forum Branwen the Ninth (OxO closed)

Started July 06, 2024 by @lavender_ladybug group

tune

Branwen cocked her head in consideration of the offer. She remembered how her childhood friend had trained with one of the guards years ago, the salt-and-pepper haired woman who mercilessly rehearsed sword techniques with Ezra in the abandoned ballroom for hours on end. Bran had spent those hours tucked behind one of the stone pillars, watching her friend's movements with awe. She decided she trusted Ezra hadn't forgotten either. "No, no, a demonstration won't be necessary. With luck, you won't have to prove your skills anyway. It's just a party." This begged the question why exactly the emperor required their cavalier's prescence in the first place.

It was the party she dreaded more than the trip with Ezra—which make no mistake, Branwen also dreaded—yet words came easier to her when conversing with someone familiar. Even as much as that someone familiar made her blood boil.

"I wouldn't expect anything less than challenging from you, Pheonix. It's settled, then. I'll meet you at the temple." With a nod of finality, Branwen whistled shrilly for Argus, and turned to leave.

Argus perked at the whistle as he was still munching on Ezra's generous offering. He chewed faster. And when he was done, the pup stood, shook out his wiry fur, then trotted back to Branwen's side.

(Would you like to skip to the morning they meet up again to leave?)

(Yes, let's skip to the morning they meet up to leave.)

The morning sun cast a soft glow over the Prime Temple, its ancient stones bathed in warm light. Ezra approached, her dark green cloak billowing slightly in the morning breeze. The amulet around her neck glinted in the sunlight, and her expression was one of calm amusement. As she drew nearer, she saw Branwen standing at the entrance, looking as tense as ever.

Ezra's stride was confident, her thoughts a mix of curiosity and annoyance. The invitation from the Reverend Daughter was unexpected, and the prospect of traveling with Branwen, of all people, was far from ideal. But she couldn't deny the intrigue of the situation and the potential for something more—whether knowledge, power, or simply the satisfaction of needling Branwen along the way.

"Good morning, Reverend Daughter." Ezra greeted with a hint of sarcasm, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "I hope you slept well. Ready to face the emperor's 'party'?"

Branwen had her arms crossed, hands tucked into her armpits for some semblance of superiority or security. She rested them at her sides again once Ezra approached. Her own black cloak hung straight down her wimpish frame, with only slight movements in the breeze. She squinted against the rising sun. There were dark circles there under her eyelids. "Not in the least," she said in answer to all three of Ezra's comments.

"The ship is behind the building. There's a way around the courtyard. Follow me." Branwen brushed past Ezra, down the stairs, towards a path leading around the corner. Unkempt bushes lined their way; they snagged on Bran's cloak, eliciting a perturbed curse from her lips every few dozen steps.

The ship looked extraordinarily out of place amidst their bleak and decrepit homeland. The thing looked like a black, shiny slug with sleek curves and stocky wings jutting out from either side. It looked very much like it had come from another planet. There was a door that opened upwards in front of one of the wings with various skeleton and human servants, who ducked in and out carrying luggage. The human servants wore strange, almost clinical uniforms. As Branwen approached, she shrank amidst the size of the ship. "This isn't ours. The emperor sent this one to collect us. It arrived in the middle of the night."

Ezra observed Branwen's tense demeanor, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the irritated look on her face. Ezra's own stance was relaxed, her cloak flowing more freely as she followed Branwen around the courtyard. The overgrown bushes tugging at Branwen's cloak amused Ezra, and she stifled a chuckle each time Branwen cursed under her breath.

As they rounded the corner, Ezra's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the sleek, black ship. It was an odd contrast to the decaying surroundings of the ninth house, and she couldn't help but be impressed by its design. "Well, well," she murmured, more to herself than to Branwen. "Looks like we're traveling in style."

Branwen's shrinking presence next to the imposing ship didn't go unnoticed. Ezra could sense her old friend's discomfort and vulnerability, which only fueled her own sense of amusement and curiosity. "The emperor certainly knows how to make an impression," Ezra commented, her tone light but with an edge of sarcasm.

She glanced at the human servants in their clinical uniforms, feeling a twinge of unease. The efficiency and strangeness of it all made her uneasy. Ezra approached the ship, her curiosity piqued. "I suppose we should be grateful for the ride. It's not every day we get such royal treatment."

Ezra turned to Branwen, a smirk playing on her lips. "Shall we, then? Let's see what the emperor has in store for us." She stepped forward, ready to embark on the journey with a mix of excitement and caution, her mind already racing with possibilities and the potential for mischief.

"Indeed, he does," Branwen agreed with just as much sarcasm. She ducked into the ship behind Ezra and perched in an available seat. The inside was cramped with just enough room for four passengers and a driver, not completely unlike a horse drawn carriage. Two booths sitting across from each other. The only difference was the driver, a human servant, sat inside behind one of the booths.

The servants moved methodically as they did their jobs. Their movements seemed stilted. Their eyes vacant and skin pallid. While they finished their duties, it seemed they didn't have any true awareness of what went on around their bodies. In fact, apart from the flesh on their bones, they didn't seem very different from the skeleton servants of the ninth house at all.

Branwen eyed each of them with wary scrutiny. Then a similar glance to Ezra across from her, then down again as she placed her hands in her lap. She pulled a string of bone beads out of her sleeve and fidgeted with each one individually. One after the next.

A few moments later the door closed with a heavy thud. One of the strange servants, the best dressed of them, sat in the driver's seat. The ship lunched once, twice, and then they were off.

Ezra settled into her seat across from Branwen, giving the cramped interior of the ship a critical look. It wasn’t the most comfortable ride, but it would do. The servants moving around the ship had an unsettling quality about them—pale, vacant-eyed, and oddly robotic. They seemed more like moving skeletons than actual people.

Ezra leaned back with a smirk, her gaze flicking to Branwen who was lost in her habitual fidgeting with the bone beads. “Well, it looks like some things never change. I see you’re still obsessing over those beads. Just like old times, huh, Raisin Bran?"

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the driver’s seat where the most meticulously dressed of the servants was seated. “So, what’s the real deal with this party? Just another boring political function or is there something interesting about it?”

Ezra’s curiosity was piqued as she studied the driver. “These guys remind me a lot of the ones back at your place, but they seem even less… alive. I’m guessing they’re not exactly the chatty type?”

As the ship jolted into motion, Ezra couldn’t help but wonder about the other people they were going to meet. The idea of mingling with rulers and their cavaliers had a certain appeal—she was ready for whatever drama or intrigue awaited them.

Branwen quirked an eyebrow at the nickname. "Raisin Bran? Damn, haven't heard that one in a while." It had been years, much less from Ezra's lips since they were estranged. Her attention turned to Ezra's attempt at conversation with the driver.

The servant remained as it was, staring forward and making gentle movements to guide them through space. It didn't even seem to register that Ezra had asked a question.

When it didn't respond, Bran observed, "That's because they're the same as our skeletons. These just still have their meat." She'd never been a fan of flesh magic. It was too grotesque for her liking. Bones, when they were clean and dry, had a beauty in their structure that she preferred. Leave the squishy matter to the other houses—Bran found herself grateful she had been born where she was.

Through the front window, stars whizzed past. The eighth house looked like a faraway blue ball. It grew bigger as they hurdled towards it, and later, they'd pass it completely.

Ezra chuckled at Branwen's reaction to the old nickname. "Well, I guess some things never change. Figured it might lighten the mood a bit."

As Branwen explained about the servants, Ezra’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. "So they're basically walking meat puppets? That’s… interesting. Never thought I’d miss the sight of bare bones."

She glanced around the interior, noting the stark difference in aesthetics. "I get it though. Flesh magic isn't exactly my thing either. Too messy. I prefer the shadows." Ezra settled back into her seat, watching the stars blur past the window. It was a mesmerizing sight, but her mind was already racing ahead to the upcoming party.

Ezra let out a sigh, breaking the silence. "I wonder what the other houses are like. Been a while since I've seen any of them up close. Do you think they'll remember me? Do you think they'll remember us? Or better yet, do you think they'll care?"

Her eyes flicked back to Branwen, trying to gauge her ex-friend's thoughts. Despite their rocky history, there was a part of her that was genuinely curious about Branwen’s opinions. It was almost comforting, in a twisted sort of way, to have someone familiar beside her as they approached the unknown.

Branwen rested her head against the wall. Sleep tugged at her eyes, heavy lids begging her to close them for just a moment. With the emperor's ship's arrival with a handful of—as Ezra said—walking meat puppets, she'd hardly gotten three hours of precious sleep the last night. But there was no time for sleep now. She had to keep an eye on Ezra. Heavens only knew what mischief she could get into while Bran dozed.

A smile of amusement tugged at her lips at Nix's opinion between flesh and bone magic. Maybe in some things the two of them weren't so different after all.

"I'm not sure," Branwen answered honestly. She'd been wondering about the same thing, whether the leaders of the other houses would remember her from when she was small. She didn't remember them. She also wondered if those leaders would even be there, or if it might be their children there instead.

Bran gave Ezra a sideline glance. She inquired, genuine, "Do you want them to care?"

Ezra leaned against the cold surface, her arms crossed over her chest, a sly grin creeping across her face. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered with a hint of mischief.

“Care?” she echoed, a mocking tone lacing her voice. “Why would I want those decrepit old fools to care? Their opinions are as worthless as their existence.”

“I don’t need their approval, Bran. I need their fear. I want them to remember my name with a shiver down their spine, not because they care, but because they know what I’m capable of.”

Ezra’s gaze hardened, and a cold, dark amusement danced in her eyes. “And trust me, by the time I’m done, they’ll have no choice but to remember. Whether it’s their leaders or their children, it makes no difference to me. They’re all just pieces on the board, and I’m the one pulling the strings.”

She chuckled softly, almost to herself, before adding, “Besides, if they’re too busy caring, they might miss what’s really important… like keeping their heads attached to their shoulders.”

Her grin never fades as she watched Branwen with a look that was equal parts amusement and menace. “So, tell me, Bran… do you want them to care?”