in the afterlife, before returning to the two. How much pain could have been avoided if the two of them had swallowed their youthful pride, joined together, and reigned in Anithias before he became a problem? Or…

No, those are the thoughts that you have when you are alone during the Festival of Sorrows, not now. The only thing you can do currently is move forward. Because if you stop, the void will swallow you whole.

He offered something of a slight, curt smile as he replied to Ivo first.

“I am glad to see that you, at least, Mr. Suresight, would never dare to be hypocritical yourself by judging others ‘based on nothin’ as you so eloquently put it. Certainly, a beast of your moral caliber would never comment on events that you yourself were never a part of, and would only know through hearsay and rumor, such as the circumstances surrounding the end of the Civil War.”

Turning his attention to Marianna, his expression remained the same, but softened and then saddened as he continued to speak.

“Ah, then I must be careful not to make any slights towards him, no? I am sure that will not be much of a problem, given his clear integrity. And yes,” he chuckled softly “I am aware of such dynamics with my wife, especially when we were as young as you two are now. It is good that you treat each other so well. It will be taxing to maintain, speaking from my experience, but if you can, it will take you far.”

He turned to look at the grave of Julia, pausing for some time before he spoke, appearing to be, if not in a different place, than a different time.

“I am not surprised that your mother kept diaries, I was told she was a prolific writer. I was even told some parts of what you say she wrote about me. The flattering parts, mostly, through Weylin and Vaelora. They were decent friends, as far as I can tell, even went to tea together. As for her other comments…”

He shook his head, and spoke once more, turning his pale blue eyes to meet her own hard green ones, soft at first.

“I was...younger then, between you and Mr. Suresight in age. Tasked with keeping an Imperium collapsing under its own weight and then by foreign powers and keeping my family safe. Petty, perhaps. Fixated on status? As a means to survive. Intractable? Well, it has been said to me many times that I have a singular force of will. But vengeful, no, not at first.”

He leaned back against his cane once more.

“Did your mother’s diaries ever tell you about Weylin and Vaelora? Surely, they must have, and surely, she would have noted that they were decent beasts. And did you ever wonder why two such beasts would ever stay next to a beast as indecent as she described me? They stayed with me because they saw me for the beast I really was-one surrounded in darkness. No friends who could be trusted, no faith that loyalty or love could ever truly exist. They intertwined their lives with mine to show me that day and every day that the world was not what I feared it to be. They were the lights in my darkness. Proof that there was another way, that beasts can be good, can be kind. That a beast like me could oneday, perhaps, dream of becoming like them.”

His eyes hardened.

“But then your father snuffed both of them out, one after the other, and I buried them. Personally, with my own paws.”

He let his cane lean against them, and held them out for Marianna to inspect. They were not the pampered paws that one might expect of a noble, but ones calloused and scarred by decades of war and bloodshed.

“These paws. And with my lights gone, I was once more lost in the darkness. And I had such…anger…such...pain.”

He let his paws fall down to his side, and pursed his lips, before he continued.

“As I said, I was younger then, I had not come to realize, as I did over the following decades, that revenge is not some passionate crusade. It’s a disease that eats at your mind and poisons your soul.”

He took a long, deep breath.

“My conscience will never be soothed, not in this life, nor do I ever expect you to sanction what I did to her, for I myself do not. They were the actions of a confused, wounded beast lashing out to make his enemy feel the same pain that he felt and to relieve some of his own pain. But instead, on both accounts, there was…nothing. Your father carried on with his violent delights until he met his violent end without a care for her, and I lived...live...forever with the shame of killing an innocent for no purpose. Believe what you will about me, but I do believe what I did to your mother was wrong, and it is one of my greatest sins.”

He was quiet for a long while after this as he stared down at Julia’s grave, then pulled out a small, delicate bouquet of flowers. They were white and wooly, but appeared sturdy, even in the wintry conditions.

“I came here to...honor her. These flowers are called Ederuwaisu. They grow only at the highest elevations in Fyador, so high that you can barely breathe when you pick them. They are beautiful, but also hardy and resilient, even in this weather. I cultivate them for those I care for, both living and departed. I wish to leave some of them at her grave, and...say some words, if you will let me."

@Marianna Furotazzi @Ivo Suresight @Jeshal the Ironclaw @Tanya Keltoi

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

The cool of Tanya’s guarded mask began to soften as Falun spoke. Under other contexts she might have made light of his brief grimace; found a jibe or joke to make and tried to break the tension between them with an offer to start afresh. He was not related by blood but as far as the vixen was concerned was close enough. That alone shielded him from her usual habit of maintaining grudges.

For a moment she feared he would test such a sentiment when the golden todd mentioned Armina, but the delivery was factual, informative. It spoke more of the public knowledge of her identity change, also. So he didn’t know, then – that, or presumed she did not. Much though she railed against the labelling of her niece as having her place merely amongst the Ryalors it felt prudent to retain the illusion if only for today. There was no need to glance to her husband: he was far more socially adept than she and would likely already know to mind the difference. Still, one had to wonder in this city where her body truly lay.

Falun continued to speak, and Tox found herself genuinely surprised and pleased by the diplomatic olive branch he extended. Whether he had come to this conclusion himself or at the behest of his sister mattered little to the older vixen. He had approached alone and verbalised it: that alone increased his esteem in her eyes. “Takes a bold beast to be able t’say such things and not stand on pride,” she replied. “Well spoken, an’ I appreciate that. We don’t have to carry on this cycle’ve messy feuds. Would be nice to at least get along, if nothing else, wouldn’t it?”

Movement over the larger todd’s shoulder drew her gaze, and for a moment her fur prickled at the sight by the memorials. Tanya’s line of work had frequently necessitated gauging the nature of a conversation whilst being party to none of the dialogue: even so, it did not take the most astute to feel the tensions rise when weapons were drawn, regardless of whether they were dismissed or not. I recognise that one. Put him to sleep before. Should have given a stronger dose after all.

“Speakin’ of your sister,” Tanya murmured softly, gaze locked on the altercation playing out at a distance, “she’s lookin’ a little outnumbered with all those guards over there. Now, I wasn’t in a hurry to go meet everybeast but I’m wondering if we should be makin’ a move.”

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

Ever practised with the concealment of his emotions, even if for the past years it was mainly to irritate his children, Jeshal showed simply rapt interest in what Falun had to say about Armina. It had been a shock to discover over time just how much sentiment Ironclaw had buried like a pirate’s stash. Back then, he had thought he had felt near nothing, so many memories a fever dream of barely important chaos, stories along the way to his final schemes. How horrifying that they had become people, people who meant something more than pawns, and far, far too late it was now for him to tell them otherwise. He ignored the dull knife of pain in his chest at the thought of Armina’s grave. He had the urge to visit the common yard as soon as possible now, even though she couldn’t possibly have been buried there, not with what he knew. But did this mean Falun did not?

Jeshal allowed a faint wrinkle of the nose to show at the mention of Ryalors. Strange to think that only a few years had prevented Tanya’s false grave being counted among them. Strange how mixed his feelings were about that name. Not so strange that he might appear discomfited around the grave of his wife’s ex-husband.

The current Falun distracted from this with his apology and Jeshal smiled, especially considering Tanya took it well. He then followed her gaze to the bristling nature of the beasts ahead.

“Aye, I suppose we’d best. With any luck, we’ll be out of it before we be committin’ treason again.”​

 

[Falun Furotazzi]

Falun nodded as the apology seemed to be accepted, a new equilibrium established between them. "Right on." He glanced over his shoulder at the mention of his sister, sighing in exasperation as she and her toddfriend were briefly threatened. "'Gates below, Anna, I leave ya fer two minutes," he grumbled. "Aye," he addressed the pair, "let's get in 'ere an' keep 'em from doin' annehthin' more stupid 'an 'ey already 'ave."

As they started toward the confrontation, Falun glanced over at Tox. "No Lorcan an' Kinza today? Coulda used yer son fer backup if 'is goes south, big guy like 'im. Sure 'at was a 'eck of a delivery fer ya."